Thursday, September 24, 2009
Going Potty
There are things one’s body instinctively rejects, that run so contrary to the appropriate order of the universe that the very thought of them can cause visceral contrary reaction - a mental, if not physical, gag reflex. Sewage-drinking, necrophilia, the eyeball scene from Chien Andalou.... and, of course, drowning.
As an advanced culture, we’ve not progressed past Torquemada when it comes to sowing horror and anguish in those we wish to hurt - we strap our enemies to boards and pour water up their noses, instilling in them an overwhelming fear of our righteous wrath. Noses and water just don’t mix. So the netipot thing just beggars my internal sense of propriety on the most fundamental level. What’s weirder yet is how much I love it. Just because there’s a disconnect doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.
This was one of the many bizarritudes to which I became exposed during my years in L.A. after college. I think Kel first introduced the notion of sinus irrigation to me from her work managing a metaphysical bookstore in West Hollywood, along with body-flossing and zen druidism - but at the time it was nothing more to me than an ayurvedic novelty, a fun fact for parties. “Did you know that Indians pour water in one nostril and out the other - on purpose?” It was to giggle. Back then it was, anyway.
I’m not sure of the trigger but something set Kel off a few years ago. She’d had allergies for years, the occasional bout of the sneezies, the sort of low-grade nasal irritation that each of us occasionally endures. But this time she hit up the ubernet and got herself a netipot to deal with it.
It arrived in a too-large box, as is typical, but when we unwrapped it, it was hardly big enough to hold a cup of water. Its body was a hollow egg, open at the top; an elongated spout extended from one end like the trunk of a tiny trumpeting elephant. It seemed entirely normal, so far as objects go, though subtly different from any teapot, cup, pitcher, or other such implement I’d ever seen.
Kelly started using the pot and immediately lauded its praises to me. “It feels great! Cleared me out! I can breathe! It’s a whole new world!” Such enthusiasm typically raises caution flags for me, but Kel is not given to overenthusiasm as a general rule - so I took my caution with a grain of salt.
“Grain of salt”: or maybe try a teaspoon. Kosher salt, not tablegrain, dissolved in a teacup of warm water and then used to fill the pre-warmed netipot. Press the tip of the spout against one nosehole, lean forward, incline your head to one side and pour in the brine. Warm water replicating your body’s own salinity fills the sinus behind your eyes and then sneaks out the other side, down an exit-hole, which is, of course, your other nostril. Pour in half the pot, then cover the in-hole and blow the remaining salt water out the other side. Repeat, reversing nostrils. It’s that simple.
I thought for a moment when I first netipotted that I would choke myself but, because I was leaning forward, no water went awry. It felt good - warm and clean, swirling up where I’d never had such sensations before. Blowing it out upon completion of the process, it felt like I’d rinsed years’ worth of grime out of the inside of my head, the equivalent of dusting out and washing the windows in a heavily-used workshop. I could breathe more easily, see more clearly; my brain felt more comfortable and seemed to be working more smoothly. Half a cup of saltwater up each nostril and the world felt like a different place - one I liked better than I had before. It was an absolute shock, and I loved it.
Since that time we’ve shared the secret of the neti pot with a select few folk. Some have embraced it enthusiastically, some were okay with it but not much more than that, and some didn’t want to have anything to do with it at all. I guess I understand their essential discomfort with the whole crazy thing. It’s not just counterintuitive - it’s freaking weird. But “freaking weird” isn’t synonymous with “bad idea.” I’d like to think I’m a case in point on that one. I, with my squeaky-clean sinuses and a teapot stuck out of my nostril. Sure, I wouldn’t have come up with the idea on my own, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea. Anybody doesn’t think so - it’s your loss, snotface. But anytime you want to see what life is like with a head full of freshness, I’d be happy to set you up. It’s only really weird the first time. Which is more than I can say for myself.
