sweet, sweet release
enter at your own risk: you must be comfortable with the topic of all bodily functions
If you prefer, listen to the 4-minute audio recording of this story here.
My period is 7 days late and it is making me irate. I know it’s fine because I ovulated late and I assume I ovulated late because I had covid in my last cycle. This has thrown my 5-month record of ovulating on the new moon and bleeding on the full moon off which greatly displeases me. I was emotionally attached to this kismet multiplicity.
The crescendo of hormones has been pulsing through my bloodstream for the past week. I feel like I’m slightly hallucinating from the cocktail of oestrogen and progesterone that are elbowing each other behind some imaginary door in my uterus desperate to get out.
All I want is release.
I have an intuitive idea. I google “enema after eating“. The first lines of the search are “Do not eat for at least 30 minutes before using the enema. Make sure you can get to a toilet easily. Find a comfortable place to lie down.”
Great! I think and watch the final episode of ‘All I Know About Love’ to let the peach I ate earlier digest.
I boil the kettle and get the at-home-colonic kit from my bathroom and light the candles because I might as well make this experience as romantic as possible and while there am distracted by the two hanging plants that are dying and decide I need to re-pot them into an outside planter and come back with fingers covered in soil. I laugh at myself and wash my hands and then pour some filtered water into the colonic bag followed by the hot water and then realise it’s still too hot so reach to get some ice cubes out of the freezer but see a shoot of water squirt out of the tube that I had forgotten to clamp and accidentally drop the entire icecube tray into the bag while trying to shut it off. I know I must seem ridiculous right now. This is why I like living alone. There’s no one around to judge. I like to be at peace in my maddest moments.
I unravel my pilates mat and place it on the bathroom floor and two cushions for my head and strip down and then remember I need to lubricate the nozzle and rummage for the coconut oil under the sink.
I think I’m ready so I lay down on my right side knees up and gently insert and slowly let the water in counting the seconds between release and clamping the flow until I’m ready to stop. I roll on my back knees up and hear the water making noises as it travels through my digestive tract. Good. Things are moving. Until I suddenly realise how uncomfortable I am. It’s really hot in here.
I am committed to this cause so following the first toilet visit, dash through my apartment naked to get the fan from the living room and set it up by the bathroom door. Better.
After two more rounds, I feel extraordinarily cured. My emotional emancipation is visceral with my intuition to thank for this eccentrically brilliant move. Minutes later I feel something and go to the bathroom and there she is. Those first few light red drops have landed. Finally. Sweet, sweet release.
Enjoy today’s journaling practise:
kismet is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.