Saturday, March 21, 2015

My Plans For An At-Home, Do-It-Yourself Fecal Transplant Have BeenTragically Foiled

This summer, a friend who is a doctor AND a friend whose shit I need in order for my life to be perfect are both coming to visit me at the same time. And I figured that in addition to an extra trip or two out to the glacier, what better opportunity than this for an at-home, do-it-yourself fecal transplant?

You see, a few months ago, I read a life-changing article in The New Yorker about this guy with Crohn's Disease. He sent his neighbor an email one day that said something like, "Heeeey . . . so . . . this might be awkward, but I was sorta kinda wondering if I could maybe have a teensy bit of your shit for a fecal transplant . . . ?"

That's right. He basically (well, not basically, but literally) asked his neighbor in Greenwich Village, who was like a Tour de France biker who ate nothing but Swiss chard and omega 3 fatty acids or something, to kindly give him a shit donation to help his Crohn's. Well, the specimen of good health guy was like, what the hell, I'm not using my shit anyway. So they went for it, and lo and behold, the dude with Crohn's Disease was cured forever!

When I read this article, I had a total eureka moment, and I knew that all my problems would be solved if only I could gain access to some super-human poo. See, I have all sorts of allergies and asthma and eczema, and a few extra ciabatta rolls in my abdomen area to boot. So after reading this article, I knew all I needed was ready access to some quality crap. 

And just like a rare lunar eclipse, this July presents the perfect opportunity to turkey baste some primo shit right up my ass, or so I thought. My friend, who is a procedural radiologist, will be visiting AT THE SAME TIME as another friend of mine who is a skinny primate scientist with NO allergies, a gut of steel, and washboard abs that she has somehow achieved without doing a single sit-up ever and while eating half her weight in Italian subs on the regular. 

YES!  All I have to do is collect poop from my one friend, and have the other help me "transplant" it somehow, all while Geoff cooks dinner and the kids watch Barbie Island Dream House on Netflix. This will be a piece of cake!

Not so fast. 

Another friend who is a dietician and actually knows what the fuck she's talking about delivered some tragic news tonight. Apparently, a fecal transplant occurs through something called a "nasal-gastric tube," and must be administered by medical professionals trained in this very procedure. Yes, the shit goes into your NOSE, in order to be absorbed into your gut, and is apparently a much more involved production than I had heretofore assumed. 

Until tonight, I was pretty sure that all of my problems would be instantly solved by an at-home, DIY fecal transplant. But alas, it is not to be. There is much, much more to this novel procedure than that, and there's no such thing as a free lunch.

I guess becoming a perfect specimen of health will have to await the day that I can have access to a nasal-gastric tube and a trained professional who can put a healthy person's crap directly into my schnoz. 

Oh well, yet another dream deferred.

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