So This Is Constipation?

Omigod! Really? I had no clue


A toilet
Where the battle began Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash

I thought I knew what constipation was. I foolishly shrugged aside other people who complained about it, privately thinking them weak or overly sensitive. I must apologize to all because I had no frigging idea.

I previously thought constipation was a momentary hesitation, a reluctance, a “just a sec, boss” message from my bowels. Thanks to a recent operation to remove what my doctor insisted was a cancer in my bladder — but was low grade and easily defeated — I now know the agonizing truth, the effing unbelievable total truth about this innocuous-sounding affliction.

Really, “constipation”? That’s too soft a word, too friendly. It should be harsh, angry, guttural, and filled with sharp K’s. Perhaps it should bend spelling convention and include a few exclamation marks.

“Dama!fukka!garrunkafoo!”, anyone? I’ll do without the “!”’s if you insist, but I’d like our dictionaries modified to use this instead. It is only fair to warn people what they may be facing.

My epiphany came two days after the operation mentioned above. It was not a total surprise as my doctor had advised me to start taking a stool softener right after he finished hacking away at my insides. But he did not warn me of the perils ahead. He did not put his hands on my shoulders, look me in the eyes, and tell me to be brave. He damn well should have done at least that much!

As related elsewhere, when this so-called “constipation” first visited me, I cursed, I groaned, I feared for my life. I was dizzy, I sweated, I was nauseous. What I didn’t mention because I forgot it until now was part of what didn’t want to exit stuck its head out a little, probably so it could observe my agony.

Wipe it away, you say? Can you wipe away a rock? No, you cannot. Spraying it with a full-force bidet only caused it to laugh at me. I tried tugging at it with a tissue; I might as well have been tugging at a railroad spike.

It wanted to stay where it was. The after-surgery instructions did warn me not to strain but didn’t suggest any options. I thought a come-along might work, but we don’t own one, and my wife doesn’t know how to operate one anyway.



Anthony (Tony/Pcunix) Lawrence

Retired Unix Consultant. I write tech and humor mostly but sometimes other things. see my Lists if your interests are specific.