I don't always eat lunch, but when I do, I like to spread out at my desk and bring up the New York Times. Today, however, as I browsed through the front page while chowing down on a salami and provolone sandwich, I came to this article about--
Uh, look, if any of you are enjoying a nice peanut-butter sandwich or, God help us, bowl of chocolate pudding right about now, may I suggest you finish eating before reading further? I'll wait.
All right, I came across an article about the latest innovation in gastroenterology: fecal transplants.
Yes, that's right! Suffering from a seemingly incurable intestinal infection? Forget penicillin! Forget vancomycin! What you need is a heaping helping of, well, poop.
Not your OWN poop, mind you. That would just be gross. No, you need high-quality material from a healthy donor. And wouldn't you just love to see the donor information form? What must it ask? Frequency? Consistency? Bran intake?
How depressing must it be to be turned down? "I'm sorry, Mr. Hendricks, but your shit don't stink. In this case, that's a deal-breaker."
Speaking of which, in case you were wondering how the transplanted. . . matter gets into the gut of the sufferer, there are apparently three options: enema, coloscope, or "a tube run through the nose into the stomach or small intestine." You read that right! Option three calls for a tube--through which someone else's fecal matter will flow--to be placed UP YOUR NOSE. How sick would you have to be?!?
Still, I suppose this represents an improvement over more traditional fecal transplant therapies: "Books on traditional Chinese medicine mention giving it to people by mouth to cure diarrhea in the fourth century; one book called it yellow soup."
Yeah. I know. After "yellow soup," I was pretty much done with my sandwich.