Last year, following the discovery of a large mass of fibroid tumors, I found myself scheduled for hysterectomy surgery. I had no real symptoms of note, but the mass was pressing on my kidney and causing it to be enlarged, so therefore the surgery was my only option. I started reading up on the procedure on the Internet, and quickly discovered that the effects of the surgery included the bowels "shutting down" due to the shock of cutting into the abdomen. (The vaginal surgery was not an option due to the size of the tumor mass.)
I normally crap at least once a day, and very often more than that. I'm a miserable soul if I go for more than a day without. The pre-surgical instructions called for an enema, of which I was a bit suspect; but, wanting to be a good little patient, I endured the embarrassment of buying one in the drug store. (I figured if I got any strange looks, I would just smile and say, "I'm having surgery tomorrow.")
I gave myself the enema the night before the surgery. I crapped out a bunch of water about fifteen minutes later and thought to myself, "Well, that wasn't so bad." I went to bed expecting that to be all -- but in the middle of the night, I awoke to a roiling, churning bowel symphony. I ran down the stairs and proceeded to crap out what appeared to be my entire digestive system. The cramping and the pain were horrifying, and along with the mess, I flushed down my dignity.
The Thursday surgery went well, and I was in the hospital for three-and-a-half days. Abdominal surgery requires the nurses to check for normal bowel sounds several times a day. They kept on saying that they could hear them, but nothing was "moving" as of Saturday. That night I could feel some gas making its presence known, and I had to get out of the bed and walk around because of the pain, but all I succeeded in passing was a long, odorless fart. I was released on Sunday after taking stool softeners -- but still no poop.
I have certain things that I do that trigger a crap, and I tried every single one of them, to no avail. Finally I begged my mother to pick me up some glycerin suppositories and prune juice. At this point I was feeling miserable; I was actually grateful that I'd taken the enema and that whatever was trying to get out was only the hospital food I'd eaten, and nothing from before that!
Monday rolled around and some friends from work called. They wanted to come over and bring me a present. But before they got there, I started to get that feeling: at last, I was going to have a crap.
I sat down on the toilet and began to push. I could feel it moving and I was damn well determined not to leave that bathroom until I had satisfaction. I pushed... and I pushed... and I pushed (mind you, this with a fresh, eight-inch incision in my abdomen)... and I pushed some more. I rocked back and forth, opened and shut my knees, and sweated so profusely that I had to remove my shirt.
After about twenty minutes of grunting, it FINALLY plopped. To my utter surprise, it was NOT hard, and it was NOT huge. It was a normal sized turd of a good consistency -- it was just that my system had been so traumatized that it was like my bowels were numb and couldn't push it out normally. Anyways, RIGHT when I was finally dumping it, my friends knocked at the door!
I leaned on my knees, gasping for breath, trying to pull myself together. I put my shirt back on and wiped my face and neck. I waddled out to talk to my friends and they just stared at me with shock and horror. I must have looked like I had just come out of the operating room. They brought me a whole box of homemade food and casseroles, with more than $100 cash thrown in, but I could barely speak my thanks. They left pretty quickly and I had to take a nap after that shit from hell. That was the worst part of the whole surgery: not being able to shit for five days.
-- Eileen