A Shit Story

    Here’s a tale that’s terribly embarrassing but also a good laugh if you’re easily amused like myself. 
    So, my bowels have hated me since the beginning. That’s just the way it is, and though I’ve finally managed to navigate them over the years, they still throw me a curveball every once in a blue moon. Gods there’s going to be so many uncomfortable things you’ll learn about me in this but here we go. I generally empty the caverns of my internal food storage every two to three days. That’s familiar for me. Four days without doing the deeds, I’m inhaling Senokot. It was five days later when I realized that I was fucked. The shit simply would not leave. 
    After long minutes of whimpering over a toilet and whining to my mother about my failure to birth my meals from the week via my arse, we arrived at a dreaded solution.
    Usually when people go to the hospital, they have a worthy reason. A reason that generally warrants reactions along the lines of sorrow, fear, or potential future hilarity. I just felt shame. Shame for the fact that I, an adult, couldn’t take a poop. 
    I arrived armed with my mother at the emergency room around nine at night with plans to meet friends the next day around noonish. Three hours we waited until I was summoned by a doctor person. Forth I went, head down, cheeks probably bright red, stomach screaming in pain, to go have my arse emptied. They gave me an enema as a prequel to the last resort, a final plea for my butt-caverns to let the shit flee. The butt-caverns refused. Onto the drastic measures. 
    I’m not a fan of needles. In fact, I’m horrified by them and everything they stand for. The day just had to get worse though, and so they gently impaled my hand with a needle to sedate me. The humiliation was at its finest. Whilst my brain was temporarily out of commission, some of my unneeded insides were taken to the outside and eventually, I awoke. I felt like the shit I was just rid of. My sweatpants were stained with the mysteriousness that is enema juice, my arse hurt, and I was still lamenting this whole ordeal. In short, the evening sucked. I was then left to live with the fact that I had to be put under so someone could manually assist my inability to conduct basic functions through deletion by hand. 
    It haunts me to this day. Though I will say it was a goofy story to tell my friends when I met up with them twelve hours later. Still haunting, but now with a dash of amusement and fuel for a bold conversation starter. 
This is such a ridiculous post. May some dear reader find a hearty laugh from this to add to their day.