Eight inches of love
After one year, in what I affectionately refer to as ‘fecal paradise’, I had reason to suspect that my gut might not be what it used to be. Fire hydrant explosions had blown out my sphincter on various occasions producing an odour so ripe, so caustic, so entirely filthy that I was tempted to vomit on my own shoes the moment the waft hit my nostrils. Intolerance to alcohol, bloating, breath like a dead donkey, flatulence that would make a camel weep and other such symptoms had become such a normal part of my day that I ceased to recognize them as odd—like you, I thought I was normal. Conversations with other expats confirmed that such rectal behaviour was indeed par the course of living in Afghanistan. A laugh and a shared wince at the common experience have been the foundations of many new friendships formed.
Oh, how I wish that I had listened to the corporeal screams—the cries for help coming from my colon.
On a recent trip home, I decided to take the holistic healing route and book myself in for a wee colonic irrigation. Thinking I would just wash out the side-effects of 12 months of kabobs, I was unprepared for the swarms of parasites and worms that henceforth spewed from my anus.
Yes, you read correctly.
Eight inches of Perspex, as wide as my thumb had been inserted into my back door, prior to the injection of a few litres of warm water. My lovely therapist who had the caring demeanour of Florence Nightingale, in a voice as sweet as honey, declared than in 20 years of caring for people’s colons, she had never seen so many, and so large, parasites. Such parasites should by right be half the size of a pin head. Mine however, were the size of sesame seeds and larger. And there were lots of them. Entire families—whole clusters of nests—were being vacuumed out in what I now refer to as the Holocaust Of The Amoebas.
The question, “Do you eat a lot of alfalfa sprouts?” [no] was followed by a grave declaration that there can only be one other thing that these minions of two-inch long worm-like creatures could be. Worms.
I was in trauma. Advanced trauma.
Lying in the foetal position on the table, shaking uncontrollably I went into an anxiety so strong that my rectal muscles froze, making it impossible for Florence to withdraw the hosepipe. But wait, there’s more! Once I calmed down, she attempted to slide it out it again, however this time the suction hole at the tip of pipe got hooked on an internal hemorrhoid. Apparently, hemorrhoids are not just a symptom of constipation in the over 50’s as one might incorrectly imagine; they also develop through diahorrea when your body is always trying to forcefully expel an alien invasion.
Are you now feeling my pain sufficiently to be motivated to do something about your own?
What can you do here in fecal paradise to alleviate the situation? Firstly, consume garlic as an ingredient rather than condiment. I shelled an entire bulb of garlic then swallowed all the cloves with water like they were vitamin C pills. The next day I breathed directly in my sister’s face (I love my sister) to check the vile consequences of my home cure, who surprisingly said I didn’t smell at all. One can only imagine that my body absorbed it all because it was in such dire need of whatever properties it is that garlic offers. You can also try to find black walnut extract. (Believe me, it works. Upon inspection of my fecal deposits every day now, the dead parasites are still coming out in droves.) Wash your hands with disinfectant before touching food or drink, wash veges in bottled water and stop eating carbohydrates as parasites love starchy foods. (Are you craving carbs? I wonder why…)
When on R&R, go crap in a dish with a pathologist, get a series of colonics, and a rectal exam. Do something, do anything, to kill what I guarantee is growing in your gut. It’s not nice, it’s not comfortable, but neither is colon cancer which you’ll get if the parasite nests attach to the colon wall and turn tumourous.
And for those of you who pride yourself on your iron constitution, just be warned that worms and parasites often have no side effects and can go undetected for years. Undetected that is, until they have wormed their way into your liver (and your vagina if you’re a woman) and cause liver failure or acute vulvovaginitis requiring a radical vulvectomy. Do you want that to happen? No, I didn’t think so. So grunt up, stop being such a pansy and go get eight-inches of love.
Oh, how I wish that I had listened to the corporeal screams—the cries for help coming from my colon.
On a recent trip home, I decided to take the holistic healing route and book myself in for a wee colonic irrigation. Thinking I would just wash out the side-effects of 12 months of kabobs, I was unprepared for the swarms of parasites and worms that henceforth spewed from my anus.
Yes, you read correctly.
Eight inches of Perspex, as wide as my thumb had been inserted into my back door, prior to the injection of a few litres of warm water. My lovely therapist who had the caring demeanour of Florence Nightingale, in a voice as sweet as honey, declared than in 20 years of caring for people’s colons, she had never seen so many, and so large, parasites. Such parasites should by right be half the size of a pin head. Mine however, were the size of sesame seeds and larger. And there were lots of them. Entire families—whole clusters of nests—were being vacuumed out in what I now refer to as the Holocaust Of The Amoebas.
The question, “Do you eat a lot of alfalfa sprouts?” [no] was followed by a grave declaration that there can only be one other thing that these minions of two-inch long worm-like creatures could be. Worms.
I was in trauma. Advanced trauma.
Lying in the foetal position on the table, shaking uncontrollably I went into an anxiety so strong that my rectal muscles froze, making it impossible for Florence to withdraw the hosepipe. But wait, there’s more! Once I calmed down, she attempted to slide it out it again, however this time the suction hole at the tip of pipe got hooked on an internal hemorrhoid. Apparently, hemorrhoids are not just a symptom of constipation in the over 50’s as one might incorrectly imagine; they also develop through diahorrea when your body is always trying to forcefully expel an alien invasion.
Are you now feeling my pain sufficiently to be motivated to do something about your own?
What can you do here in fecal paradise to alleviate the situation? Firstly, consume garlic as an ingredient rather than condiment. I shelled an entire bulb of garlic then swallowed all the cloves with water like they were vitamin C pills. The next day I breathed directly in my sister’s face (I love my sister) to check the vile consequences of my home cure, who surprisingly said I didn’t smell at all. One can only imagine that my body absorbed it all because it was in such dire need of whatever properties it is that garlic offers. You can also try to find black walnut extract. (Believe me, it works. Upon inspection of my fecal deposits every day now, the dead parasites are still coming out in droves.) Wash your hands with disinfectant before touching food or drink, wash veges in bottled water and stop eating carbohydrates as parasites love starchy foods. (Are you craving carbs? I wonder why…)
When on R&R, go crap in a dish with a pathologist, get a series of colonics, and a rectal exam. Do something, do anything, to kill what I guarantee is growing in your gut. It’s not nice, it’s not comfortable, but neither is colon cancer which you’ll get if the parasite nests attach to the colon wall and turn tumourous.
And for those of you who pride yourself on your iron constitution, just be warned that worms and parasites often have no side effects and can go undetected for years. Undetected that is, until they have wormed their way into your liver (and your vagina if you’re a woman) and cause liver failure or acute vulvovaginitis requiring a radical vulvectomy. Do you want that to happen? No, I didn’t think so. So grunt up, stop being such a pansy and go get eight-inches of love.
posted by Emira Shafiqa at 10:57 am
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