I have the bowels of a Ninja.
I can be in a room full of people, fully involved in the conversation. I’ll feel the need – you know, the need – and be able to slip out, do my thing in an Oprah-approved way, then get back before anyone knows what happened.
Fiber is my friend.
Probiotics hug my tummy every day like BFFs.
I was a Proud Yet Private Ninja Pooper as long as I can remember.
Then I had kids.
Who gave me hemorrhoids.
I thought that once I gave birth to my second child, I could get my happy old hemmy-free hiney back.
But the hiney just couldn’t be happy. It had a hitchhiker that wouldn’t go away.
There is nothing as uncomfortable as a painful, swollen, burning, itchy, throbbing hemorrhoid that refuses to let one poop without pain or sleep in comfort.
The Ninja had been stolen from me!
Something had to be done!
So I dropped the kids off at a friend’s house and headed in to have a vascular surgeon look at my back door. Tell me my options. Make a plan.
He had other plans.
I lay on the table on my left side, knees to chin, as a nurse* held my cheeks like a stubbornly floppy book.
*Nice to meet you!
The surgeon asked if I’d like him to take care of it.
“Sure” I said.
I didn’t get to ask “…exactly how to do you mean?”
I didn’t get to mentally prepare.
I didn’t get to do anything except gasp in shock as a numbing needle was put in a place one never, ever wants needles, then felt a little tug.
Next thing I know, the surgeon is holding my cheeks with one hand, a scalpel in the other as the nurse clutches a wad of crumpled-up scratchy brown paper towels that make me think of my Middle School bathroom near my face and asks “Do you want to see it?”
I realize my ass is now, quite literally, in her hands.
I shut my eyes and wonder whether there is any booze in the vending machine I saw by the elevator on my way in here.
“No, thanks. All set here.”
That afternoon was more painful than when I (unwillingly) delivered my son without drugs.
It was worse than when I fractured my wrist and elbow snowboarding.
It was worse than any pain I’ve ever felt before.
I’m pretty sure it was around bedtime when it dawned on me that I would, eventually, need to poop from a very sad and sore place.
I willed any food in my body to evaporate, popped my painkillers and fell asleep.
I refused to poop for days.
I peed in fear that the action of sitting pantsless would misinform my body that I was ready to poop.
Just the sight of bathrooms would cause my sphincter to burrow up into me in terror, hiding somewhere around my clavicle.
Days later, still on a diet of Activia, water and coffee, I knew it was time to go.
You know, go.
I said a prayer, begged for mercy, and went inside.
My hand shook as I locked the door behind me.
Worried tears blurred the view of the box of PreparationH wipes before me.
My colon whispered an apology, and I waited.
It was awful.
I gasped and cried a little, took a minute to recover.
But the wait was over.
I knew it would hurt less every time after that.
I knew that maybe – maybe! – pooping may never hurt again, once my hiney healed from that surgeon’s stealthy scalpel swipe.
Maybe my Ninja Bowels would come back some day.
I clung to that hope almost as tightly as I clung to my Raisin Bran.
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This post was written for The Red Dress Club Memoir writing prompt.
The prompt went like this:
It’s a fill-in-the-blank-for-your-own-prompt Prompt:
The first time I ________-ed after _________-ing.
You can tell a funny story or a super serious one or something in the middle.
Motherhood is nothing but one sexy tale after another, isn’t it?
Pooping awesomely is something I never took for granted, so this little “lesson” was totally unnecessary for me to experience. People who see me eat are usually flabbergasted to hear about my hemmies. I am the Fiber Queen.
I recently shared a much shorter version of this story along side the story of my friend who got surgery to stop peeing herself all the time. When I saw this week’s prompt, I laughed each time I knew this was what I was going to share:
The first time I pooped after having a hemorrhoid removed.
Because, really, who doesn’t love a good poop story?
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If you are new to Let Me Start By Saying…welcome! I have some more short memoir posts here. Or check out the About Kim page to learn more about me. For some funny, check out my Favorite Posts page. Thanks for visiting!
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