I now haven’t eaten anything for over 60 hours. My hip bones are sticking out beautifully, but I many, many hours to go before I can have food. And 24 hours after that before I can get stuck in and eat anything worth eating (it’s supposed to be 72, but I am weak – don’t report me to the food police). I have regretted my decision not to pack a six-pack of Monster Munch on a regular basis. Most conversation revolves around food and poo, poo-talk is actually preferable as at least that doesn’t stimulate anyone’s appetite.
We went on a tour of Koh Samui today so that the staff could hose down and sterilise our shit-encrusted bathroom walls (actually so they could have a day off, but I bet I had you for a second there). Turns out Koh Samui is jam-packed full of delicious places to eat. And places that sell food. And people merrily eating said food. The six of us glowered at them in unison and looked forward to our next delicious colon cleansing supplement. If I haven’t yet fully conveyed the grey-hued horror of it, my descriptive powers must have left me, but please picture grey porridge with frogspawn in it that tastes like a cross between chalk and mucus. 4 a day of these remember.
I’m not going to go into gratuitous detail, but I’d imagine anyone who’s got this far is probably morbidly curious about the colonic process. I am actually finding them really satisfying (2 down so far). My co-food-avoiders are having mixed results, with some hating it and some enduring it. I appear to be the only one experiencing unalloyed joy. I like to think that I’m very comfortable with my colon. Who knows.
Anyway, we self-administer in the comfort of our bathrooms. My bathroom is the size of an aircraft hangar, but I gather I am blessed (I’ve also got the best view, basically I’m the detox Head Girl) so it feels comfortable and airy. When I came back to me room midway through my first full day of detoxing, I wondered who’d taken my chair. Upon entering the bathroom, I realised that they’d used it to set up my colema board. You can google it until I work out how on earth I upload photos. Mine is padded, no hard plastic tat. So there’s a 5 -gallon bucket with a tube coming from it on a wide ledge above the loo, that gets filled with water by the discreet and delightful staff who manage not to make us feel like total wankers for coming to a barely-developed country to starve ourselves. Oh irony. Anyway, save your socio-political bleeding heart rhetoric for now. The chair faces the loo and supports the colema board which sits over the loo. There’s a sieve in the loo to catch the “solid matter” that is “expelled”. We talk about it in weirdly abstract terms for a bunch of people who’ve specifically come to flush out decades worth of impacted shit from our bodies. So chair, loo, board – the chair is about a meter away from the loo so that the board can sit stably. The tube from the bucket hooks over the chair and we control/start/stop the flow of water by adjusting the tube. When the time comes to administer, we collect 2 litres of hot water from smily Chimlin, then advance to our rooms. Everyone generally looks nervous, I skip up the stairs with glee. The hot water is added to the 5-gallon bucket. Each of us has a sterilised detachable tube that will be stuck our unmentionable, this gets connected (lubricated) to the tube from the bucket that is attached to the colema board. Almost there, first your unmentionable also gets lubricated (they give you a little pink pot of KY, it’s all very well-organised). Then it’s time to lie on your back on the board, your feet go on top of the cistern, pressing against the wall. Time to insert the tube into your unmentionable; they recommend at least 2 inches to ensure it doesn’t come out during the procedure. I get about 4 inches in: never knowingly under-penetrated. Then you lie back (Ipod on to drown what must be grotesque gurgles), let the water flow into your arse (gravity does it, apparently), stop the flow when you feel full (i.e. when it feels as though you need to take a dump) and gently push the water out, along with whatever it’s picked up on the way out. Then start the flow again, then stop, then expel. Keep going until the bucket is empty – rinse and repeat, basically.
When all the water’s gone in and come out, you manoeuvre yourself off the board, sterilise everything (spray, wipes and gloves provided), remove the board from the loo and inspect the freshly-expelled contents of your large intestine with trepidation and (ha!) pride. I’m yet to see vast black ropes of impacted filth, but I feel I’m progressing beautifully so far.
And that’s that. Almost makes the colon cleanse supplement worthwhile. Although the frogspawn bits from the drink expand on the way down and reappear disconcertingly in the sieve. One of the guys thought he had eggs growing in him, bless him.
Oh and Morten? Yeah, he’s John’s boyfriend. I knew de-toxing makes you light-headed, I’d never heard that it robbed you of your Gaydar. Although looking back, it was so obvious – his Speedos should have been a dead giveaway. Who knows what faculty I’ll lose next??
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