Colonic Armageddon

The story that began my official attempt at writing… This event took place during my first week in the hospital following my motorcycle wreck.

I decided to share the following event in order to show support for my brothers and sisters who have suffered through this unholy act. Just know, you are not alone.

I was on day 6 of my body refusing to expel solid toxins. Although I had been taking softeners and various other chemicals to keep my system flowing, nothing worked. My nurse warned me that time was running short for it to occur naturally. If something did not happen within the next 48 hours, more extreme measures would be introduced in order to assist me. The first, less extreme method, was the manual insertion of a chemically bound product in my southern region. The suppository. She felt confident it would resolve my fecal barricade. It was a convincing argument so I agreed on the procedure.

A few hours later she appeared with a white capsule that was approximately the length and diameter of a section of my middle finger – a reasonable size for the job it was to perform; however, the tube of lubrication accompanying the white capsule gave me a cause for concern. My understanding of this process was that only a single digit would be used in the placement of said capsule. The tube she was holding gave more of an indication that her entire hand would be required to manually set this product somewhere deep inside my soul. Nevertheless, we marched forward.

With my one good arm I reached across my body, grabbed the side of the bed and pulled myself into position for reception of the chemical concoction. Out of curiosity, I peered back over my shoulder just in time to witness my nurse applying lubrication to the capsule in the same manner a five-year-old would cover their ice cream with chocolate syrup if they were left unattended. All I could do was laugh nervously to myself, turn back around, put my face into the side of the bed, and wait. With the speed and precision of a military field artillery unit, my nurse-turned-gunnery-sergeant, breech-loaded that capsule and fired it into what felt like my lower intestine in less than 2 seconds. An experience I would describe as “sudden and violent”. 

Hours went by. It was all for nothing. At the end of the day I still had not managed to expel the physical toxins from my body. I was assured more extreme measures would be taken the next day to guarantee a successful movement. 

I’ll be honest. Most of the time when someone uses the word extreme I don’t think much about it. It’s a word so overused in today’s advertising that it doesn’t carry much weight. Little did I know I was about to learn the very real definition of extreme.

Day 7 of my body refusing to expel solid waste. It was time to accept that only one real option remained. The liquid chemical flush… Or as I came to know it as Colonic Armageddon.  I contacted my nurse and informed her to make ready the supplies. Once she showed up with all of the necessary equipment I began to question my resolve in the matter. Amongst the collection of tubes and hardware she also had what looked like the Sam’s Club value-sized, old school, death flavored Listerine. I commented, “Great, I’m getting a Big Gulp”. The look on my girl’s face went from one of love and support to pure laughter.

I glanced at the bottle, then my nurse, then back at the bottle. I then proceeded to ask her if the entire contents were to be used. She smiled and without hesitation responded “Yes we use it all”. For the next several minutes my nurse continued setting up, my girl continued laughing, and I kept pondering what kind of results absorbing a 40 ounce through my ass would provide for me.

Once everything was ready, I rolled over and the nurse attached the beer bong. All that was left was to wait for the liquid to pour into my colon and for me to question my life choices. She told me the bottle would take about 10 minutes to empty and then I would need to hold everything inside for at least 30 minutes, but the best results would happen if I held it for a full hour.

I’ll tell you now, I want to shake the hand of the person who has the anal fortitude to endure what I was about to experience. They need to have statues and monuments built in their honor.

Ten minutes later, the bottle was dry and the tube was removed. Almost immediately the excitement commenced. My entire trans-planial dimensional existence was being razed and sacked by Satan’s unholy potion. It literally felt as though it was liquifying everything inside of me. Between muscle contractions I glanced at the clock to see how much longer I needed to wait. I thought for sure it had been at least 20 to 25 minutes. It had only been 10. I promised myself I would not wuss out and give in under 30 minutes. I had to find a way to hold on. 

In that short amount of time I found religion, abandoned religion, made up a new religion, prayed to pass out, prayed that it was just a dream, made up new profanities, and tried extremely hard to speed up quantum time. The last two minutes were eternal, but I wasn’t about to say “close enough”. I was invested that far so I had to hold on. Once 30 minutes arrived, it was time to let go. I was already mounted on the bedpan so all I had to do was simply relax. In a cruel twist of irony, my entire body clenched up and decided it wasn’t ready to let go. Just about the time I thought to myself WTF, everything I had ever eaten since childhood left my body at a speed typically measured in feet per second.

For the next five hours I sat on bedpans expelling food and life force. 

The nursing staff functioned with the speed and accuracy of a MotoGP pit crew. I’d call for help, then lift up and right as the old pan full of boiling oil came out, the new one slid in. The process had to be done as fast, yet as cautiously, as humanly possible. This went on for hours. At one point I wondered if I had died and gone to hell. I had been so full of shit for so many years that endless, unstoppable colonic evacuation was my eternal punishment. 

I got my answer a full sixteen hours later. After five hours, the bulk shipment ended; however, the next eleven hours were dedicated to all of the remnants and remaining organs in my body. The colonic bomb had expelled over four liters of what looked and felt like boiling chili mac. 

Another unexpected outcome of the emergency evacuation was an overwhelming feeling of being cold from the inside. My body seized and shook so hard that I was convinced I was going to shatter my teeth and do more harm to my already broken body. For what I believed was about twenty minutes I was unable to think clearly or speak beyond simple sentences. Both my mind and my body felt as though they were shutting down. The room filled with nurses and assistants who piled blankets on top of me in an attempt to raise my body temperature. Although I don’t remember my vitals at that time, I do remember the machine I was attached to turning red, flashing its lights and generating an audible alarm.

Five hours of uncontrollable bowel movement, eleven additional hours of aftermath, a rare, potentially life-threatening side effect, and four liters of fluids expelled. My body was beyond exhausted. My urine looked like sun tea.

I told everyone in the room that I would walk on broken knees before ever doing that again.