The Pain In My Butt
It all started one November morning in 2005. I was upstairs in my bedroom getting ready for work when the urge to poop suddenly hit. And this wasn't any urge to take lightly. I knew that I was about to produce a monster.
I went in and proceeded to give birth to this thing. As it came out of me I could feel my anus stretching to its limits; but nothing that a grown man couldn't take. Wiping, I noticed a little blood on the toilet paper. I got up to see what I had birthed: a log a good fifteen inches long and two inches thick.
There was no way that my dying toilet was going to be able to handle this. I broke out the turd chopper, chopped it in half, and then flushed. The giant beast swirled away to the murky depths below.
The next day, I was at work and I needed to poo. I proceeded into the men's room to do my thang. But this one would just poke its head out and go back in. So, not wanting to be in the bathroom until the second coming, I gave a girthy push. The log came out -- but I felt something go "pop" in my rectum. Wiping, there was a fair amount of blood, and now a dull ache.
As the next couple of weeks passed, things initially got worse, but began to get better. And then, on December 3, 2005, I was at Borders reading and catching up on some assignments when I began to feel gurgling and rumbles in my gut. I knew what was awaiting me when the cramps set in, so I proceeded to the men's room. A terrible flood of butt mud and liquishit came blasting out of me. After thirty minutes of violent shitting, the ass-ault on my ass was finally over, but the pain and bleeding had returned.
Getting very concerned, I conceded and saw a doctor. The doctor told me that I had a case of hemorrhoids right at the rectum, just barely outside. They would inside when the urge to poop hit -- but they would come back out while pooping. I was given a prescription for Analpram ointment, a topical anesthetic. The cream did little to ease my suffering -- now every time I would poop, stripes of blood would decorate my logs. And every time I had to poop, I would pray that it wasn't going to be a super-sized turd, as it usually was. I had to go back to the doctor for a prescription of Lidocaine to ease the burning. Now when the doctor would stick his finger up my starfish, the pain was enough to launch me over the moon.
On January 4, 2006, my hemorrhoids reached their climax. After excessive hell-raising and a few too many to drink, my ass was giving me something to remember. This time, when urge to poop hit, it felt like baby Jaws was nibbling at my starfish. I headed off to the toilet armed with a pan of warm water, my Lidocaine jelly, some Epsom salts, and other necessities. But now my hemorrhoids were at the top of the Fartjita scale: Category Five.
As the turd began to come out of my anus, I began to feel the winds of pain starting to blow. I knew the pain was going to be intense, yet I had to poo too bad to hold it.
The giant turd got halfway out, and stopped cold.
"Son of a bitch!" I yelled as a stabbing pain struck my rectum. This was my payback for my dirty deeds on New Year's night. Karma can be cruel; but I had to take my medicine like a man, and suffer the consequences of my hell-raising. Finally, the turd broke off.
But more was to come. The pain was so intense that it made me queasy. Sometimes it would shoot down my legs like a lightning bolt. As the rest of this monster log made its journey out of my bruised and battered tooter, the pain just got too intense -- I had to stop and take a sitz bath.
After ten minutes passed, my anus had calmed down enough so I felt that I could finish business. As soon as I resumed, though, the pain returned -- my little reprieve was just the eye of the storm. Now the worst of the storm was about to rumble through.
"Oww!" I shrieked. "Just get it over with and come out!"
Ten more minutes passed. Now a storm surge of blood was making its presence known: the monster log had burst my hemorrhoids. "Suffering son of a bitch!" I exclaimed as I grew increasingly irritated with my shituation.
"I have no choice," I thought to myself. "I am going to have to dig this thing out." So I slathered my storm-damaged rectum in Lidocaine jelly, waited another five minutes, and then put on a glove and dug what I could out, one piece at a time.
"This is nasty," I thought to myself as I was disimpacting.
Though I got some of it out, my anus was throbbing and burning as if I was shitting out broken bottles. After forty-five minutes, I gave up. I had gotten about half of the turd out.
I looked into the bowl. My creation was fully covered in fire engine-red blood. The toilet looked like someone had gutted out a pig. I flushed and called in sick for the day.
Three hours later, I administered an enema, and the remnants of the turd to come out, with marginal pain. The storm was down graded to Category Three.
A week later, my case of hemorrhoids mysteriously disappeared.
But I know that if I am not careful, the hemorrhoids could reappear. With my history of hemorrhoids, my anus is like a farmhouse in the middle of Tornado Alley, just waiting in dread of the next storm.