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Hello and welcome to the CRS podcast. In this weird episode, a guy shares one of his most embarrassing life experiences where he accidentally gave his best friend a colonoscopy.

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Alright, so this is easily one of the most ridiculous and humiliating experiences of my life. It's been a couple of years and my best friend Jake still brings it up every chance he gets.

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But honestly, I kind of deserve it. I wasn't trying to play hero or some back alley proctologist, but life is a way of throwing curveballs at you and I absolutely fumbled this one.

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It all started on a Sunday, our sacred football and junk food day. Jake and I have this tradition where we park ourselves on the couch, drink way too much beer, and inhale unhealthy amounts of nachos, wings, and whatever else we can throw in the air fryer.

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This particular Sunday, though, Jake wasn't his usual self. He kept fidgeting, shifting around on the couch like he couldn't get comfortable.

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Eventually, I asked him what was going on. At first, Jake just brushed it off, saying, oh, I don't know man. I've had some stomach issues this week, but the more I pressed him, the more he opened up.

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Apparently, he ain't gone, you know, to the bathroom in days. Days! He said he felt bloated, crampy, and like something was stuck. The guy looked miserable.

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I told him he needed to go to the doctor, but Jake being Jake, he laughed it off like it wasn't a big deal. I just need to clear it out somehow, he said, wincing as he tried to lean back on the couch.

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Now, I want to point out that I tried to be a responsible adult here. I told him he should call his doctor, or better yet, just go to the ER.

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But no, Jake insisted it wasn't that serious. That's when I said the fateful words that still haunt me. Have you ever tried an enema?

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Jake's face twisted and disgust. An enema? Hell no, I'm not sticking anything up my ass. Well, I replied, it's either that, or you're just going to sit here and suffer.

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Your call. At first, he said no, but as the game went on, his discomfort got worse. By the fourth quarter, he was practically doubled over on the couch, groaning every time he moved.

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Finally, he threw his hands up and said, alright fine, where's the damn enema? This is where a thing started to spiral.

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A while back, I'd had some digestive issues of my own, don't ask, and my doctor had recommended I keep a saline enema kit handy.

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He used it once, hated every second of it, and promptly shoved it into the back of my bathroom cabinet, never intending to see it again.

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I grabbed the kit and handed it to Jake, expecting him to take care of it himself. But Jake just stared at it like I'd handed him a live granade.

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I don't even know how to use this thing, he said. Dude, there are instructions on the box. Just read them.

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Jake fumbled with the box for a minute, squinting at the tiny print, before he sighed dramatically and said, I can't twist around like that.

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You're gonna have to help me. Laughed, thinking he was kidding. He wasn't. Now listen, there are lines you don't cross, even with your best friend.

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This? This was one of them. But Jake looked so desperate, and I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to say no.

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So, I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed some gloves, and said, alright man, lie down on your side.

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If there's a list of things you never want to do for another human being, this has to be near the top.

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Jake was swearing under his breath the entire time. I was doing everything I could to avoid eye contact.

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Honestly, I didn't even know where to look. I just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

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Finally, I squeezed the saline solution in, pulled back, and said, alright, you're good. Go handle your business.

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Jake bolted for the bathroom like a man possessed. I figured that was the end of it. Problem solved, right? Wrong.

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15 minutes later, Jake came out of the bathroom, looking pale, and panicked. Dude, he said something's wrong. It didn't work. I feel worse.

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Now I am panicking, because what if I screwed something up? What if I just made the situation worse?

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I told Jake we needed to go to the ER, and this time he didn't argue. He was too miserable to fight me on it.

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So, we jump in my car, and I'm speeding to the hospital, half expecting Jake to explode in the passenger seat.

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He's clutching his stomach, muttering things like, I'm gonna die, aren't I? And if this kills me, I'm haunting your ass.

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When Weaffnerly gets to the ER, Jake explains his symptoms to the intake nurse, mercifully leaving out the part where I was involved,

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and they rush him in for some scans. A doctor comes in a little while later, and confirms that Jake has a severe case of impacted stool.

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Basically, a massive blockage that the enema couldn't touch. The solution? A colonoscopy. Right then and there, Jake looks at me with this mix of betrayal and horror.

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Like it's my fault he's about to have a camera shoved where the sun don't shine. They will him off, and I'm left sitting in the waiting room, texting our group chat.

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Guys, you're not gonna believe what's happening right now. A couple of hours later, Jake emerges from the procedure, groggy, but noticeably more comfortable.

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He sits down next to me, and without missing a beat, says, congratulations, you've officially ruined my life.

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Tried to apologize, but he just shook his head and said, you're never touching my, but again, ever. To this day, Jake refers to me as doctor, but he brings it up every chance he gets at parties during group hangouts, even in front of my girlfriend.

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Hey, remember that time you gave me an enema and sent me to the ER? Good times. Moral of the story? Don't play DIY doctor, even if your best friend begs you to.

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Some things are better left to the professionals, and if your friend ever says, I think I have a blockage, just tell them to go straight to the hospital. Trust me, you don't want this kind of story following you around for the rest of your life.