I've heard the expression, "write what you know". If that's the case, here goes nothing...
In fourth grade, I thought I knew it all. Why would any eleven year-old feel any other way? Two BIG things happened that year. The first? We had the opportunity to take live baby chicks home. What a fabulous idea for someone that knew NOTHING about chickens. Sure, I knew they hatched eggs. But, honestly, I was still trying to figure out which came first. So, this was new territory for me. Moral of this story? I think my poor "chicken little" didn't survive very long after the ride home. To this day, I'm not a big, big fan of poultry. Can you blame me? Let's now talk about the second big thing that year. A child's worst nightmare. Maybe mankind's worst nightmare. CONSTIPATION. I choose to capitalize the entire word for many reasons. If you've ever been "stopped up", then you'd know it's a terrible and, quite traumatizing, experience. It started on a Sunday. I will never forget watching "Wheel of Fortune" (I think that's where I honed my spelling skills...thanks, Pat Sajak!) while curled up in the fetal position on the floor. My tummy hurt. At first, I just chalked it up to my love for food. Yes, I had the love for food way back in the day. Surely, I had just eaten too much. I was, after all, a little on the chubby side. But, this belly ache lasted long beyond my food not digesting properly. No, these pains were real. And, I felt them down deep. In the depths of my chubby soul.
When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't stand it. My stomach hurt and I was about to tell mom and dad there was NO WAY I was going to school. My big belly and I were running this show now, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. In fact, I missed that entire week of school. But, I'll get to that later. A few days went by and still no results. At this point (a few details have escaped me) it was time for medical intervention. So, we drove to Welborn Baptist Hospital in Evansville to my pediatrician. I can't remember much of that visit because I was concentrating so much on my intense abdominal pain. However, I vividly remember what happened after we got home. That's when the "fun" began. Yes, folks. Something I hope not many of you have to suffer through...THE DREADED ENEMA :)
Okay, so having something shoved in your rectum at such a young age was not necessarily my idea of a good time. If it didn't involve Barbie and Ken or my Nintendo, then I wanted NO part of it. But, since I always did what I was told (even back then!), I kindly bent over so mom could torture me. After what felt like hours, the job was done. So, I plopped my booty on the toilet...and, waited. Nothing. Five minutes later, still nothing. At this point, I had reverted to the grunting. Full-blown grunting, in which beads of sweat started dripping off my forehead. I was more than ready to "drop the kids off at the porcelain bank", so to speak, but apparently they were still napping and never got that memo. How rude!
You name it, I tried it. After the enema failed, a heating pad soon followed. It helped the pain, so I was thankful for it. I vaguely remember drinking what seemed to be a gallon of mineral oil. Please don't ever drink it. I don't care who tells you to or how much he or she is willing to pay you. Next to tea and coffee, it might be THE most vile liquid anyone could drink. By Thursday, I think we may have resorted to giving the "trusty" enema another go. And, you know what? Success! What a relief! That was probably the first time I looked back down to actually see the end result. I was proud and I was gonna see what all the week's efforts had produced. I felt like I had won the lottery. It was a miracle!
It was a good thing that I finally had a bowel movement. Because, there was a birthday party to get to and I couldn't possibly miss that! My friend, Katie, was having a slumber party at her house that weekend and I was bound and determined to make it. After all, I had finally "taken a dump". I was ready to conquer the world, or at least the world according to a bunch of silly little fourth grade girls. And, how was I gonna miss the chance to stuff myself with junk food? I knew that might cause me to become "plugged up" again, but I was willing to take my chances. After all, there were Cheetos involved. For once, I was gonna live on the edge. Why not? Because, if you're not livin' on the edge, then you're takin' up too much room :)
From that day on, I vowed that I would NEVER go one day without "poppin' a squat" and attempting to have a bowel movement. For the most part, I have succeeded with this vow I made so long ago. If you've ever been constipated, then you'll firmly agree with me on this. I used to find it so silly when my elderly patients became obsessed with "moving their bowels", as they called it. Well, now it all makes sense. Would I give myself an enema again? You bet. Would I drink mineral oil again? Maybe. Would I drink prune juice? If it meant never going another week constipated, then I say BRING IT ON.
Even at the tender age of 11, I was "full of shit". My advice? If you have to become obsessed with anything, make it your bowels. You won't regret it. And, your bowels will thank you!
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