I live in a hot tropical climate, where I work outside. Working outdoors in landscaping requires a lot of fluid replacement. They say water is what you are supposed to drink in hot weather, but NOT ME! When I'm hot and thirsty, any kind of water is an instant laxative with disastrous results; and no doctor can figure out why. I can drink soda, juice, iced tea, even flavored water without any problem. But a couple of guzzles of plain ol' water and I'm clamping my butt cheeks so hard that you wouldn't be able to pull out a needle with a tractor; and my body shakes violently to hold back the sudden onrush until (hopefully) the wave passes. It's quite embarrassing if I am wearing shorts when the dam breaks.

It always seems that diarrhea will hit while I'm working in a client's yard where no public bathrooms are within close range. I'm a Shameful pooper, so I prefer to go only on my own pot. I absolutely refuse to go knock on someone's door to ask if I can use their bathroom. I'll shit my pants and drive home before I embark on that embarrassing episode.

One particular day recently, it was hot and I had run out of diet soda for fluid replenishment. All that was left was bottled water or water from a nearby hose. I opted for the bottled water, hoping that, just this once, I'd be able to drink it and quench my thirst without the massive and violent urge to defecate. But sure enough, in a matter of minutes my stomach was doing Olympics gymnastics that were quickly transitioning their way to my back door. Then the poop waves hit.

As always, I could discern the degree of urgency by how fast the waves arrived --whenever I have to take a diarrhea dump, the waves comes in a series, almost like labor pains. Here is an explanation of each:

Wave #1 | The Urge to Defecate
With relatively little sphincter control, it can be held without movement noticeable to others, and often passes within ten to thirty seconds. I can usually continue with any activities without needing to stop. But it is wise to locate a commode at this point.

Wave #2 | Urge to Defecate: Stronger
This usually follows Wave #1, anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes later. The closer together the waves are, the more dire the consequences. Wave #2 is rather uncomfortable, and takes a bit more finesse to hold without movements noticeable to others. This wave requires me to stop physical activities, or at least slow down, until the urge passes. It takes a bit longer to subside -- about thirty seconds or so. My stomach will be slightly cramped, and the urge is released by an internal gurgling sound. Time to seriously consider finding a commode.

Wave #3 | Trouble: Serious
Finding a place for release is my utmost priority. Wave #3 stops me dead in my tracks. I only move when getting to the nearest commode. If I am standing, this wave causes me to grab a sturdy object to hold on to while I clamp my butt cheeks as tight as I can. If sitting, I grab on to the chair or desk, or sit to one side hoping to clamp the butt cheeks tighter. Sudden moves, laughs, or expressions are not good during Wave #3. All energy is focused on holding that back door shut. My discomfort is quite noticeable to others, and is often accompanied by facial expressions, some shaking, and beads of sweat. Wave #3 lasts longer -- forty-five seconds to two minutes. If I am successful with sphincter control, this wave will pass with a louder internal rumbling sound as the pressure is temporarily released. When this passes, I best be close to a commode, or well on my way to one. Sometimes the Poopy Dance can be employed for effective muscle control to help hold the urge back.

Wave #4 | Situation: Dire
When this wave hits, I am completely immobilized. Violent shaking and spasms occur in the legs and body as I hold on to a sturdy object, using all energy for extreme muscle control at the back door. A cold sweat ensues, and my face is wracked with pain. The slightest relaxation or easing of muscles results in loss of control. Speaking is done only in out-of-breath, short-worded, expletive-filled phrases. If the commode is just a few feet away, I can usually reach it safely without incident, but pants must be removed very quickly once I let go of the sturdy object.

This wave can pass if I focus all concentration on muscle control and holding it in. If I had less control and practice, it would be pretty much over. This wave can last an agonizing several minutes. At this point I am making deals with God to let this pass without injury to pants or underwear, and to help me find the nearest commode, wooded area, or secluded spot so I can release.

Wave #4, if I am lucky, subsides very reluctantly. But when it does, it's often accompanied by a very audible and painful internal rumble as the pipes back up. Sphincter/muscle integrity is greatly compromised at this point.

Wave #5 | Me: Screwed
When this wave hits, I best be in a stall, next to a commode, or in some position with my pants down, ready for the release. If not, I won't care much about ripping my zipper or popping a button to loosen my pants. Sphincter muscles are already well worn out from previous four waves. I am literally holding back a septic tank full of poop water. When this wave hits, it is often accompanied by short, violent bursts into my pants as muscle/sphincter integrity rapidly breaks down, and the leaks begin like cracks in a dam fixin' to burst.

Wave #5 doesn't let up. There is no Wave #6.

I am in extreme pain and the slightest relaxation spells disaster. If release isn't found immediately, complete sphincter failure ensues, and I am left with a mess of disastrous proportions. There may be momentary reduction in urgency down to Wave #4 intensity, or even a high Wave #3, for a short period, allowing for very last minute preparations; but this wave never subsides. I've usually lost all bowel control at this point.

Sometimes my body can skip waves, and I go from Wave #1 to Wave #4, or even Wave #5, without the intervening steps. Other times, the waves will occur in nonstop procession.

One day I was powerless on a commercial account, standing along the main highway, a lawn mower my only support. I stood helplessly, in pain, totally immobilized when the series of waves hit me, one right after another, leaving me no opportunities. The expletives that came from my mouth would have embarrassed a truck driver. Wave #5 hit. It was running down my legs. I was wearing shorts. This wasn't the day to skip wearing my poop catchers (my underwear). I'm sure all passersby saw the result.

Since then, I have set up an emergency defecation pot in my work trailer for such incidents. It works in dire circumstances.

-- Porcelain Cracker