Having decided that the best way to treat the entirety of my GI tract with a fecal transplant was through the oral route rather than rectally, I pondered just how in the heck I would get myself to consume my friend's sh*t -- I mean, it can't taste good, right? Hmm. Probably not. Then there was the problem of administering the concoction. I didn't have a nasojejunal tube and sedatives, as Borody's clinic does, so I would certainly have to just toss it down the hatch and pinch my nose. One woman I was in contact with -- a retired nurse -- said that fecal bacteriotherapy used to be around in her day (the 60s) as a last resort therapy for ailing patients, and it often worked (interestingly enough without antibiotic or colon lavage preparation procedures). How did they administer the therapy back then? Milk + poo. A sh*t-shake. I thought this would be an easy and perhaps even pleasant way to go. Heck, I might even have a burger and fries with it.
So, on day three of my adventure in feces shenanigans, I popped open the yogurt container with my donor's deposit inside. Stinky! (Duh.) I mixed a bit of the stool with water and strained it into a mason jar. I had some goat milk on hand and stirred it in. The mad scientist was at it again, and nobody could stop him. I looked at the whitish-brown beverage in front of me. For a second I thought about sweetening it or something, but I had already begun to feel my body and mind rejecting the idea of consuming the liquid, so it was now or never. Just do the damn thing before doubt takes over. Glass to lips, in it went. Oh, dear God! It was the most acrid taste I've ever experienced in my entire life. My gag reflex kicked in and almost kept me from swallowing, but somehow I managed to get it down. Gurgle! Gulp! ... Holy sh*t. I just ate sh*t. The horrible taste remained, so I immediately began rinsing my mouth and smearing toothpaste all over my gums. I must have rinsed for 20 minutes. During this time, I realized I could have probably at least pinched my nose while I drank the poo drink. Oh well.
And so the millions of bacteria were now in my stomach doing God knows what.
The long journey of mister poop
had begun! Thankfully, I had no need to vomit. In fact, besides the objectionable taste, it was a downright quick and painless experience. I wondered how this would turn out. Would I have diarrhea or a food-poisoning kind of episode? Only time would tell. Surprisingly, that evening, as I laid down to go to bed, I had a feeling that I hadn't had since I ate very little food for several years and did yoga and meditation every day. It was a feeling of complete and total comfort in my gut -- my body felt 100% relaxed. I think it worked! I fell asleep quickly and woke in the morning feeling refreshed and energetic. I remember playing guitar and singing that day -- my voice was smoother than it had ever been. I presumed this was due to my stomach not being bloated and stiff, so I could finally breathe fully again. Amazing!
The afternoon rolled around and I felt a strong urge to sh*t. When I did, it happened very quickly and without difficulty -- definitely something new for me, since I was usually the opposite. It was a soft, well-formed stool and, hot damn, it smelled just like my friend's poo! The poo cocktail must have survived the acid bath of the stomach and traveled the entire length of the intestinal tract. The question was, would these feelings remain? Unfortunately, they didn't. That evening, I had trouble sleeping again and woke the next morning to another difficult bowel movement. "Well," I thought, "maybe it will take some time for the bacteria to fully establish." I was certainly done drinking sh*t-shakes, so I decided to stop the experiment. Everything returned to "business as usual" in my intestines, and I decided that most impressive conclusion of this experiment was that nothing changed, good or bad.
Up next, Part 10 of "My Intestinal Saga" -- final thoughts ... 
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