I’ve been having some issues as of late. For the past month and a half, my bowels have become irritable. I’m not sure what I’ve done to piss them off so. I guess they just think I’m a bitch and have decided to wreck my life.
Oh my. Have they! I’m exhausted, riding the edge of dehydration. I can’t think well as my intellect has been blunted by the lack of nutrition, my home skills have waned (putting it politely. This house is a half step from condemned.) and my social skills have dulled as I can’t leave my house to talk to anyone.
You now those nice adverts for incontinence underwear? My sarcastic (assholish) husband has been pointing them out to me.
“See that? You can’t even tell if they’re FULL! They look just like your panties! Maybe a little sexier.” It’s comments like this that put the shovel in my hand.
My friends have been sort of half supportive. I believe the comment I heard a few times was “We have a toilet, you know.”
That’s dear of them, but there are certain things I try not to share with any of my fellow-men and women if I can avoid it. I actually left health care because I was fed up with other people’s shit. I’m one of those women that gets angry when I walk into a rank washroom. I do not believe in public defecation. If you are over the age of 10, you should be able to make it til you’re home.
I went to the Doc. When I told him what was going on and for how long, he gave me one of those looks. The quiet “You waited how long? You silly bitch.” See, the problem is I worked in the hospital too long. I live by the ‘If it’s not falling off, spurting blood, and if you can’t see the bone, you’re all good’ rule. Fluids and Tylenol, you’re golden, now fuck off! There is a reason I’m not a nurse now. You’re welcome.
To that end I am being tested. The likely culprits? A bacterial infection or parasites. Stop for a second. Parasites. Oh…
I’m betting on it. I’m one of those organic, raw food eating dumbasses. (Can you smell the patchouli? Would you like a glass of bong water?) Alright, I’m far from a hippie, but I just like good, real food. But with that comes this risk. Whatever. I’ve decided to name my parasites, get to know them. There is Pamela, Percy, Paul, Peter, Petunia, Poppy, Poopsy, Poopsy, Poopsy (those are the triplets)…
By my reason, If I get to know them, I may be able to coax them out. My hubby has offered to hold a sandwich by my backdoor to tempt them. (Yes. Digging a shallow grave as we speak.)
The fun part? I get to have a colonoscopy! Yay! Whee! Balloons and confetti!
So if you are having a bad day, take comfort in the fact that soon I will have five feet of tubing with a camera on the end shoved up my ass into my gut to take a look around. See what the parasites have done to the old place. I just hope he doesn’t have to shove a lamp up there first to light the way.