I come home from the hospital, and I can’t poop.
(Courtesy of the anesthetic and the pain medication, both of which I’d have been very unhappy without.)
I been given things to help with the problem. I will spare you the details. Other than saying, they didn’t help.
I feel frustrated and forlorn, cut off from a natural, and previously regular, bodily function.
I try my hardest.
Nothing.
Days pass.
No letter from home.
It becomes an obsession. Pooping is all you think about. It’s not like you’re asking the impossible. Babies do it without even trying.
As a last resort, you turn to the Almighty (who you may not believe in.) “Dear, God,” you entreat, perhaps even on your knees, “I’ll never ask for anything again. Just let me poop.”
You try again.
Nothing.
Then, one day, finally,
It happens.
The logjam is broken.
Huzzah.
The next day,
Nothing.
But my outlook has changed. I feel hopeful. If happened once, it can happen again.
The next day,
It does.
Now, we’re talking. Two days out of three. Perhaps there actually is a God. (The same God who blessed me with this affliction in the first place.)
Time passes. There’s progress every day. I’m thinking, someday, things will be exactly the way they were.
But with one difference.
I will never take pooping for granted again.
More time passes…
The birds are singing. The miracle of regularity has been regained.
More time passes…
And the miracle becomes ho hum.
Regular, regular, regular
Regular, regular, regular.
The feeling has faded.
I felt the impulse to poop,
And I didn’t even bother.
* Hopefully, this is an analogy for all life’s passing difficulties. Otherwise, it’s just a story about poop.
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I have a friend whose house I stopped by to drop off a Christmas present a few days after she had had an operation and gotten out of the hospital. I'm standing on her porch and I see her kids walking around inside, but she has no doorbell, so I knocked on the door. No one heard me. I finally called and one of her kids answered, and I asked to speak with her. Her stupid kid gave her the phone and she was nearly in tears, and announced to me that she was in the bathroom and had no pooped in days. "Didn't they make you poop before they let you out of the hospital?" I asked her. "No," she moaned back. "THEY LET YOU OUT OF THE HOSPITAL WITHOUT POOPING??!!" I yelled back. A Christmas exchange courtesy of good ole Earl.
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