Poop Matters

Poop Matters

I come by it honestly.  It being constipation.  My dad suffers with it and his father before him.  And if you’ve ever had it in its chronic form, you’ll know it is a suffering.  It runs in my family.  (Pun intended.)  My twin and I have both been diagnosed with IBS, but she with the diarrhea kind and me with the constipation kind.  Sadly, it looks as though it is genetic, as my daughter is showing signs of the constipation kind.  (She’ll kill me for writing this.)

I have a doctor friend who says every conversation ends with poop.  I tend to agree.  A lot of my thoughts center on bathroom functions.  (Ask me about my bladder surgery–that’s another story.)

You don’t truly know what constipation is like unless you have sat on the toilet, sometimes for an hour, hoping for a product, and if you achieve one, you evaluate it, sometimes with earnest pride. There is nothing like the relief of a substantial stool.  Not little rabbit turds, but a big long cucumber in shape and mass.  I want to tell others; take a picture.

Those who seldom suffer ask about what I have tried.  They says things like, “Oh, I eat a handful of green grapes and I am good to go.  You should try it.”  I hate to belabor the point about all the remedies I have tried, trust me, dear friend, I have tried:  fruits, cherries by the pound, prune juice with pulp, milk of magnesia–cherry flavored and cold from the frig–psyllium husks gelled in water or juice, senna tablets, cod liver oil, over-the-counter laxatives, and prescriptions, including my current choice–Polyethylene Glycol, the gentle laxative–until it doesn’t work.

One good point about this ailment is that it was good preparation for childbirth.  Yes, I know that anatomy is different, but the pain can be comparable.  I have actually passed out, sweaty on the toilet, head slumped over in the middle of the night, trying to be “productive.”  At least in childbirth, others surround you with care and drugs.  You aren’t left alone using your Lamaze breathing to stave off a faint.

Curiously, I find myself envious of others’ colonoscopies.  The two I have had have been the only time I was truly cleaned out.  Oddly, I loved them.  I don’t know why they make you wait every ten years to have one.  I’d love for it to be apart of my yearly physical, like a spring cleaning.

So, it you can poop, be thankful.  Like the asthma association’s motto says, “When you can’t breathe, nothing else matters.”  The same can be said for pooping.

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