Day 7: Two days after surgery
It's day 7. Libby got a season of 21 Jump Street, and I can't stop watching it. There's nothing else on television. I'm still in pain, and a little terrified of my broken leg. I need the television to distract me. But 21 Jump Street is becoming a little freaky. So far they've dealt with: divorce, a race riot, crack, being gay, HIV and there was a Very Special Christmas Special/ Vietnam Flashback.
I have both of my prescriptions in front of me. I still have to write down when I take my Oxycodone so that I don't overdose. Then I start to think about it.... why do I have the other prescription? I look at it. It's for “loose stools”.... I remember Lisa giggling about that after she got it filled for me. A nurse told me... or Lisa or Kay that the Oxycodone would make me constipated....I don't remember which nurse, or how long ago it was.
Shit! I haven't taken a shit since I broke my leg.... I grabbed the stool looseners and downed two. Then I panicked. What if it snuck up on me? What if I fell asleep and then I woke up needing to shit so badly that I couldn't wheel myself (using Libby's handy office chair, my new savior) to the bathroom fast enough?
I lay there, trying to stay awake. Trying to pay attention to my intestines. After and hour or so, I felt a rumble. I pulled myself up, groaning as I felt my foot, tight in the cast. I lowered it beneath me and threw myself at the office chair, wheeling myself as quickly as I could to the bathroom. I hoisted myself up from the office chair furiously trying to wrestle my pants and underwear off as I swayed back and forth on my one good leg. I finally fell on the high seat Lisa had installed on the toilet seat, successfully de-pantsed. I rearranged myself a little. I propped my leg up on the stack of toilet paper rolls on the floor. And then I waited. Nothing happened.
I thought about getting up, and moving back to the living room and waiting some more. I was too worried about the poo creeping up on me to go through the whole rigmarole again. I couldn't handle it. So I pushed. No big deal, right? I've been shitting for 29 years. I've never had a problem. I know how to do it!
So I push harder. As I do, I can feel blood rushing to my foot. It swells inside my cast and the tip of my cast cuts off circulation to my calf. The mammoth poo is halfway out of my ass, and then I lose my momentum. I push harder. Nothing. Poo dangles above the bowl. I mentally focus on feeling my ass, which is tearing a little. There is too much shit. And I have no way of pushing it all out. I sit for a while, poo dangling out of my ass. It's not dropping. It's stuck. I push. I sit. Nothing happens.
I start to panic. What if someone comes over? What if someone finds me mid-shit and then I have to tell them what's happening and they have to help me shit? That did it. I had to take some action. I had to do it. Fuck. I grit my teeth. I dug the poo out of my ass with my fingers. There was a lot of it. It was gross. It took me ten minutes. I spent another 20 minutes washing my hands afterwards.
And I felt like a crazy, desperate, sick broken person. I went back to my couch and tried to sleep away the memory.
21 Jump Street Quote of the Day: "Where's my Instamatic?"
I have both of my prescriptions in front of me. I still have to write down when I take my Oxycodone so that I don't overdose. Then I start to think about it.... why do I have the other prescription? I look at it. It's for “loose stools”.... I remember Lisa giggling about that after she got it filled for me. A nurse told me... or Lisa or Kay that the Oxycodone would make me constipated....I don't remember which nurse, or how long ago it was.
Shit! I haven't taken a shit since I broke my leg.... I grabbed the stool looseners and downed two. Then I panicked. What if it snuck up on me? What if I fell asleep and then I woke up needing to shit so badly that I couldn't wheel myself (using Libby's handy office chair, my new savior) to the bathroom fast enough?
I lay there, trying to stay awake. Trying to pay attention to my intestines. After and hour or so, I felt a rumble. I pulled myself up, groaning as I felt my foot, tight in the cast. I lowered it beneath me and threw myself at the office chair, wheeling myself as quickly as I could to the bathroom. I hoisted myself up from the office chair furiously trying to wrestle my pants and underwear off as I swayed back and forth on my one good leg. I finally fell on the high seat Lisa had installed on the toilet seat, successfully de-pantsed. I rearranged myself a little. I propped my leg up on the stack of toilet paper rolls on the floor. And then I waited. Nothing happened.
I thought about getting up, and moving back to the living room and waiting some more. I was too worried about the poo creeping up on me to go through the whole rigmarole again. I couldn't handle it. So I pushed. No big deal, right? I've been shitting for 29 years. I've never had a problem. I know how to do it!
So I push harder. As I do, I can feel blood rushing to my foot. It swells inside my cast and the tip of my cast cuts off circulation to my calf. The mammoth poo is halfway out of my ass, and then I lose my momentum. I push harder. Nothing. Poo dangles above the bowl. I mentally focus on feeling my ass, which is tearing a little. There is too much shit. And I have no way of pushing it all out. I sit for a while, poo dangling out of my ass. It's not dropping. It's stuck. I push. I sit. Nothing happens.
I start to panic. What if someone comes over? What if someone finds me mid-shit and then I have to tell them what's happening and they have to help me shit? That did it. I had to take some action. I had to do it. Fuck. I grit my teeth. I dug the poo out of my ass with my fingers. There was a lot of it. It was gross. It took me ten minutes. I spent another 20 minutes washing my hands afterwards.
And I felt like a crazy, desperate, sick broken person. I went back to my couch and tried to sleep away the memory.
21 Jump Street Quote of the Day: "Where's my Instamatic?"