Out of all the wild treatments I’ve done in pursuit of wellness, getting a three-hour colonic in an underground cave from a woman sporting sparkly nails and wearing a red tracksuit might just be the most unhinged. And it didn’t even make me well. In fact, it did quite the opposite.
Before this winter, I had no experience with colonics. They were just those things my friends’ moms got when they had a free Thursday afternoon. Something for ladies of leisure. Those who are too posh to push. An easy way to—fingers crossed—get skinny. I thought about getting one myself only after I fell down an internet wormhole of parasite cleanses and heavy metal detoxes, fringe health fads beloved by MAHA influencers and wellness bros alike.
According to alternative medical lore, i.e. woo-woo wellness discourse that hasn’t been tested or approved by an official governing body, colon hydrotherapy helps with detoxification, inflammation, digestion, energy levels, skin health, and general physical and mental well-being. By repeatedly flushing the colon with warm filtered water, colonics—allegedly—help eliminate accumulated toxins and waste in the body, the build-up of which can lead to toxicity, which in turn affects the body’s functions. It’s a process borrowed from conventional medicine. “In mainstream practice, bowel irrigation is used for constipation, significant stool build-up, certain nerve-related bowel problems, and clearing the bowel before procedures,” says real-life medical professional William Turner, a doctor and medical director of Effect Doctors.
Inspired by this idea of potentially purging my body of toxicity, I booked an appointment with someone I’ll call Madame X, who came highly recommended by a functional medicine expert. I went to her East London clinic on a crisp afternoon. Given the intimate nature of the treatment, one that surely relied on impeccable hygiene, I had been expecting pristine walls, white lab coats, rubber gloves, and the stench of medical-grade disinfectant. What I got was a dingy subterranean lair, a woman with a topknot, and the pungent aroma of coffee. Maybe I’d made a mistake?
After pointing to various diagrams of the colon, Madame X invited me onto a medical bed and told me to relax, before shoving a monstrously large, liberally lubed plastic tube up my ass, which, for someone who identifies as petite down there, was probably one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever experienced. And yes, I’ve experienced a few things.
Over the next two hours, she introduced warm water into my rectum, filling me up until I was about to burst, all while calling me Trish, rubbing my belly (a special technique designed to stimulate the colon, apparently) and all but forcing me to look at all the ancient fecal matter that was being sucked out of my body. What kind of hell was this? One that was about to get worse.
“And now it’s time for coffee,” said Madame X. After a brief back and forth, I realized that she was not in fact offering me a cuppa, but was instead going to pour said coffee into my asshole, which is when I started to panic. Is this safe? Should I leave? Is this coffee even fair trade?
According to Madame X, coffee aids further detoxification and supports the liver. The theory was introduced by a German-American quack doctor named Max Gerson, who, in the 1950s, suggested that plant-based diets combined with regular coffee enemas could cure cancer. He’s been rigorously debunked and discredited—something I found out after my coffee enema. So please, folks, do not try this at home. Or elsewhere, for that matter.
An hour later, I released my bowels in a loo in the corner of the room, then quickly called a cab and got the hell out of there. That night I felt sore, bloated, and annoyed at myself for not researching the treatment more thoroughly—or at least the double espresso element of it all. Sure, I’d been purged of more shit than I’d seen in my lifetime, and yes, my tummy was feeling spongy in an area where it was usually compact, but I definitely wasn’t experiencing any of the other promised benefits. In fact, for the following two weeks I was backed up, tired, inflamed and irritable. So what went wrong?
According to Dr. Turner, colonics can indeed be beneficial for certain people and in certain cases. “When constipation is present, relieving it can genuinely reduce abdominal discomfort and help people feel more comfortable and at ease in their body.” However, he argues, “when it comes to detoxification, immune enhancement, or metabolic improvement, the clinical evidence is mixed.” As for coffee enemas, they should be avoided altogether. “While plain bowel irrigation can sometimes help with short-term stool clearance, adding coffee is not supported by strong clinical evidence and introduces additional potential risk.” Think: inflammation, thermal injury, infections, and electrolyte imbalances.
In short, coffee colonics are against the good doctor’s orders. And given the pain and discomfort I felt during and after, I quite agree. In fact, I’m seriously considering swearing off coffee altogether.
