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 Fissure, Fiber, And The Poop ShufflePosted 04.12.2007 by Liz (41)
Being a married college student, my life is hectic and busy. I admit that I don't eat right, and that this had a huge effect on my pooping habits. Sometimes I will go for a week at a time without pooping. Other times, I will have diarrhea for a month. Sometimes, the turds will be so big that they will curl around or stick out of the toilet. We're talking foot-longs and bigger here.
Well, all this irregularity took its toll, and I ended up with an anal fissure. (An anal fissure is a cut on the anus -- and it is VERY painful!) My doctor recommended that I take fiber and a laxative or stool softener, as this would keep me regular, make the passing easier, and allow the fissure to heal. (For anyone who is interested, he also told me to use baby wipes to keep it clean, because, as he put it, "If you cut your leg and rubbed shit in it every day, it would never heal. This is the same concept.") So I began taking Metamucil and mineral oil every night before bed. This proved to be very effective, because I started passing soft, mushy, shrimp-looking poops every day. It was wonderful not to sit on the toilet and cry, strain, grip the sink, grab the towel racks, moan, and yell because of the pain. This new and improved poop slid right out, pain-free! No blood, no nothing. It was wonderful. However, there was a very unwanted side effect. Sometimes, the fiber and laxative worked TOO well. What I mean is that sometimes I had no control over when and where I pooped. When I had to go, I had to go NOW. One day I was sitting in class and I felt like I kind of had to go. I took a risk and let a little fart slide and OH MY GOD did it smell. It was the day after Easter and I had eaten about five hard-boiled eggs and some deviled eggs the day before. Well, PHEW! It was wretched! My best friend was sitting next to me and she was gagging, it was so foul. Even I was gagging. I decided then that I wouldn't fart anymore, and that after class I would bust ass home. Class ended and it was time for The Poop Shuffle. My husband and I coined this term. It refers to the tight, clenched walk of someone who has to take a dump. And on this day, I did The Poop Shuffle all the way to my car. It was miserable. All the while, I was leaving the smell of rotten eggs and shit behind me. I hope God takes pity on the people who were following me, because they really need it. I finally made it to my car, slammed it into gear, and peeled out. I was a woman possessed. I had to GO! And then, right at that moment, the worst possible thing started happening: I began to sneeze. Now, I am not a typical sneezer. When I sneeze, I sneeze ten, eleven times in a row. So the sneezing started, and I was honestly worried. Every time I sneezed, I felt the demon inside slide a little lower. And then a little lower still. I began to picture this mountain of poop slipping out of my butthole and into my thong underwear. And this was not a pretty picture -- surely the little string up my butt crack would do little to stop the beast, and I would end up with brown pants. I was literally terrified of making the walk of shame from my car to my apartment if I crapped myself. As hard as I tried, still the sneezes came. One after the other they washed over me, and each time my butt muscles unclenched, and each time a turtle head slipped out, only to be forced to retreat as soon as I regained control. I prayed aloud that God would spare the humiliation that surely awaited me. Thankfully, I live only two or three miles from school; but every bump, every turn felt like a slow, painful death. I could barely hold it any longer. Finally, just as I was pulling into the driveway, my poop stopped asking politely to be let out and said, "Ready or not, here I come!" I just knew I had to hold out, but my hope that I would make it was fading. What would I do? How would I explain to my husband the mess on my white leather car seats? (Granted, my car is a fifteen-year-old piece of shit, no pun intended. But still, who wants poop on their car seat?) How would I explain my soiled pants? I gathered all the resolve I had. I slammed my butt cheeks closed and said, "Sorry shit, you're just gonna have to wait!" I tell you right now, my turd had some words to say in response to that. I parked the car and slowly eased out. I didn't want to shake the poop loose. I Poop Shuffled all the way up the sidewalk, all the way to my real Mt. Everest: the stairs. How was I to walk up a flight of stairs like this? I got creative, that's how. I clenched my cheeks together, locked my knees, and stiff-leggedly walked up the stairs. By this time my shit was knocking on the back door louder then ever, demanding to be let out. "Nope," I said, "not time yet!" I made a vow that next time I would just let loose at the school bathroom, because this was ridiculous. I unlocked my door, threw my purse on the floor and ran to the bathroom, unbuttoning my pants as I went. I raised the toilet lid, and as I started to sit down, the floodgates opened. I pooped mid-air, as I was sitting. Thankfully it all made it into the toilet, and fiber-fueled disaster was avoided, for one day at least. Though it smelled to high-heaven, I was faintly proud of a job well done. Post new comment
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