I first heard about rectal insufflation while having lunch with a friend who had problems with her bowels. Admittedly, eating steak bavettes while discussing in detail the consistency of someone else’s fecal matter isn’t exactly everyone’s idea of a good time. But TBH, I’d rather talk about that than yet another creative director at a fashion house getting canned or whether it’s too soon to get a deep plane facelift. Plus, I’d been having problems of my own in that department. Irregular, rabbit-dropping-sized problems. It seemed to have done the trick for her, maybe I should give it a go, too?
Rectal insufflation is a type of oxygen therapy used in holistic medicine to treat myriad conditions, from IBS and constipation to brain fog, low energy, and bloating. (Check, check, and check!) Ozone gas enters your gut lining via a cannula stuck straight into the rectum. Allegedly the ozone sends signals to stem cells in the area, kickstarting the body’s own regenerative system to promote healing and gut repair, all while targeting bacterial, fungal and viral infections. While there are some case studies that show the treatment might improve digestive, cognitive and even mental health problems, rectal insufflation has yet to be officially recognized by any authoritative institution. Plus, there are potential side effects: embolisms (which can be life-threatening), cramping, flu-like symptoms, nausea, and headaches.
For some reason, none of that deterred me, so I booked an appointment to get a tube up my bum at a wellness practice in Knightsbridge, London. There’s no real prep you have to do beforehand, but I did take a shower ahead of my appointment because it felt rude not to.
A friendly-looking nurse led me into a treatment room and gestured for me to hop on the exam table, where she covered my body with medical-grade tissue paper—like a blanket but not cozy. I pulled down my pants and rolled onto my side to face the wall, though I kept turning my head around to try and make polite conversation. If we were about to get so intimate, I thought we should probably get to know each other a little better. “I’ve never had anything up there before,” I lied. “Well, anything medical.” Silence. “Just try to relax,” said the nurse. “We can stop at any point if it gets too much.”
When the therapy began, I had a strange internal bubbling sensation. It made me think of the scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, where Charlie and Grandpa Joe down the Fizzy Lifting Drink and begin to float toward grave danger until they start burping repeatedly in order to sink back down to safety again. I meditated on this image for about 10 minutes, which was the entire length of the treatment.
And then, suddenly, it was all over. She took the cannula out and I lay there, feeling like I was about to explode. After a minute or two, I ran to the loo, but nothing happened, which, according to the nurse, is quite common. And then, as per medical advice, it was back to business as usual. For the rest of the day, I felt a little bloated, which I had been warned about. The next morning, everything was back to normal—in fact, better than normal. After dropping my kids off at school, I went back home to drop something else off. A miracle!
Since then, I’ve had six sessions of rectal insufflation, all spaced the suggested two weeks apart. Personally, I feel better in terms of digestion, bloating, constipation, and even energy—though this could certainly be a placebo effect. But the benefits never seems to last for that long—a week, maximum. Maybe that has to do with all my travel, lack of sleep, stress, being constantly harassed by my children, white wine, processed cheese, and cigarettes. I’ll probably keep doing the treatment to counteract all of the above.