And So It Was That I Pooped Today

And So It Was That I Pooped Today

I’ve spent the last three days wondering if emergency surgery would be required to clear a bowel obstruction.

Here’s the thing. If me talking about poop troubles you in any way for any reason, you need to find something else to read. I have IBS, zero qualms, and a bag of edibles making me feel pretty bold right now.

I promise you I can’t be bothered to care whether this topic makes you squirm. Plus there are people out there who need me to write about this as much as I need to tell the tale.

Last night I went to bed near tears, my abdomen hurt so much. I spent most of the late afternoon using the shiatsu massager someone gifted me a couple of years ago on my belly. The heat and massage relieved some of the discomfort, and I was desperate.

Plus, I’d read that self-massage can relieve constipation and since I’m too weak and fatigued, I knew it was the closest I was going to get. I had to try.

I also sipped hot tea. I ate Activia. I took laxatives. I drank coffee. I threw caution to the wind and ate IBS-D triggers. Then, when none of that helped, I did the only thing I could. I panicked and let the anxiety in.

I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the blogger from 14 years ago who almost died because of a severe bowel obstruction. I saw her face and her hospital gown in my mind’s eye, and I pondered the worst.

Anxiety used to trigger IBS-D, by the way, but not this time. That turd wasn’t going to budge for nothin’.

I spent enough time on the toilet hoping for a bowel to twitch that eventually my legs went purple from the blood pooling around my feet and ankles.

(I have a foot rest, but after so much time even that doesn’t help.)

When I woke up this morning to take my levothyroxine, the water I sipped made me notice just how much I wanted to barf. I closed my eyes and willed away the nausea, falling back asleep for another hour. But when I woke again, the urge to hurl was still there.

I felt that familiar discomfort in my lower left abdominal quadrant where something (it was the poop) was setting off radiating nerve pain. I dug my palm in a little, pressing and pushing down toward my leg. My bowels rumbled.

“This is it! It’s happening! Finally!” I thought.

And so it was that I pooped today.

But you know what was waiting in the wings behind that IBS-C poop? IBS-D poop. That’s what.

No wonder I felt so awful. I might as well have been walking around for days with a cork up my ass.

And the best part is now I get to wonder if this is just ordinary IBS stuff or if the Plaquenil is making shit worse.

This post contains affiliate links.

Let’s Have Toilet Church

Let’s Have Toilet Church

What I’m about to write will not be for everyone, but me and the people who get it are going to have toilet church this morning. The rest of you are welcome to attend. We dare you to try and understand.

I decided on Monday that it was time to go back on rosuvastatin (generic Crestor). My primary doctor prescribed it last year for my high cholesterol after atorvastatin (generic Lipitor) caused me to hurt like the dickens*.

I’d been eating like a 20 year old, because food was one of those things I couldn’t be too thoughtful about. I frequently used up my brainpower on things like surviving 30-minute rides to harrowing medical procedures and then recovering from the three-day crash that ensued.

Consequently we DoorDashed** a lot. I ordered what I wanted, not what was best for me. Because it was the best I could do at the time.

Not exactly advisable for a forty-something.

Even a healthy one.

So it wasn’t a surprise when I got prescribed cholesterol meds. When the first one caused untenable side effects, my primary physician had me try rosuvastatin.

I’m trying not to make this tale incredibly long for all our sakes, but I went off of it while trying to figure out why my lymph nodes were huge. This week I decided it was time to go back on it because it clearly wasn’t the medicine causing my problems.

However, one of the side effects of rosuvastatin is constipation. (I think we all know where this is going, don’t we?) And in the time I’d been off it, I’d forgotten my doc told me to cut the pills in half because of my drug hypersensitivity. So I took twice my recommended dose, because: my memory. I also recently upped my fiber intake because: diverticulosis.

I repent.

Hi, I have IBS, if you’re new here. I am either constipated or… the extreme opposite of constipated. As I have told anyone who’ll listen to my gastrointestinal woes, I’d rather have diarrhea than be constipated. Though neither extreme is fun, diarrhea is acute. It’s misery for a limited time, followed by almost euphoric relief. When it’s over, clouds part and angels sing.

Constipation, by contrast, is protracted suffering. I hate it. It’s why I never finish post-operative pain meds, sometimes eat Taco Bell medicinally, and frequently shout “Demons, out!” while seated on the toilet.

Well, I think docusate sodium is better for the soul than a communion wafer. And my fiber-undigesting self believes constipation is a little-discussed circle of hell. My Senekot Sin was that I didn’t account for the rosuvastatin, let alone too much rosuvastatin.

God have mercy on my painfully bloated, immotile colon. Forgive it for all the radiating nerve pain it causes, because I sure as shit*** can’t.

* I looked this expression up. Apparently it originated in the 1500s with “dickens” being a substitute for “devil” though present-day me wonders why you couldn’t just say devil. Was it a Voldemort-like situation?

** Use this link for $10 off your first three orders of $15 or more, and I get $20 in credits.

*** Ha! In my dreams.

Pin It on Pinterest