She never realized that you could die from constipation. With the advent of pain killers like Oxycontin, hydrocodone, and the like, people were plugged up, plain and simple. She imagined that someday close to now, everyone would be looking for drugs that would make you shit. It was already happening.
In the old days they recommended opium for curing diarrhea. Well, no one seems to have that problem now. Everyone is looking for fiber. Yogurt with fiber, pills with fiber, liquid mixes with the taste of orange drink filled with fiber, pro-biotics… No amount of fiber seemed to be enough to produce the desired results. She could see the trend. Everyone wanted to go to the bathroom.
She herself had a schedule and if that delicate schedule was interrupted, she would not see the results for days. She took four magazines and two quarts of water into the bathroom with her to make way for the evacuation process. She placed several books on the floor to use as foot elevators. If she was in a somewhat squatting position, she figured she would have more push when the time came.
God! She hated this! Sitting there for up to two hours, drinking and reading, massaging her belly, rocking back and forth… trying to get the alimentary canal cleared of its build up.
She read two magazines; National Geographic and Sunset from cover to cover. She drank both of her waters, and still no luck. Finally she succumbed to an enema. Hell, if Mae West took one every day, an occasional irrigation wouldn’t hurt. Why sit there for two hours when the whole thing could be expelled in just fifteen minutes?
Why wasn’t her body working? Oh yeah, pain killers. She called her daughter, “Do you think eight pain killers a day is too many? Can you get me any more?”
“Yes, I think eight pain pills a day is too many, and no, I can’t get you any more. Have you talked to your doctor?” Daughter replied.
“I think he’s going to put me on a fentanyl patch.”
“Well that should help your pain,but what about going to the bathroom?”
“If I have a problem, I just dig it out.”
“Oh, lovely…” Daughter was concerned about her own future watching her mother go through this. She got a call one night from her brother who was very distraught.
“Mom is in the hospital. She hasn’t had a bowel movement for two weeks and she really doesn’t feel well. I think this is the end.”
They were worried about giving her an enema. For some reason a nerve in the ass is connected to a nerve in the heart and a high enema could cause a cardiac episode. This was a major design failure on the part of nature as far as she was concerned.
A very large dark skinned orderly was snapping on some very long rubber gloves. He was armed with a tube of lube and a spoon. He begins his work massaging her belly and digging out the situation. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he says with determination and a twinkle in his eye. Shit.
