I have been arguing with myself about whether or not to write this post.  But at the end of the day, WTF, why not?  This is exactly why I created this blog.  For times like these.

Have you ever heard of the term “explosive diarrhea”? 

If you are still reading, I salute your bravery. And no shade on anyone who is stopping right here.

I have suffered from IBS (and I do mean “suffered” because there is nothing enjoyable about IBS) ever since my gall bladder was removed back in 1984.  I believe it’s a hereditary issue because the same thing happened to my Dad after he had his gall bladder removed.  And be forewarned, nobody tells you this is a possibility post gall bladder surgery – a lifetime of diarrhea.  Yippee.

So I am a pro at dealing with the unexpected whimsy of my bowels.  When I say I have buns of steel, it’s not because of pilates or some such nonsense, it’s from the constant battle of keeping my butt firmly shut until I can get to the toilet.

Until yesterday. 

I pooped first thing in the morning.  I pooped right after swimming (do you know what kind of special concentration it takes to finish your water aerobics while holding your butt cheeks firmly together?).  I went to lunch and all seemed well again.  I had chicken mcnuggets, small fry and a hot chocolate.  Then I went to the rehabilitation center next to my doctors.

By then my bowels were whispering of impending doom. 

But I just needed to get my upcoming physical therapy schedule set up, so I figured I was okay.  For now.  However, they were training a new person, and it became clear that this wasn’t going to go quickly.  Being wise in the ways of my bowels, I excused myself to the bathroom, so the trainee could take her time with the recalcitrant computer and neither of us would feel pressured. 

I get to the lady’s room and, fuck me, there is a man in a ladder in the doorway! 

Happily, this is Michigan, land of the really accommodating people, and he offered to move himself and his ladder while I used the facilities.

My bowels, having sensed all the obstacles I am dealing with were no longer whispering. 

The guy moved, I headed into the bathroom (a true woman with a purpose). 

Now my bowels, knowing that the toilet is at hand, were screaming – NOW! NOW! NOW!

I stood by the toilet, but I didn’t dare try to sit down yet.  I waited.  Not long, but it felt like forever.  Firmly telling my bowels to just simmer down enough to allow me to safely sit down.

My bowels PROMISED it was okay to proceed.  They PROMISED.

Hah.

You know those showers that have multiple showerheads that spray in different directions so you can get wet all over all at once?  Apparently someone shoved one of those up my ass.

To say the shit flew is not an exaggeration.  On the toilet seat, on the floor, and a huge splat on the wall.  It looked like a cartoon cream pie splat – only this wasn’t cream. 

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. 

And there was plenty left over for the toilet. 

Where did this all come from?  I had already pooped twice today.  And don’t blame McDonalds.  That meal was still brewing away in my stomach. 

A whole lot of toilet paper later, I left that bathroom cleaner than it was when I entered.  But Jesus wept, I felt simultaneously embarrassed and just sick.  (My personal IBS mantra is : I don’t feel good, I don’t feel good, I really don’t feel good.)

I’m pretty sure this all took a month or so to get through, but when I got back to the desk, they had just finished getting the new schedule together and nobody commented on my prolonged absence.  Apparently time flew, but I was NOT having fun.

So I can now say that I have personally experienced explosive diarrhea and why, unlike the rest of my family, I am not so free and easy with farting. 

Welcome to my life.