Sunday, November 12, 2006
WARNING: MATURE CONTENT............
Big day today.
BIIIIGGGG day!
My plan today was to get out of bed, go to the toilet and have a shower.
That would've been enough physio for the day and I could finally wash off all the fever sweat.
Months and months ago I said there would be no more poo stories.
Well, I lied.
So if you are eating your lunch, are easily offended or just don't like poo stories ( and let's face it, who doesn't like a good poo story? ) I suggest you scroll down and only read the last paragraph.
As for the rest of you, I present my misfortune for your reading pleasure ( coz it's always funny when it happens to someone else ).
After not going to the toilet for 5 days I really needed to go.
Only problem was, the morphine combined with the lack of movement had essentially produced something akin to a house brick in my rear exit.
I don't know if it's possible, but I went into labour.
No seriously, I did!
I spent about an hour and half on the toilet, trying to persuade the freeloading little squatter to vacate the premises, with absolutely no success.
You see the nature of this surgery required the good doctor to actually cut off some muscles to gain access to the pelvis and then reattach them afterwards.
These particular muscles are the ones you use when you cough, laugh or in my case, have a pressing and urgent need to snap one off.
So the last few days, I have been asking people not to make me laugh because it huts like hellfire!
And whenever I cough, it's that kind of Zoolander "I think I'm getting the black lung" feeble male model cough.
I was stuck.
Due to the truly astounding amount of pain from the internal and external operation sites, I just couldn't get enough push going to back the school bus out of the garage door made for a small family sedan.
After and hour and a half of sweating, heavy breathing, standing, sitting, repeatedly telling the nurse that "Yes I'm ok thank you", I was finally beaten.
I thought to myself:
"Well, you're going to have to call in the medical big guns, whatever that may entail."
After resigning myself to once again kissing my dignity goodbye and letting the medical staff have their ways with me, I finally buzzed for nurse assistance.
I had visions of lying spread eagle on the bed with some great big matron turning up with a massive tube or hose, pumps, buckets and all sorts of contraptions.
I was pleasantly surprised when the nurse brought in a small tube about half the size of a match box, with a little pipe a couple of inches long on the end.
What I was not pleasantly surprised about was the latex glove and satchel of lubricant she presented along with it.
I was finally going to have to experience what all those poor alien abductees have been complaining about for decades.
I opted to self probe, at least that way I could be violated in private and not on display, presenting to the medical staff.
I'm sure the nurse was more than relieved that I'd chosen that option.
Apparently you had to squirt the contents inside the offending orifice and then...............wait.
So I went back to bed and to take my mind of the traumatising self molestation I just had to endure, watched some motorsport for an hour or so.
Eventually I returned to the delivery room and what do you know?
It worked!!!!!!
I gave birth to a not very healthy 5 day old poo.
Apparently the content of the little tube was some sort of industrial strength poo melter.
Amazing stuff really!
You have to wonder who comes up with these products, how they test them, who they test them on and who are the poor sods who have to trial the products that didn't quite work like the scientists claimed they would?
I mean, fancy turning up to the lab with your substantially constipated rear end, being handed this product and told to go and shove it up your arse.
Then waiting in hope that in a half hour or whatever, all your problems will be solved, only to be severely and painfully disappointed with the lack of predicted results.
And you can't even get the satisfaction of returning the product to the place of purchase, throwing it in the face of the person who sold it to you and getting your money back!
After all that was over I finally managed to have my shower.
If I could I would have curled up, foetal position in the corner of the shower cubicle, scrubbing myself silly with steel wool and mumbling "Dirty, so dirty. Unclean, must clean."
Just kidding, but I did feel so much better after the shower and was able to lay down, relax for a while and compose myself before accepting visitors.
.
BIIIIGGGG day!
My plan today was to get out of bed, go to the toilet and have a shower.
That would've been enough physio for the day and I could finally wash off all the fever sweat.
Months and months ago I said there would be no more poo stories.
Well, I lied.
So if you are eating your lunch, are easily offended or just don't like poo stories ( and let's face it, who doesn't like a good poo story? ) I suggest you scroll down and only read the last paragraph.
As for the rest of you, I present my misfortune for your reading pleasure ( coz it's always funny when it happens to someone else ).
After not going to the toilet for 5 days I really needed to go.
Only problem was, the morphine combined with the lack of movement had essentially produced something akin to a house brick in my rear exit.
I don't know if it's possible, but I went into labour.
No seriously, I did!
I spent about an hour and half on the toilet, trying to persuade the freeloading little squatter to vacate the premises, with absolutely no success.
You see the nature of this surgery required the good doctor to actually cut off some muscles to gain access to the pelvis and then reattach them afterwards.
These particular muscles are the ones you use when you cough, laugh or in my case, have a pressing and urgent need to snap one off.
So the last few days, I have been asking people not to make me laugh because it huts like hellfire!
And whenever I cough, it's that kind of Zoolander "I think I'm getting the black lung" feeble male model cough.
I was stuck.
Due to the truly astounding amount of pain from the internal and external operation sites, I just couldn't get enough push going to back the school bus out of the garage door made for a small family sedan.
After and hour and a half of sweating, heavy breathing, standing, sitting, repeatedly telling the nurse that "Yes I'm ok thank you", I was finally beaten.
I thought to myself:
"Well, you're going to have to call in the medical big guns, whatever that may entail."
After resigning myself to once again kissing my dignity goodbye and letting the medical staff have their ways with me, I finally buzzed for nurse assistance.
I had visions of lying spread eagle on the bed with some great big matron turning up with a massive tube or hose, pumps, buckets and all sorts of contraptions.
I was pleasantly surprised when the nurse brought in a small tube about half the size of a match box, with a little pipe a couple of inches long on the end.
What I was not pleasantly surprised about was the latex glove and satchel of lubricant she presented along with it.
I was finally going to have to experience what all those poor alien abductees have been complaining about for decades.
I opted to self probe, at least that way I could be violated in private and not on display, presenting to the medical staff.
I'm sure the nurse was more than relieved that I'd chosen that option.
Apparently you had to squirt the contents inside the offending orifice and then...............wait.
So I went back to bed and to take my mind of the traumatising self molestation I just had to endure, watched some motorsport for an hour or so.
Eventually I returned to the delivery room and what do you know?
It worked!!!!!!
I gave birth to a not very healthy 5 day old poo.
Apparently the content of the little tube was some sort of industrial strength poo melter.
Amazing stuff really!
You have to wonder who comes up with these products, how they test them, who they test them on and who are the poor sods who have to trial the products that didn't quite work like the scientists claimed they would?
I mean, fancy turning up to the lab with your substantially constipated rear end, being handed this product and told to go and shove it up your arse.
Then waiting in hope that in a half hour or whatever, all your problems will be solved, only to be severely and painfully disappointed with the lack of predicted results.
And you can't even get the satisfaction of returning the product to the place of purchase, throwing it in the face of the person who sold it to you and getting your money back!
After all that was over I finally managed to have my shower.
If I could I would have curled up, foetal position in the corner of the shower cubicle, scrubbing myself silly with steel wool and mumbling "Dirty, so dirty. Unclean, must clean."
Just kidding, but I did feel so much better after the shower and was able to lay down, relax for a while and compose myself before accepting visitors.
.
