Kelly Tries It: DIY Fecal Transplant
You may have heard of the latest healthcare trend that’s all the rage, the fecal microbiota transplant (FMT). See, each of us has a complex ecosystem of bacteria in our bodies that help regulate its functions, and most of it is in our guts. If that ecosystem is unbalanced, you might experience excruciating gut pain and chronic, potentially deadly diarrhea. Since I had a little bit of a stomach ache and we here at Bunny Ears are big believers in preventative self-care, I thought “Better safe than sorry! Time to replace all my poop with someone else’s poop!”
Unfortunately, it’s tough to get a referral for the legit surgical version of this treatment. Apparently, you have to have “specific symptoms” and “test results.” Ugh, so much red tape! I KNOW MY BODY, DR. ROBERTSON. Luckily, there are some great YouTube videos devoted to the home fecal transplant lifestyle.
Getting Your Shit Together
Finding a donor was actually super easy. You’d be surprised how many people want to put their poop inside of you. After some really interesting conversations on the Internet, I decided to just go the convenience route and ask my next door neighbor, Brenda, who was eager to help. Like, maybe a little too eager. But she had that solid gold and I needed it, so we were good to go.
You should choose your donor wisely and get the stool sample tested to make sure it contains no lurking diseases. There is also a risk that you could take on some unwanted traits, because your gut microbiome controls everything from your weight to your personality. But I didn’t have time to be sifting through shit samples to find the perfect match—my life was on the line! Brenda looked like she had healthy microbial diversity, so I asked her to please just poop in a bag and drop it off when she’s done, and no, I didn’t want to hang out while she does it.
The Big Day
At 6:00 AM, I was awoken by loud banging and Brenda yelling “Shit’s done! Come and get it!” I groggily got out of bed, annoyed but grateful. By the time I made it to the door, Brenda had retreated back to her lair, but I gathered up the poop sample, which she had unceremoniously just deposited on my doorstep without any kind of receptacle. She really is weirder than I thought.
By 9:00 AM, I’d blended up Brenda’s sample to a nice milkshake consistency, taken my laxatives, and rolled up some slivers of poop I’d pulverized in my mortar and pestle, which I slid into the gelatin capsules. I popped a few pills, dry heaved from the taste (I think a little got on the outside of the capsule—oops!), and lied down on my side to administer the enema. Done and done! All that was left to do was lie there, post a bunch of mid-fecal transplant selfies, dry heave a little more, and wait for the healing to occur.
I must have fallen asleep lying there on the bathroom floor because I was once again awakened by Brenda banging on the door and shouting about shit. I carefully removed the enema and got up, noting how good I felt. The fecal transplant was already working its magic! When I answered the door, Brenda was holding a Tupperware container with something brown inside. What was this? Had she brought me some congratulatory brownies?
“Your shit, madam.”
Then her dog ran up, shitting on my welcome mat in the exact spot I had retrieved the first poop sample. The poop I had thought was Brenda’s poop. The poop that was now inside of me, reproducing in me, becoming me.
“So sorry, Chuckles is really sick, he’s been shitting everywhere. I’ll replace the mat.”
But I didn’t really care about the welcome mat. I was only interested by the myriad nuances of tonality I could hear in her voice. The faraway sound of a train whistle caught my ear. A little farther, I heard a squirrel cracking a nut as he rustled through the branches of a tree. I suddenly realized I was hungry and that the smell of Brenda’s dog’s food wafting out her open door was intoxicating.
[Editor’s note: Since this article was written, Kelly has moved in with Brenda and is very devoted to their relationship.]
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