It Happened To Me: Colonic Hydrotherapy

I entered the colonic experience with optimism and the highest of hopes for bowel relief. I left the colonic experience feeling weirded out and lost.

Oct 7, 2011 at 12:00pm | Leave a comment

The onset of hypothyroidism made me very constipated and unable to complete a bowel movement. My metabolism was so slow that food sat in my gut and gave me stomach aches. I looked in the litter box and noticed the cat was out-crapping me.

I allowed this to go on for around 6 months until I was straight up desperate to take a real dump. Like, the kind that Dr. Oz tells you you’re supposed to take, only bigger and multiplied by three. When conventional over-the-counter methods failed me, I turned to colon hydrotherapy.

I chose a body wellness center located underneath a country line dancing club and showed up to my appointment wearing comfy clothes and a smile. My boyfriend was the designated driver because I was legitimately frightened of squirting in my pants afterward.

The owner was disappointingly normal looking; a pretty white lady with mom bangs. I wished she was an older lady with wild gray hair, lots of turquoise jewelry, and maybe a tattoo behind her ear. We basically just talked poop for a little bit, I signed a waiver, and It. Was. On.

She showed me to the room where my treatment would take place. There was a rocking chair for spectators and the table that I was to lie on, which was actually a toilet.

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Then she started giving me instructions and I became worried. I was to disrobe my bottom half and lie on the toilet with my knees apart or legs up and my butt next to the drain. There was a package containing a new and sterile plastic nozzle for me to crack open and attach to the water tube.

And I was provided a personal lubricant packet to use on my anus and plastic nozzle and insert it about an inch and a half into my rectum.

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Insert it myself? I fucking knew it. I had hoped she would do it for me but I couldn’t ask her to. Fine. The owner left and I did my thing. I had never inserted anything in my ass so I was nervous and excited.

The nozzle was tiny; a hair wider than a pencil eraser. I greased up, felt to make sure my butthole was where I left it, and stuck it in. It felt like nothing, so I kind of wiggled it in and out to double check things. Seriously though, I also did it to find out if I liked it and would want something in my butt later. Didn’t like it, didn’t hate it.

I covered up with the pink fleece blanket and rang the doorbell on the wall to let the owner know I was ready. She came back in and had more instructions for me. She told me when she turned on the water I would feel a warm sensation growing in my abdomen. Then when I felt pressure, as though I had to use the bathroom, I should push all the water out of me as hard as I could.

That confused me. You see, I imagined that this hose put the water in my ass and then a reverse switch would be flipped and the excrement goodness would be neatly flushed out of me via said hose. That is not how a colonic works. Here is a money shot of how a colonic works:

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Duped again! Yes, I paid a bunch of money, that I should not have been spending, to push out my own shit.

The owner turned on the water and stayed with me while I got the hang of it. When the water went in I felt like I had a deuce on deck and when I pushed it out I felt like I was making diarrhea. I was lying down and pooping under a pink fleece blanket with a stranger.

She encouraged me to let a lot of water in, almost until it hurt, and then blast all of it out. There was an element of magic because the anus is a crafty little muscle and it held onto the nozzle even when I pushed.

When I got used to what was happening, she set a timer for 45 minutes and left me again. I was on my own. That pissed me off. I kept thinking, “I paid for this!”

I guess I didn’t know what I was paying for. And since I had gone through all the trouble of tapping my own sphincter I supposed I had to soldier on.

I was letting water in and pushing it out for almost 10 minutes and watching the viewing tube in the mirror for signs of life. Just cloudy ass water.

It took until the 15-minute mark to see some action. I had imagined all of the compacted crap breaking down and flying through the viewing tube like space rocks whipping through the milky way. Instead it came out in the form of flakes and crumbs. Not results, in my opinion.

The owner came back in, you know, just to say hi, and saw my lack of results. Once again, she advised me to take as much water in as I could stand and assured me that it was safe. I was officially sick of her and wanted to get this over with.

She left and I got to work letting more and more water into my bum. I figured if there was any danger I would have felt terrible pain and all I had felt were poo cramps so I was in good shape.

I set a goal to let the water in for 20 seconds. I relaxed my anus and watched the clock. The feeling of that much water entering your colon is not unlike the worst diarrhea of your life. But it’s worse because you are willing yourself to do it.

I was breathing like a woman in labor and kept telling myself that the poop baby I had so often joked about with friends was going to fly out of me. But the viewing tube just filled with tan water and fecal specks.

I checked the timer and there were less than 20 minutes to go. I made a decision: FUCK THIS SHIT. I hit the doorbell on the wall to send up my white flag. The owner came in and shut the water off but looked disappointed. It must have come as a surprise to her that I wasn’t into lower G.I. hyper-douching.

She gave me some privacy so I could express any leftover water from my butt into the toilet bed, wipe off, and finally put my pants back on. Aah, dignity.

I entered the colonic experience with optimism and the highest of hopes for bowel relief. I left the colonic experience feeling weirded out and lost. On the way home, I made my boyfriend stop at Marshall’s where I did 3 laps around the shoe section and tried on several pairs I never would have bought. Then I ended up buying a fake leather pocket book that I hate.

That night, I went to my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party and had to use the bathroom at least 4 times to release more ass water. Pissing out of my ass in a public bathroom while a bunch of bachelorettes daintily tinkled and chatted almost made me cry.

Oh yeah, the colonic did not make me regular. A change in medication from a real live doctor did the trick.

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