Weeeell, for those who requested I get “up close and personal” this one may be overstepping the boundaries a bit, but bears sharing.
Forgive the puns if they happen. Given today’s subject matter, they’re virtually unavoidable. (If you’re pressed for time, just skip down to the part that says: “What I Learned From This Experience”) For the rest of you, buckle up and enjoy the ride.
Today I went for my first colonic.
I didn’t do any fancy foot work or ask for recommendations to find this particular colon clinic. I just did a search for “colonic, gravity and montreal.” Having discussed things with Michael Perrine in our Scoop About Poop call, I knew gravity was the way to go. On the phone I asked to confirm that this was indeed the gravity method, and while they spoke neither French nor English terribly well, they assured me that this is what I was looking for.
I booked myself an appointment.
Warning sign #1: It was way too easy to get an appointment whenever I wanted.
Today was the big day. I didn’t do anything special to prepare for this event. I didn’t take bowel-busting herbs or do any kind of fasting at all. I didn’t even avoid eating breakfast this morning. I just showed up to see what I could see and learn what I could learn.
About 20 minutes before my appointment, I hopped on my bike and made my way to the colon clinic.
Warning sign #2: All the offices in the building were for lease, except ONE–the colon clinic!
When I arrived at the clinic, I was met by a woman who immediately directed me to a room and told me to take my pants off. (This diva isn’t whipping her pants off for just anyone without getting a few questions answered, first.)
Upon examination of the equipment, naturally, I had a few questions and concerns. If this was a “gravity” method, then what were all those pressure gauges about and why wasn’t there anything above the height of the bed?
I asked her again if this was a gravity colonic.
Warning #3: She said the word “gravity” didn’t appear to be in any of her dictionaries.
That’s when I picked up my purse, dropped it to the ground and explained that this was gravity and at this point it became clear that we were not dealing with a gravity-operated colon-cleansing machine.
The floors creaked. The baby “bum wipes,” toxic room deodorizers and water-stained, sun-bleached, Scotch taped, photocopied pictures of bowels and cancer statistics on the walls all contributed to a rather uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
All the warning signs were there.
I had every reason to walk out the door, and maybe I should have, but a voice in the back of my head said, “Be willing to experience anything.”
She explained that she was an anesthesiologist (my favorite!) in her home country and had been doing this for 15 years. She was trying to be gentle and supportive and I guess that, coupled with my laziness at the idea of booking another appointment, were enough that I sucked back my fear and bent over.
Once de-robed, it was time to prep the passage with an inspection to assure there were no hazards or hemorrhoids.
Apparently the coast was clear, because she whipped out an intimidating collection of tubing supplies, and it was time to get serious.
It wasn’t comfortable, but you get used to it.
I was expecting a miraculous outpouring of the macaroni and cheese dinners I ate in high school. I was expecting bubbles, heat, discomfort, ooze or SOMETHING! I was expecting drama and got plain, old, ordinary poop. Either my pipes were disappointingly clean, or I am more anal retentive than I thought.
She massaged my bowels and there was some definite “release” but not on the scale of the “oooohs” and “aaaaahs” I’d been hoping for. I guess those stories of 4ft gluey intestinal gunk and super flat stomachs are what inspired me in the first place, so I was naturally disappointed when, at the end of the ordeal, I looked and felt…
…exactly the same.
She told tell me that I have diverticula and a prolapsed colon.
*GASP!*
She explained that these were because I was eating portions that were too big for me. She explained that my portions should not really exceed a small handful of food at a time.
“But what about…”
“But I only eat…”
“But that’s going to be…”
A thousand “buts” raced through my head and the only one that really mattered was the one still being fed 100 liters of water!
She said I should chew about 30 times a bite, that my blood pressure was VERY low, so I should drink 10 cups of water per day. All these things I knew, I guess, but as a woman is washing out your colon and massaging your “diverticula”, it somehow becomes easy to take her very seriously.
What I Learned From This Experience
People have a right to be comfortable in the environment in which they are being treated for their health.
It’s not just about what you eat, it’s about how you eat–how much, how often and how you mix things together.
I’ve known all these things, but now chewing and calorie restriction will be on my to do list for real.
I didn’t like the experience, but I’m glad I did it. I intend to take what I learned and move forward from here–inspired with new learning and personal wisdom. Perhaps later down the road I’ll try again, but for now, I’m keeping a “Do Not Enter” sign on my exit door and chew, chew, chewing my chow with new determinism.
Love and peristalsis,
Tera
P.S.
2 more sleeps until my birthday! 😉
P.P.S.
I did finally meet the avocado. Nice guy. Got totally DRUNK on chocolate, but that’s another day and another blog post.