The Things We Take for Granted

I believe we all take certain things for granted, always assuming that these "things" in our lives will always be there to sustain us. Remember, life is finite. It will end, whether we are ready for it to end or not. I have taken a lot of things for granted. One in particular I felt the need to mention in a post today.

Bowel movements.

Growing up, every time I farted, my Dad would ask me if I needed to move my bowels. I always said no based on the fact they way he asked me sound too medieval to be an actual question. I dump, you dump. NO ONE moves there bowels. Of course, as I got older, I ask my 4-year old son the same thing after every time flatulence attacks his innards. He answers the same way I did, having no clue what I had just asked him.

Gall bladder surgery is a non-invasive procedure, or at least it is labeled as such. However, regardless of the 4 tiny incisions, the ports that were put and and the tissue that was interrupted leaves a lot left to be desired. There is a considerable amount of pain there, and it radiates to m back directly behind my gall-bladderless mid-section. Of course, they also removed a lymph node the size of a quarter too so I cannot imagine that was too comfortable on the ol' body. My doctor and discharge nurse both told me that when I got home, I would be moving my bowels. That was as anticipatory as expecting a yard full of Yaks camped outside of my apartment. Yes, I said, I know. The nurse kind of rolled her eyes and said that it would not be as easy as I thought. Whatever...I am as regular as black coffee. How hard can it be. I had no idea.

I was prescribed a stool softener, as well as took some Metamucil9 both loaded with insoluble, BULK PRODUCING, GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY MUDSLIDE makers. Regardless of the food intake, I was sure the fiber wanted out. I came home Thursday. Remember, my body had not digested food properly for 15 years. The surgeon also pumped some gas into my belly to separate the organs forgetting that aspirating the gas may help down the road. Thursday night, I took some Metamucil and stool softeners just to get the process started. I also ate a cup and a half of beef barley soup figuring the barley would love to join the fiber party in my colon. Percocet causes constipation. DOH. Something had to give, and it wasn't my sphincter. Friday came and went. The only progress was the apparent fermentation going on in my large intestine. I was burping and farting like a frat boy. I took more Metamucil. I ate more soup (1/2 cup), still nothing really wanted to move. I brought magazines, zebras (to count the stripes), sloths (because they can't escape the smell) and anything else I thought may help expedite this problem. Friday came and went, all without dropping a deuce. The pressure was building. My blue eyes were turning brown.

Saturday. This had to be the day, right? 48 hours after surgery made sense. For breakfast, I had some Metamucil, thinking that maybe as my body woke up, so would the bowel train. Nothing. I had some oatmeal....more fiber. Still nothing. I would have eaten raisins had the sugar content not sent me into a diabetic coma. I couldn't figure out if it was the lymphoma or the backed up internal septic system that was producing the "sweat for no reason" phenomena. I stayed somewhat on my feet to keep blood from settling but also to let gravity pull on the snake lodged in my digestive tract. Still nothing. Bye bye shitless weekend.

Sunday. I prayed. This time I didn't pray for a speedy recovery, or a tame cancer, I prayed that just this once God would let me have a Dumb and Dumber shit. A violent, spewing cascade of feces. Please God let it happen. I am beginning to hurt here. Even if it doesn't make the pain go away, PLEASE LET ME BE REGULAR AGAIN!!!!!!! Amen. Sure enough, within about 15 minutes the Percocet-ridden cork was released followed by the longest piece of fibrous fecal matter I have ever seen. I felt these gas pains just fall away. Urine came from nowhere as if feeling left out. The pressure was leaving, one rope at a time. I am exclaiming victory, my kids staring at me like they should be excited, but cannot understand why me on the toilet requires celebration. My wife did not understand my sense of joy either. But I was happy as a clam. All I had left to do was wipe...which requires twisting in the mid-section, which causes me to lose my breath.

And this was a totally uncalculated difficulty I forgot to pray about...and possibly a different blog post!