Monday, June 29, 2009
There is one last bit of vacation fun I want to share, but the ever elusive laptop with the vacay pictures has, once again, annoyingly gone to work.
So, for today, it's....taaa-daaa, Colon-Update Time ! If you're eating, step away from the computer and come back later, for your own good, I beg of you!
I'm not sure what it is about health problems that causes folks to feel liberated to talk about their most private bodily functions. I, myself, having an inordinate number of senior citizens in my life have been on the receiving end of entirely too many TMI conversations, usually involving rotting teeth, diverticulitis, incontinence, osteoporosis, and unfortunately, one really, icky, wish-I-was-anywhere-else- in-the-world-at-that-moment, conversation about the sex drive of senior citizens. Evidently, senior citizen communities are a hotbed of booty calling and golf cart swapping. Or as I was told while suppressing my desire to vomit in my mouth, "We have our needs, too. You kids don't own sex. You might be good at the hokey-pokey, but we've been putting our whole self in and whole self out, shaking it all about, long before you were even dancing."
I told you to put down that sandwich.
Having broadcast my constipation issues on the World Wide Web, I can safely say I have joined the ranks of my elderly friends, in making poop a socially acceptable form of conversation. But, actually, when I think about it, I shamelessly stepped away from my dignity several years ago.
True Story: After 22 hours of grueling in-hospital labor, the O-Dawg was born. I was so lucky to be recovering in my hospital bed when an entire school of newbie interns were getting some on-the-job- training. They would shuffle into my room behind the OBGYN instructor, all smiles and shiny, spotless white coats and ask me if I would mind being a class exhibit.
Now, when you've had your legs up in stirrups for 22 hours, with people coming and going in and out of the room, nameless strangers taking a gander at the workings of your Va-Jay-Jay, (I'm pretty sure, at one point, the maintenance man was one of the crowd during the pushing part of things. He gave me a hearty thumbs up.) You really have no use for modesty anymore. I wadded it up and threw it in the trash about the time they told me, due to some complications, I wasn't allowed to use the restroom and handed The Hubby a bedpan to hold. He and I would never be the same after that.
So, I would proclaim heartily with each round of new doctors and interns, "Come on in, ya'll. The door is open and there's no cover charge, today!" as I threw back my sheets and displayed the goods for the benefit of their medical education.
I was between intern tours, enjoying a delicious hospital lunch of mystery meat and a jello mold filled with marshmallows and bruised bananas, when the newest doctor came in. Before he could say a word, I flipped off my covers, yanked up my hospital gown and said, "It's all yours!"
He adjusted his spectacles nervously as he said, "Mrs. Mannix, I'd like to introduce myself. I'm your baby's pediatrician."
We didn't stay with his practice long. He never seemed to get over his nervousness with me. Every well-checkup we had, he made a ridiculous point of having a nurse in the room at all times.
Whatever.
My colon troubles were really getting the best of me and at one point, one of my sisters asked my other sister, if she thought I'd like to talk to her friend Nick.
My sister roared with laughter and said, "She might be in pain and all worried, but there is NO WAY she will talk to Nick! Her vanity won't allow it."
You see, my sister has a ridiculous stable of gorgeous male friends . Nick is one of them. I haven't met him yet, but I've seen pictures and I know certain things about him.
He bears a remarkable resemblance to him....
He comes from across The Pond and not only has that fabulous sort of dry English humor, he also speaks in a lovely English accent and his cheekbones are reported to be remarkable and my sister, (Lena's mother) wants to marry him, even though she is already happily married. (My married sisters and I have an odd affinity to adopt boyfriends. It's all innocent fun, especially with how uncomfortable it usually makes the targeted boyfriend feel when we announce this.) She makes no secret of this, to her husband, to my sister, to Nick or anyone else who is in the vicinity when Nick's name is spoken.
To add to Nick's super hunkiness, he's a doctor of, yes, Gastroenterology.
Now, I'm a big flirt and I always try to act super-cute and look my best around men, especially hot ones with English accents and medical degrees, so my sister would be right in saying that having a conversation that started out with "Hello. I'm Joann and I'm really having a hard time pooping and my stomach right now looks like a 15 lb baby is stuck up there," wouldn't be something I was usually up to doing.
Usually.
But, I was so worried that parasitic worms were overtaking my intestines or colon cancer had metastasized into all of my other organs, that I said, "Yeah, I'll talk to him, because making a doody is all I can think about and besides...." I taunted my sister with the big-time crush. "He'll probably like me more than you, once we bond over constipation and poop and such. It IS his specialty."
My sister didn't hesitate when she proclaimed, "Well, then I'm going to start bleeding from my rectum!"
She sure knows how to hold on to her boyfriend.
So, for today, it's....taaa-daaa, Colon-Update Time ! If you're eating, step away from the computer and come back later, for your own good, I beg of you!
I'm not sure what it is about health problems that causes folks to feel liberated to talk about their most private bodily functions. I, myself, having an inordinate number of senior citizens in my life have been on the receiving end of entirely too many TMI conversations, usually involving rotting teeth, diverticulitis, incontinence, osteoporosis, and unfortunately, one really, icky, wish-I-was-anywhere-else- in-the-world-at-that-moment, conversation about the sex drive of senior citizens. Evidently, senior citizen communities are a hotbed of booty calling and golf cart swapping. Or as I was told while suppressing my desire to vomit in my mouth, "We have our needs, too. You kids don't own sex. You might be good at the hokey-pokey, but we've been putting our whole self in and whole self out, shaking it all about, long before you were even dancing."
I told you to put down that sandwich.
Having broadcast my constipation issues on the World Wide Web, I can safely say I have joined the ranks of my elderly friends, in making poop a socially acceptable form of conversation. But, actually, when I think about it, I shamelessly stepped away from my dignity several years ago.
True Story: After 22 hours of grueling in-hospital labor, the O-Dawg was born. I was so lucky to be recovering in my hospital bed when an entire school of newbie interns were getting some on-the-job- training. They would shuffle into my room behind the OBGYN instructor, all smiles and shiny, spotless white coats and ask me if I would mind being a class exhibit.
Now, when you've had your legs up in stirrups for 22 hours, with people coming and going in and out of the room, nameless strangers taking a gander at the workings of your Va-Jay-Jay, (I'm pretty sure, at one point, the maintenance man was one of the crowd during the pushing part of things. He gave me a hearty thumbs up.) You really have no use for modesty anymore. I wadded it up and threw it in the trash about the time they told me, due to some complications, I wasn't allowed to use the restroom and handed The Hubby a bedpan to hold. He and I would never be the same after that.
So, I would proclaim heartily with each round of new doctors and interns, "Come on in, ya'll. The door is open and there's no cover charge, today!" as I threw back my sheets and displayed the goods for the benefit of their medical education.
I was between intern tours, enjoying a delicious hospital lunch of mystery meat and a jello mold filled with marshmallows and bruised bananas, when the newest doctor came in. Before he could say a word, I flipped off my covers, yanked up my hospital gown and said, "It's all yours!"
He adjusted his spectacles nervously as he said, "Mrs. Mannix, I'd like to introduce myself. I'm your baby's pediatrician."
We didn't stay with his practice long. He never seemed to get over his nervousness with me. Every well-checkup we had, he made a ridiculous point of having a nurse in the room at all times.
Whatever.
My colon troubles were really getting the best of me and at one point, one of my sisters asked my other sister, if she thought I'd like to talk to her friend Nick.
My sister roared with laughter and said, "She might be in pain and all worried, but there is NO WAY she will talk to Nick! Her vanity won't allow it."
You see, my sister has a ridiculous stable of gorgeous male friends . Nick is one of them. I haven't met him yet, but I've seen pictures and I know certain things about him.
He bears a remarkable resemblance to him....
To add to Nick's super hunkiness, he's a doctor of, yes, Gastroenterology.
Now, I'm a big flirt and I always try to act super-cute and look my best around men, especially hot ones with English accents and medical degrees, so my sister would be right in saying that having a conversation that started out with "Hello. I'm Joann and I'm really having a hard time pooping and my stomach right now looks like a 15 lb baby is stuck up there," wouldn't be something I was usually up to doing.
Usually.
But, I was so worried that parasitic worms were overtaking my intestines or colon cancer had metastasized into all of my other organs, that I said, "Yeah, I'll talk to him, because making a doody is all I can think about and besides...." I taunted my sister with the big-time crush. "He'll probably like me more than you, once we bond over constipation and poop and such. It IS his specialty."
My sister didn't hesitate when she proclaimed, "Well, then I'm going to start bleeding from my rectum!"
She sure knows how to hold on to her boyfriend.
Luckily, I never had to debase myself to Dr. Jude Law.
The night before our vacation in a desperate attempt for some temporary salves so I could get through our trip with a modicum of enjoyment, I went to the drugstore to peruse the laxative aisle.
And there on a towering display, calling to me, was this...
A new product on the market, a probiotic supplement. I read the box, thought, "What the hell," and threw it in my cart. I went home, Googled it to death and found nothing but rave reviews over this supposed natural supplement.
I decided to take it our first night in San Francisco, not wanting to chance any strange effects that might cause me to have a freak-out on the plane with other passengers having to restrain me and my subsequent handcuffed arrest splashed over the front page of our hometown paper. I do enough to embarrass my kids as it is.
I didn't have any freak-outs. And since, I've already shared, far, far too much for your gentle readers' appetites, I will only say that this supplement has changed my life. What all the doctors' meds and enemas and fiber and gallons of water, couldn't do, this beautiful drug did overnight.
I walked around San Francisco feeling like a newborn baby, so cleansed and light and renewed. If my children would have allowed me a jiggy, happy-clappy dance in the streets, I would have done just that. It was a miracle.
And since then, the traffic has been moving at an efficient pace.
It's a supplement, so it's meant to be taken every day. It seems that your digestive system is as fragile as the sister Beth in Little Women. Your intestines are teeming with bacteria having a loud, crazy party, but once that bacteria count gets in trouble, like the cops are called and the partygoers haul ass, the colon says, "Hey, what's happening? I thought we were having a party here?" And pretty much, shuts down the doors. Anything can mess up the bacteria count.
For me, it's probably my germaphobe ways. I'm pretty squeamish about other people's germs. I leave a public restroom after washing my hands, like a surgeon, hands in the air, vigilant about not touching anything, using a paper towel to open the door. I douse my kids in antibacterial gel the second we step off the rides at Disney World-Land of all superbugs and freakish, foreign germs. I scrub my hands raw after handling the serving spoons at Help-Yourself Buffets before touching my food. And I never, ever dare to look at the pimply-faced, teenage boys that are making my cheeseburger in the back of McDonalds, as I try to push any thoughts out of my mind about where those hands have been.
So, I think that's been the problem, I don't have enough bacterial germs in my body.
I'm going to keep taking the supplement. It's better than rolling around inside a Port-A-Let.
If you're having any digestion issues of any kind, stopped up or flowing, this drug is for you. You can also privately e-mail me, if unlike me, you're not into telling the world about your crap. I'll be glad to answer any and all questions. As you can tell, I have no problem sharing.
Today's Definite Download: My girls turned me on to this and I loved it! Usually, I hold my children's favorite artists in complete contempt, but I do so love that Taylor Swift. Not only is she a darling girl, she has a fabulous voice, she writes her OWN music, unlike Stupid Miley. She knows who she is and doesn't try to act like she's got serious rock star cred like Poser Miley and she doesn't have an inflated sense of entitlement, ahem Miley. Since we've had such sad news over the last few days, when it comes to celebrities, I thought a smile might be in order.
And this is just the medicine for that.
Update: The f#*@g capitalists of the music industry, yanked this off, so check it out on youtube. Taylor Swift featuring T-Pain. Yeah, I know, right?
The night before our vacation in a desperate attempt for some temporary salves so I could get through our trip with a modicum of enjoyment, I went to the drugstore to peruse the laxative aisle.
And there on a towering display, calling to me, was this...
I decided to take it our first night in San Francisco, not wanting to chance any strange effects that might cause me to have a freak-out on the plane with other passengers having to restrain me and my subsequent handcuffed arrest splashed over the front page of our hometown paper. I do enough to embarrass my kids as it is.
I didn't have any freak-outs. And since, I've already shared, far, far too much for your gentle readers' appetites, I will only say that this supplement has changed my life. What all the doctors' meds and enemas and fiber and gallons of water, couldn't do, this beautiful drug did overnight.
I walked around San Francisco feeling like a newborn baby, so cleansed and light and renewed. If my children would have allowed me a jiggy, happy-clappy dance in the streets, I would have done just that. It was a miracle.
And since then, the traffic has been moving at an efficient pace.
It's a supplement, so it's meant to be taken every day. It seems that your digestive system is as fragile as the sister Beth in Little Women. Your intestines are teeming with bacteria having a loud, crazy party, but once that bacteria count gets in trouble, like the cops are called and the partygoers haul ass, the colon says, "Hey, what's happening? I thought we were having a party here?" And pretty much, shuts down the doors. Anything can mess up the bacteria count.
For me, it's probably my germaphobe ways. I'm pretty squeamish about other people's germs. I leave a public restroom after washing my hands, like a surgeon, hands in the air, vigilant about not touching anything, using a paper towel to open the door. I douse my kids in antibacterial gel the second we step off the rides at Disney World-Land of all superbugs and freakish, foreign germs. I scrub my hands raw after handling the serving spoons at Help-Yourself Buffets before touching my food. And I never, ever dare to look at the pimply-faced, teenage boys that are making my cheeseburger in the back of McDonalds, as I try to push any thoughts out of my mind about where those hands have been.
So, I think that's been the problem, I don't have enough bacterial germs in my body.
I'm going to keep taking the supplement. It's better than rolling around inside a Port-A-Let.
If you're having any digestion issues of any kind, stopped up or flowing, this drug is for you. You can also privately e-mail me, if unlike me, you're not into telling the world about your crap. I'll be glad to answer any and all questions. As you can tell, I have no problem sharing.
Today's Definite Download: My girls turned me on to this and I loved it! Usually, I hold my children's favorite artists in complete contempt, but I do so love that Taylor Swift. Not only is she a darling girl, she has a fabulous voice, she writes her OWN music, unlike Stupid Miley. She knows who she is and doesn't try to act like she's got serious rock star cred like Poser Miley and she doesn't have an inflated sense of entitlement, ahem Miley. Since we've had such sad news over the last few days, when it comes to celebrities, I thought a smile might be in order.
And this is just the medicine for that.
Update: The f#*@g capitalists of the music industry, yanked this off, so check it out on youtube. Taylor Swift featuring T-Pain. Yeah, I know, right?
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2 comments:
i find your gastronomical distress very entertaining!!! thanks for sharing. : )
I have to admit, I talk poop with my friends A LOT. lol. I am glad that I am not the only one. After a few colonoscopy procedures, and other issues for years, I have no shame left regarding the topic. Thank you for sharing. Honestly, if it helps one person with their own digestive health then it is well worth the time spent typing up the blog!!
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