poopreport : Stories About Poop :

oxypowder

Getting Sober

Posted 12.20.2005 by Bunga Din (1239)
I had been drunk for four solid years and an alcoholic for twenty, and I was pretty scared on the drive in to this place -- fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of success, fear of losing a companion of twenty years and having to bare my body and soul to strangers. Upon entering I was greeted by nurses wearing SARS precaution-style masks. They told me to disinfect my hands and surrender my bag of belongings. They gave me a questionnaire. I looked down at the list of questions and answered them truthfully -- no sense lying anymore, that's what got me here in the first place.

Welcome to rehab.

The first bit of business was checking me out physically -- ultrasound for my liver, drinking history, any medical incidents involving alcohol, any ulcers, any pooping blood? "You're actually in pretty good health, considering," the doctor told me. I wasn't placed in the medical ward -- that's for the addicted people they need to ween off the shit, drunks with DT's, opiate addicts, people with other health issues. No, I had a nice single room with bathroom but a horribly uncomfortable hospital bed. I was given a schedule of activities for the next three weeks and told that if I needed anything just to ask. I asked where they allowed smoking. Outside, where the picnic tables were. I went there immediately. I swear to God the ground was two or three inches deep with cigarette butts, but no one around. I watched other people arriving separately in cars, all about to go through the same ritual I had just completed.

By noon the smoking area was crammed with about seventy or eighty people, all trying to cop a legal fix. People were introducing themselves and were for the most part a pretty happy bunch -- wandering around or sitting in the sun, smoking. One gent in a hospital robe named Jack (we wear badges with our first name only and a colored dot indicating what group we're in) sat himself across from me and said in a big booming voice, "Ah, a new fish, ready to be hooked and landed! What brings you here, chap?" I knew the voice and the face. This was someone I'd seen on TV -- a journalist who'd traveled the world bringing stories to us in the cold north of Canada. I introduced myself, told him a short version of my tale of woe, and accepted his comforting handshake and glad tidings.

For the next half hour I was in stitches listening to this globetrotter's tales of worldwide debauchery, his stories peppered with local anecdotes and gems giving the true flavor of the places he was recounting. When it was time for lunch he stood up and began the walk back inside and I was horrified to see his robed backside splattered with filth. Had he shit himself just now or was this from earlier? Whatever, I had my own problems to deal with. The rest of the day was spent getting acquainted with my fellow green dotters, including a lawyer, an elderly doctor, a bankrupt Internet millionaire, a twenty-year-old arsonist, a sixties hippie still living a flashback, and a stewardess. Twelve people ranging in age from twenty to seventy, the majority in their mid-thirties or forties. Jim, the aging hippie, offered this advice: "I hope you guys are eating a lot of salad -- cause your shits are gonna be harder than the Canadian shield. This is my eighth time here, and each time it sets my ass up for a true test of my character." We all laughed, but there were also a good many concerned faces, including my own.

The first introductory session laid out the rules for conduct and what to expect. We were encouraged to interact with everyone and not just our group. The day went slowly. A dietitian explained that a good diet was essential to a healthy recovery and that each person would be given a meal plan tailored to their state of health. I looked at it and feared I couldn't eat a fraction of the food they wanted me to, but I decided to give it my best shot. So far all I'd manage to crap was the usual squirts with a few shreddies, and not much even of that.

My daily routine: first class or meeting at 8:30 AM, lunch at 12:30, and dinner at 5:00, with much time in between spent smoking and talking with my fellow patients. My TV journalist friend had taken an interest in me because we had similar backgrounds, successes, and failures, and he was a real interesting guy to boot, except for his shitting himself. He had this to say about that: "I got back up there and lo and behold, the nurse mentioned I had an accident. How mortifying. And not a makeup man anywhere near!"

By day four my bowels had ceased to function. Nothing -- no liquid, no solid, no shit, nothing. I was smoking two packs and drinking about two dozen cups of coffee a day --but nothing! And I wasn't the only one. Everybody was now detailing their every gut rumble. "Hey, did you hear Brian shat?" "Fucking lucky bastard." It was surreal, and what made it even funnier was the leader of our shit statistics was this very prim stewardess who you would never have suspected of being a binge drinker. She was hilarious, calling our aging hippie a ticking time bomb -- "We should send him to Afghanistan!"

On day five I started feeling bloated. I was eating a lot and depositing nothing. Input from the pretty nurse indicated that this was pretty normal and that our systems had been fucked over so badly they were gonna take time to adjust. She offered a laxative if I wanted, but I thought I'd give it another day. My TV buddy had been moved out of the medical ward and was now ensconced on my floor, whereupon he introduced himself like we'd never met, even though we'd spent hours and hours talking. Wow. Day six started without a bang, pop, or plop, and I was now feeling really uncomfortable. Two in my group were in the same boat and getting laxatives, but I decided to soldier on. Around noon, after coffee and cigarettes, I got the urge. And with a big grin on my face, I began climbing the stairs to my room. The stewardess saw me and asked why I was smiling. "I'm gonna take a crap!" I replied. (Please note that I am very, very far from being a Shameless Shitter.) She grabbed my hands and said, "I'm so happy for you!" I thanked her and was on my way.

As soon as I sat down, I opened the newspaper and prepared for a long battle. But surprisingly, there was next to nothing -- just three or four very dark and shiny turdlets, like fine, polished marbles. The wipe was a breeze; overall, an unsatisfying venture.

When questioned again back in the smoking area, I said that everything went fine and left it at that. Everyone else was now all systems go except for the five or six who didn't mention anything about their ablutions. That evening a major rainstorm swept through the area and the power went off. When it came back on the fire alarm started blaring, so everyone went down to the entrance and the administrators and security tried to figure out whether there was a fire or not. We were a sight to see -- disheveled men and women wearing sometimes nothing but their underwear. But when you sit in a room and pour your guts out to people of both genders, describing the shit your life has become, letting them see you nearly naked is nothing.

While waiting for the all-clear I was able to get a smoke from someone who came prepared. Four or five drags later, and my innards began churning -- not sharp pains, just lots and lots of pressure. I knew it was coming. I could feel it moving like a locomotive on a one-degree downward slope; it would be slow but nothing was going to stop this baby from leaving the station. I went to a nurse and said I had to go, but she was still waiting for the all-clear, even though no one could see nor smell any smoke. So she said no.

I stood there, dumbfounded. Was I going to crap myself because of a false alarm? I moved from one foot to the other, pretending I was chilly, but it wasn't working. I tried so hard to think positive but I could actually feel this baby sliding down that slippery slope. Finally I could wait no longer.

"I'm going to have an accident if I don't get relief," I said to the nurse. "Let me in now!" She finally let me go, and I made it to the first floor common washroom in time for the Number Two to Kohlertown to leave the station.

I started to pull down my boxers but they nicked the coal car and derailed the train. Fortunately my cargo stayed in my boxers and didn't crash onto the floor. I was able to sit and let the remaining cars reach their destination, but I still had to deal with the engine and coal car. Wadding up swaths of paper, I was able to extricate the diesel dump without any further mess and let it rejoin the other cars; surprisingly, it hadn't befouled my boxers terribly (but they certainly weren't springtime fresh, either). The train was like the turdlets earlier, only a conglomeration of many more woven together -- a marvel, really, considering the abuse my body had been through. This had been my most solid shit in years, and it was over all too quick. I washed up, scrubbed my boxers vigorously, and prepared to greet the world as a new man. Fortunately the alarm was over, and I was able to proceed with a modicum of dignity to my room without any inspection or upturned noses from my cohabitants.

The rest of my stay was rather uneventful in regarding my craps, although several other clients had their own stories of disaster (I even witnessed a few); but I did develop a rhythm I'd never known before, like the steady clickety-clack of an oncoming train. The whole rehab experience was life-changing. Most of the people I met at rehab were just good men and women who'd gone a little too far off-track, just like me. I'll end my report as I know Jack would. "The sun rose on this auspicious day, casting forth a new light, a light of hope, a light of dreams, a light of joy. There remain many questions, and only time will reveal the answers; but for now we can say progress has been made. Bunga Din, Sobersville. Over to you, Sandi."



printer friendly version
C Everett Poop (649) -- 12.20.2005

Interesting tale but what's the point of quitting drinking if you are replacing it with smoking? Why not just step in front of a bus and not dirty up the world with your smoke and butts?

El Fartismo the... (110) -- 12.20.2005

"the Number Two to Kohlertown to leave the station.
I started to pull down my boxers but they nicked the coal car and derailed the train. Fortunately my cargo stayed in my boxers and didn't crash onto the floor. I was able to sit and let the remaining cars reach their destination, but I still had to deal with the engine and coal car."

LMFAO! That was great. Great story hope everyting stays on Track!

The Big Wiper (2245) -- 12.20.2005

Aha! I knew you were really C. Everett Koop, the ex-Surgeon General all along! Maybe Bunga needs to tackle his addictions one at a time, huh?

The thing about this story that struck me was how much it reminded me of "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest." And for awhile there when that nurse wouldn't let you go take a dump, I thought we had a Nurse Ratched on our hands!

Very personal testimony from you, Bunga.

paradise pooper (not verified) -- 12.20.2005

you never did tell us what they were feeding you. I been sober 3 weeks now and my shit is fine.

Logjam (2442) -- 12.20.2005

Thanks, TBW. While reading this, there was a sense of familiarity, but I couldn't put my finger on it until you mentioned ...Cockoo's Nest. The other association it brought to mind was Gilligan's Island.

Wonderful writing, Bunga. And best of luck staying off the booze and on the pot.

SamDamnit (1192) -- 12.20.2005

Great story. Nice imagery. Tell us who the celebrity was!

SamDamnit!
Rectum Rector
of
The Church of Poop
http://groups.myspace.com/THECHURCHOFPOOP

Lame comment! -1 point
KeepOnCrappin (550) -- 12.20.2005

The comparisons to trains helped me understand it better (train on one degree slope)

doniker (1535) -- 12.20.2005

When I first read this post I decided I wouldn't comment...the author may know why if he received the answer from the e-mail he sent me.

I changed my mind.

1) I am 42 and have always been a heavy drinker during my adult years. I have gone through extended binges as well as extended sober periods and my bowel movements have never changed.

2) At age 17 I was forced into rehab by my parents and I know several people that have been to rehabs.

I have found that rehabs don't work and are basically another tool to make doctors and insurance companies money.

Any asshole can quit drugs and/or alcohol on his own; just put down that pipe and/or bottle and walk away.

Cheers.

Shawn St James (not verified) -- 12.20.2005

Hmmmm. Well, at the risk of sounding like a nazi, I agree with Doniker.

Having been around various forms of "addicts" (food, drink, drug, entertainment, sex) it sounds heartless to say "JUST DO IT AND QUIT".

But essentially, that's it.

The professional rehab circus is a nice little bandito industry that cashes in on insurance policies and babysits fuckups. Sorry.

And the thing about exchanging one habit for another hits home. Albeit, it is better to smoke than drink.

Unless and until you WANT to QUIT FUCKING abusing substances, you will not quit.

Simple as that.

Having said that, the majority of "rehabs" are proven unsuccessful long term.

A few make it solely because they want to quit and lead a productive life. They have to want that more than they want their crutch substance.

Grudgingly I admit that some rehabs help people get over the hump, and i suppose that im glad they are there for the precious few who actually want to quit.

A good friend of mine is an addict and he is fully supported by the government 24/7. They pay for EVERYTHING. He checks into the ER when he wants drugs and he gets them.

Its a nice little system for him. And it costs the taxpayers millions, and the fucker has no intention of quitting.

Much better for him to go ahead and die before killing himself slowly.

Cracktacular (228) -- 12.20.2005

Way to take the high road, Bunga. I really appreciated the description of the "turdlets." I like to refer to them as Poop Prophets; harbingers of the storm which lies ominously on the horizon.

Three Ply (112) -- 12.20.2005

Great story Bunga, and congratulations on your sobriety. No more beer shits for you - lucky dog.

daphne (3609) -- 12.20.2005

OK, so we bust on people who find rehab works for them? What fucking bullshit is this? Why should we care how someone gets sober as long as they can because drinking for them might be a problem? Some of these people might need rehab, no matter how much it is overused by hopeless causes.

Jesus. Go have another beer.

But, I have to completely agree with C Everett Poop that it's almost maddening how any type of recovery program thinks that the chain smoking, which, in years, will kill your body just as bad as alcohol, is fine. Not to mention that caffeine's physically-addictive properties make it very hard for you brain to receive normal oxygen and bloodflow without it.

I find this confusing.

.....hugging bunnies since 1969

Great comment! +1 point
The Big Wiper (2245) -- 12.20.2005

There are some people who can quit smoking and drinking on their own. My father quit smoking cold turkey after nearly thirty years.

But there are definitely people who do anything better--whether it's lose weight, learn a job skill, or quit any type of addiction--in a group. They need the reinforcement that comes from being guided, and the psychological perks that come from attaining certain mile markers on the journey to their goals.

To each his own. I thought Bunga handled the account of his rehab experience with humor and grace.

daphne (3609) -- 12.20.2005

yeah, I could have gone that literary route, too, I guess.

The Big Wiper is so classy.

.....hugging bunnies since 1969

Great comment! +1 point
The Shit Volcano (3740) -- 12.21.2005

Bunga, thanks for the personal insight. You are very brave to post this on the front page! Congratulations on getting clean!

Now, to answer a question others have asked:

On the smoking thing, some people, not all, have an addictive personality. Some drive in their brain that gives them a need to have something to depend on.

My dad was a chain smoker for 30 years until he quit in 1992. In the place of smoking he took up eating and became a binge eater. Eventually he was eating up to 8,000 calories a day and he gained 200 pounds. He stopped for a while, replacing his addiction with work, and worked almost twenty-four seven for one of those stupid network marketing companies. When he developed a heart problem related to his habits, he was forced to quit his "job" and returned to binge eating full force. When he was hospitalized for a relapse of heart trouble he had ballooned from 260 to 400 pounds. He died in October wondering why his weight wouldn't drop as he stuffed his face full of the grossest food I have ever seen.

The saddest part about it was that whenever anyone talked to him about stopping he turned into an instant asshole. "I like eating!" "I can stop this whenever I feel like it!" "You're such an asshole! Leave me alone!" "I don't need help! I need people to stop harassing me!"

If you must have something to depend on, look for something less damaging to your system. Like chewing gum or collecting pencils or something. Addiction kills, whether it be beer, food, drugs, or cigarettes.

Great comment! +1 point
Bunga Din (1239) -- 12.21.2005

Let me clear up a couple of misconceptions, firstly I smoked like a fiend before I went to rehab, I have since quit, Shawn brought up some valid points in that there is a whole industry centered around addiction and they do have a lousy track record and his comment that a few make it is because they want to is central to the story. As the story mentioned I was there with an 8 timer, we had several 2 and 3's as well. Rehab works only if you make the choice to change your life, if you are forced your chances will be lousy, if you think it doesn't work because you've seen it not work, it won't, it's called a self fullfilling prophecy. I was honest with myself, I wanted change, they gave me tips but I did the work, but still ended up shitting myself.

The Big Wiper (2245) -- 12.21.2005

See, C. Everett? Bunga's already taken care of the smokes. Congrats on all counts, Bunga!

The Shit Volcano (3740) -- 12.21.2005

Bunga,I didn't offend you with my commentary. I was not talking about your particular choices.

Splatterbuns (70) -- 12.21.2005

I thought we were discussing poop, not drug/alcohol addiction. Who cares why he was there or if rehab works. The guy shit his pants and it was funny.

The Big Wiper (2245) -- 12.22.2005

Actually, Bunga's story wouldn't have been nearly as effective had he not couched it in terms of rehab's effects on his bowels. So his rehab was very much to the point and a refreshing change from the usual 'poopypants' saga. Poop in context is very much what this site is about--not poop per se.

FuManPoo (not verified) -- 12.22.2005

Good for you Bunga. From one addict to another CONGRATS! Keep up the good work. I'm so proud of you!!

Splatterbuns (70) -- 12.22.2005

Big Wiper, of course the fact he was in rehab is important to the story. Had he taken a dump on a ferris wheel, that context would be important, too. But I wouldn't take a figurative shit on him (as some have here)because I personally think ferris wheels are a stupid waste of time.

colty cakes (5) -- 12.22.2005

wow that was a long story butt it was very interesting and i thought it was funny

KeepOnCrappin (550) -- 12.28.2005

We really have turned this into a full scale debate.

Rehab works for people who want to quit.

If they dont want to quit, or if they're so far gone (As mentioned by Shawn) that they are off in another world, then there is no sense in trying to rehab them. They are going to die. Everyone dies, just these people will die first. Good. Less money I have to spend.

Sorry about your father TSV.

SOme people need somthing really strong though. For instance, as in TSV's example, she says go from pot to gum. Thats like going from staying at a Hyatt to sleeping in a box outside. That's where rehab comes in. It can help them make the change from Heroin to gum.

La Petomaine (71) -- 12.29.2005

Good luck with staying sober. I think the Crap Train may help keep you on the Twelve Step Path!
Have a crappy day!
La Petomaine

L Wrong Hubbard (216) -- 01.06.2006

"The guy shit his pants and it was funny."
Thanks for the reality-check, Splatterbuns. This is PoopReport, not AA Report
Happy trails,
L. Wrong
Chairman & CEO, PPK Industries

The Dumpster (2506) -- 01.21.2006

Bunga, in my experience, your greatest victory is in keeping your sense of humor. I've unfortunately watched too many friends and professional colleagues over the years come to this same crossroads of life. Sadly, those who succeed too often find the daily struggle to stay sober such a serious matter that they have very little use for what that nation of drunkards, the French, call joi de vivre.

I think one of the greatest testaments to your success is that you continue to entertain us here with your own unique style of Poop Reporting. So, may I solemnly say--

~~~~~DRUM ROLL~~~~~

Bunga, your personality wasn't in the bottle--it is all up your ass!!

Bless you, my friend.

doniker (1535) -- 01.21.2006

I am 42 years old. I drink more heavily now than ever.
I still get up everyday and function. The thought of not having a day without drinking scares me...this is probably why I get up every day to go to work...to earn money to drink.

In the early days I thought I needed booze to help me open up and be social. Over the years I have gained the confidence to be open and speak my mind in public even when sober...so why do I still drink like a fish?

Habit? A form of slow suicide? A want to forget that life sucks?

Fuck.

The Dumpster (2506) -- 01.21.2006

O, the irony that is doniker! This is the kind of post that keeps me coming back to PR every day.

Doniker, I've been here two weeks. I've figured out that you really, really are nuts, but the world is a happier place because of your nuttiness.

doniker (1535) -- 01.22.2006

The Dumpster wrote:

":O, the irony that is doniker! This is the kind of post that keeps me coming back to PR every day.
Doniker, I've been here two weeks. I've figured out that you really, really are nuts, but the world is a happier place because of your nuttiness."

I am really not here to amuse you. Nuts, I wish I was....my problem is I am too smart for my own good.

Great comment! +1 point
AssBlaster2000 (1117) -- 01.22.2006

Doniker wrote:

The thought of not having a day without drinking scares me...

That is a double negative if I have ever seen one . . . does that mean having a day with drinking scares you?

Oh yeah, and Dumpster, I will join you in your compliments of Bunga. Too many people I have known who have gone completely sober are no fun at all.

The Dumpster (2506) -- 01.22.2006

Doniker, you don't get it. The fact that you AREN'T here to amuse is what makes you amusing! Don't give it up, dude!

doniker (1535) -- 01.23.2006

come on AB2K....you know what I meant.

Well actually trying to get through every day scares me, sober or drunk!!

Bunga Din (1239) -- 01.23.2006

It's better to have something to remember than nothing to regret. F.Zappa

The Dumpster (2506) -- 01.23.2006

Donkier wrote, "my problem is I am too smart for my own good."

Well, donkier, I want you to know that I'm a whole lot dumber than you think I am.

Squirt (not verified) -- 03.30.2006

Well...at least your sober...and don't have diarhhea...or constipaion...or marbles..

Rat Droppings (175) -- 04.05.2006

Bunga I'm so proud of you to quit drinkin' and smokin'. Just don't give up cussin' and fuckin' and we'll still be tight. I marvel at people who wake up one morning and decide they'll no longer be a slave to any product be it alcohol, drugs, or other unhealthy lifestyle tool. There are always people/companies who are going to market something that exploits our addictive tendencies whether it be the purveyors of the addictive substance or purveyors of "help." Bunga broke free of that enslaving (and money draining) system and that is a very big deal!! Oh and he lived to shit another day!!! Jeez, the way you describe the people in the story maybe we should distribute your PoopReport to high school counselors or make it required reading for the students. Instead of "scared straight" we could call it "scared shitless."


_______
"Rectum hell, killed em' both." Author Unknown

DungDaddy (1386) -- 07.21.2006

Bunga, you are an inspiration. And to think that this was something that you could share with your fellow poopreportes.

Post new comment



Prove you're not a spambot: what bodily function is this site about? Four letters, begins with p...

The content of this field is kept private and will not be shown publicly.

*

  • Allowed HTML tags: <a> <em> <strong> <cite> <code> <ul> <ol> <li> <dl> <dt> <dd> <br>
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
More information about formatting options
20,000 character limit / Flood control: 60 seconds between comments and no more than 10 comments per hour
RETURN TO INDEX:
Stories About Poop

poop culture
 


About PoopReport | Advertise! | The PoopReport Press Room | Report Your Poop | Contact Dave | Copyright 2000-2008 PoopReport.com