My Codeine Baby
Minor Surgery. Codeine-based painkillers. And seven full days without having to sit on the toilet. My doctor gave me some laxatives that I thought would bring some relief after day four... they didn't. By day seven, the pain of the surgery was replaced by the pain in my guts.
I had tried a few times to sit on the pan and let nature take its course... no joy. Then day seven arrived. I awoke with a feeling of fresh optimism. Today was going to be the day that I finally let go of a week's worth of fecal matter.
The sun was shining and, although I didn't fell like it was going to happen first thing in the morning as was usual, I knew that I would be at least a stone lighter by the end of the day. Sure enough: at about eleven AM I could feel the thunderhead pushing on the inside of the rusty bullet wound.
For a fleeting moment I wondered if a week's worth of inactivity would maybe have sealed the exit. Nope -- there was gas leakage, so I knew the path was clear for exit.
By 11:15 I had worked up a sweat with my efforts to evacuate the item, which at this stage felt to be about the size and shape of a watermelon. I could feel the pressure as it nudged its big nose against the hoop of destiny, but there was no way that this bowling ball of filth was ever going to be able to fit through my delicate man-sized ring. It was against the laws of nature that something of that size could be passed.
I wondered if this was what it was like to give birth. "Don't push yet!" I was also concerned that my anal tract would be making an exit along with the torpedo. So I really didn't want to push too hard.
By this time, we (my turd and I) had been at loggerheads for half an hour. I cried out in pain and did a strange "pan dance" in the vain hope that shifting position would encourage the foul beast to bail out. It didn't. I had visions of someone shouting, "I can see the head!" With a thick, matted mop of brown hair?
It felt like I was fully dilated, but there was just no real movement happening. And then... then it seemed to subside. I cried again, tears running down my face, "No, no, don't subside! Please keep coming!" The thought of going through this all again at a later date or time was devastating. I needed to keep up the momentum. I needed to make sure that this baby was brought into the world now, kicking and screaming.
I settled back onto the seat, shifted position to encourage the exit, and, after another tem minutes or so of sobbing, dancing, and asking some invisible force for some assistance, it happened. I had my first contraction.
It was a totally involuntary spasm. My whole body tensed, my bowel clenched, and my stomach flipped. There was nothing I could do. The pressure was immense. I was elated. The turdus maximus was finally going to make a splash.
But no! It was well and truly jammed.
I was devastated. I gave up. I was resigned to the fact that I was going to have to borrow Bobby Brown's spoon and dig in.
And then it happened: I had given up, but my body had not. My innards went into overdrive. "We shall not let this foul beast win!" they said, and suddenly I had my second contraction. It was even more paralyzing than the first. I was unable to control anything. And then the sphincter relented, there was an amazing noise of stretching sinew and escaping turd, and the beast was freed.
It thumped into the bowl followed by at least three meters of brown Mr. Whippy. It was over. My baby was born. The mountain had been conquered.
I wiped and staggered through to bed. I was exhausted and my hoop was numb, but I had done it. I had done it. I slept for hours and awoke gently to a new beginning.
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Codeine Poop Story
