Amie Richardson: Giving colonic irrigation a try because, you know, life goals

Colonic irrigation is not for everyone, but for the curious it ticks some boxes.

Colonic irrigation is not for everyone, but for the curious it ticks some boxes.

OPINION: "I'm on a fancy bidet at the moment", a friend messaged me this week. "I'm about to try the VORTEX wash. A little frightened but I'm going to do it anyway! Life goals."

Sharing a real-time pooing experience over messenger is pretty common-place in my world. While generally sophisticated in my jokes, I applaud toilet humour, always laugh at farts (unless released by an elderly person) and am amazed at the size, shape and volume of poo.

The same day of the bidet exchange, I was introduced to a YouTube clip of a unicorn that excretes soft-serve multi-colour poo – brilliant!  

I have a complex relationship with excrement. As a child, I was tricked by my brother into leaning back into a pile of dog poo and force-fed horse manure. None of these experiences carried any sort of long-term trauma, but did establish a relationship between poo and personal wellbeing.

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So when a friend came back newly glowing after her internal cleansing (colonic irrigation), I thought, why not?

After all, I've already been tapped on my head to make my limbs realign, attempted mindfulness, sought advice from naturopaths, homeopaths and sociopaths, been massaged many ways (including the type where they don't touch you), and told my dead husband Wayne was with me on the massage table (not at all relaxing by the way).

My poo therapist – not the official title – is a vision of good health. I strip down to a hospital gown and she scrutinises my eyes. Rather than a description of their beauty – deep azure pools – it's all "severe stress" and "blockages" and too much coffee (how do your irises show that?) and "let's see how we go".

For a curious mind, colonic irrigation ticks the box. Once the hose has been inserted, you get to watch the contents of your bowel funnel through a glass tube on their way to somewhere else. Far. Away. Water flows in, then a sudden switch, and it's all sucked out along with whatever else you release. But it's not all lying around relaxing. You need to "let go" of the emotion (your s...) and trust that you'll be OK.

I did well. I ended up in a weeping mess. Exposed, vulnerable, but doing what I could to release a little of the inner turmoil residing down below. My therapist is full of praise – like a new parent, ecstatic about the first meconium poo.

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I get up, a little shaky and get dressed. She hugs me before I walk out into the sunshine feeling lighter, s... free, but in urgent need of a cuddle from my mum.     

 - Stuff


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