I love most bodily functions. It must be a nursing thing. Well, ok, I dont love sucking out mucus from breathing tubes or trachs, but as a pediatric dialysis nurse I mainly work with loads of blood, so my exposure to mucus is only a random icky event. Add to the above a love to rhyme and more than a touch of irrepressible humor, and some of my “poems” are just on the fence between inappropriate and plainly unbelievable.
This “poem” was written a while ago for a friend of mine and suddenly came to mind after a long 9 day bout with severe constipation. Anyone unlucky enough to experience really bad constipation can commiserate with me. I looked 5 months pregnant, I was nauseated, I couldn’t eat, and I frantically bought anything that could relieve my distress. Someone should have videotaped me at the pharmacy. I rushed up to the poor soul and said I emergently needed something to make me go NOW. I think my eyes were bugging out of my sockets and I would not have been surprised to see poo shooting out of my lacrimal ducts.
Of course I was told to go to my doctor.
As I am sick of doctors, no thank you, unless I start vomiting poo. And vomiting poo is actually possible–I took care of a patient once who did that, poor man (severe sclermoderma, the scourge of inflammatory diseases). The anxiety of severe constipation is, in my experience, somewhat similar to severe insomnia; you will do anything to sleep.
Of course, mixing stuff for sleep is a recipe for a permanent snooze 6 feet under, so it is best to avoid this entirely. But with personal experience “Under My Belt” (HAHA), mixing stuff for constipation is a recipe for an internal atomic bomb explosion. I was stuck in my house like a person with agoraophobia, afraid to even get my mail. And I screeched at anyone occupying the nearest toilet to:
GET OFF NOW!
With that I give you The Stupid Person’s Guide to Wisdom: don’t take them all at the same time. Once it started, I thought I was having a baby. After delivering the baby (a baby whale more like) I was exhausted(!) and, I think, electrolyte depleted. But I could see my feet and my incisions from a recent breast re-construction surgery didn’t look like they were going to pop open anymore. So grin and enjoy the below if you have a mildly crude sense of humor. To anyone who doesn’t, my apologies; you were warned and you should have jumped off my blog sooner.
Two guarantees, taxes and death;
unhappy but universally true.
Both, detrimental to health and breath,
yet better smelling than the poo we do.
Our digestive worm requires an in and out.
Polar opposites, one fun, the other crap!
But our sensitive olfactory snouts
receive a bruising odoriferous slap
smelling the birth of metabolized food.
But, a rainbow in this unfortunate fact:
Ahh, the relief after we have poo’d!
But sometimes this “evacuational” act
can be painful and embarrassing too.
Some people can poo in any place,
a talent which is easy for them to do.
Some are tied to one special space,
but when nature calls, hard to replace.
Poo, or poop, BM’s, number two’s:
a micro environmental wonder,
unique, individual, a living organ
leaving in a whisper or thunder.
So get a magazine and let it go loudly!
Embrace each movement full and proudly!
Shooting poo is never a blunder
and proves that you are not 6 feet under!