Hemorrhoids: from the Greek Haima, meaning blood, and Rhoos, meaning "flowing Hell on Earth."Lately I'm beginning to think that I should not joke about, laugh about, or make fun of anything or anyone -- because it will come back to bite me.
Oh, I could share many examples of how this is happening with alarming frequency in my everyday life. But it is happening in my poop life, too. For instance: a few years ago I read my first poop report on this site, and then I immediately crapped in my elevator [1]. I made fun of my ex-husband's addiction to Metamucil [2] and now I may have to imbibe a Meta cocktail every day for the life of my ass. Why? Because three weeks ago a Category Four hemorrhoid made landfall between my cheeks.
Yes, like so many people, I am a lifelong hemorrhoid snickerer. Say "anal fissure" and I'll really giggle. But I really got my instant karma this time.
I eat healthy. Lots of fruits, veggies, and whole grains. I drink gallons of water. I exercise. I am a certified personal trainer and fitness instructor [3]! Usually I poop easily and regularly. But three weeks ago, I experienced one unusual poop: one that required a squat thrust and a clean and jerk. But I thought nothing of it. I jogged out of the bathroom and went on an extended sprint/calisthenics session with a client in a New York City park. But the next morning, I woke up with what appeared to be part of my guts hanging out of my asshole -- a reddish/purplish blob of tissue with the smooth, taut surface of skin stretched to its limit. And it hurt. Go here [4] to see a photo of something somewhat similar. (Editor's warning: eww!)
As a trainer, I have heard the old post-workout whine, "I used muscles I never knew I had! And I feel every one of them today!" I confess I have rolled my eyes at that. Which has come back to haunt me. See, I immediately learned that one's asshole participates in everything one does. Roll over in bed. Reach down to pick up something you dropped. Reach for something above your head. Sit down. Stand up. Yes, everything. Every move I made caused the thing hanging out to throb with pain.
For one day, I tried to deal with it. I taught my regular aerobics class and almost fainted from the agony. I tried to ride my motor scooter to a client appointment, but I immediately realized that straddling the seat in traffic was certain suicide and putt-putted back to the garage. So I took the bus. I held up a long line of passengers queued up to board while I attempted to lift my leg onto the first step in near tears (both the passengers and me). Sitting on the hard plastic bus seat was even worse.
Sheepishly, I bought some Preparation H, recalling my history of deriding TV commercials for the stuff and momentarily reflecting again on the general payback theme of my life. I smeared a glob on my globule and stood hunched over my computer desk, Googling for information that might lead to relief. There I learned that hemorrhoids are akin to hurricanes, in that they have categories of severity:
What? "Thrombosis?" "Strangulation?" It was time to get off WebMD and go to RealMD.
Crapola: "Doc, I have a hemorrhoid. It's as big as a jellybean!"
RealMD: "Let's take a look. Pull down your pants and lie on your side on the table."
Crapola: (thinking) I'm so glad I don't have to bend over the table with my ass in the air. But how the hell am I going to climb up on the table? Ooooowww!
RealMD: "Woooowww! That's bigger than any jellybean I ever saw! And it's thrombosed. That means it's an actual vein that's sticking out. Most likely it will shrink back and go away by itself, gradually, over a few weeks."
Crapola: "Vein??? Few weeks??? Why me? And where the heck did this thing come from?"
RealMD: "It is weird, with you being a fitness instructor and all. Do you drink enough water? Do you sit on the toilet and read?"
Crapola: (Crawling off the table, with a storm surge of tears from her eyes.) "Yes... water. No... reading. Hem... started... after... run... hard... workout... client..."
RealMD: "OK. Sitting there and reading and pushing can cause this. Good thing you don't. I'm stumped. Except... well, I have seen a few, um, older athletic people just get this suddenly, just like you, after a long hard run or heavy weightlifting. Likely, it's part of aging."
Crapola: "Job... gave... hem... oh, no! Back... to... desk... job... soon... oh, no!"
RealMD: "Here's a prescription for a cream called Proctosol HC 2.5%. It's a cortisone. Also, buy yourself an over-the-counter stool softener called Colace. That'll make it less painful when you go to the bathroom. If it's not better in a few days, I'll give you a referral for a gastroenterologist who can do surgery to cut it off."
Crapola: (Swallows a snort about the name Proctosol. Suppresses a scream the word "surgery.")
Before hitting the drugstore, I stopped at home. Suddenly I had to poop. I was terrified of what would happen when the poop encountered the Category Four waiting at the "eye" of the storm.
And I was right to be terrified. I have never experienced pain like that, and I hope I never will again. Wiping was excruciating. When I stood up from the bowl, the pain made me crumple to the bathroom floor, sobbing, with a tidal pool of blood from my ass. I wondered if my Brownie would ever again be able to do a "heckuva job."
Then I passed out.
And in my stupor, I dreamed of the most horrible nun at my Catholic school grammar school, Sister Adjuta. I kid you not -- that was her name. And her reign of terror gave me Adjuta daily. Stuff that would have made a great poop report, had PoopReport existed back then. I decided to name my hemorrhoid "Adjuta," keeping with the naming convention of "A" for my first storm.
And that made me laugh. And laughing made me cry out in pain. And the pain gave me the strength to crawl up off the tile and waddle the two blocks to the drugstore.
Normally, I really like the wise guy pharmacist at this store. Ordinarily, we kid around a lot. This time...
Wise Guy Pharmacist: (looking at prescription) "This stuff won't do SHIT if you got a bad one!"
Crapola: (whispers) "It's a Category Four."
WGP: "Fuggedaboutit. Hell, I'll fill this, but you need painkillers, Doll. Take a handful of Aleves or Advils right away."
Crapola: "I'm allergic to those, and aspirin too! C'mon! You know that!"
WGP: "Oh, shit, that's right. And Tylenol don't do shit for you either, right?"
Crapola: (thinking) Stop saying SHIT! Please! (speaking) "Yeah, right! So what am I gonna do? I can't take the pain!"
WGP: "Well, fuggedabout this Colace shit. You need major doses of Metamucil. And a donut to sit on. You know, that inflatable rubber thing women sit on after they have a baby."
Crapola: "Do you have a donut to sell me?"
WGP: "No, but I'll call another store and I betcha that guy will have one. And do me a favor. If this prescription don't work -- and it won't -- call me and I'll call the doctor. There is a way stronger painkilling cream he coulda given you to put on it. And, what with a Four, you need a painkiller like Darvocet M. It's what they call a ‘controlled substance,' but it's kid stuff -- mildest one they make. And do me a favor. Go to a real proctologist, not this in-network primary care physician asshole."
Crapola: (thinking) Oh please, don't say ASSHOLE!
The donut vendor pharmacist was as wiseguy as my pharmacist pal. He made a great show of teasing me while "ringing it up." And he winkingly recommended that I needed to roast my rump in hot water laced with Epsom salts a few times daily, especially after every poop.
So I tried. I roasted. I anointed. I sat on the donut and searched for relief on holistic hemorrhoid websites, once I could sit -- briefly. I applied apple cider vinegar after reading a testimonial that a thrombosed hem disappeared in twenty-four hours. It was like applying napalm. I strategically positioned crushed ice between my cheeks. I swabbed my ass with witch hazel. Then I laid face down, unable to move from the pain, and cried for my Mommy all night.
In the morning, I called Wise Guy Pharmacist, who called RealMD, who said that he would NOT prescribe a narcotic because he was not in the business of spawning addicts. WGP got RealMD to at least prescribe Lidocaine Ointment 5%. The Lidocaine enabled me to slowly walk one block to my neighborhood health food store, where I purchased another product of my web research: Boiron Avenoc ointment and tablets. From then until now, the combination of horse chestnut, strychnine, and snake venom in this Preparation H for Holistic seems to have worked where others have failed.
Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Either way, over the weeks, it has slowly receded. And now it's just a little bump. It doesn't hurt anymore, thank God. I'm so glad I don't have to walk around with slimy cream on my ass. I'm happy to eat Metamucil for the rest of my life, as Wise Guy Pharmacist warned me to do. Until the next hurricane season, anyway.