Here Comes The Shit: The Saga Continues

It was so wonderful to be done with laxatives after the colonoscopy. Surely I hoped that cleaning out my bowels would solve the problem, but it didn't. I didn't start to panic right away. I mean, when I hadn't used the bathroom on Tuesday, I reasoned that my system had been totally cleaned out and I needed time to create some new waste. However, by Thursday when there had only been one drop of poop, I knew that this was going to be a journey. Whatever was causing this madness was not going away easily.

The following Tuesday I had my follow-up appointment with Dr. Lee. "Your colon is beautiful," she said. "We don't see any cancers or anything bad." For sure that was a relief, but the glass was only half full.

"But Dr. Lee, I've only use the bathroom once," I sighed.

She is not sure what triggered this round of severe Irritable Bowl Syndrome (IBS). However, my active thyroid is low and that could surely be the culprit. Or, it could just be stress. She wants me to see an endocrinologist to investigate before she starts prescribing any medications. I have an appointment the first week of October. I was originally diagnosed with IBS 3 years ago. I had the same symptoms that I do now, except I was having diarrhea, rather than constipation

I've been so focused on the constipation, laxatives and pooping everywhere, that I haven't mentioned the other issues I've been having along with the constipation. Let Me explain. I'm also having extreme food sensitivity to the point that some foods make me sick to even smell. I'm extremely bloated with whatever I eat, no matter the amount. Three slices of bacon and 1 slice of toast feels like an omelet, hash browns and toast. All of these are systems are classic IBS. 

And what seems like the kiss of death, most sugar makes me sick to my stomach. I haven't eaten a piece of chocolate in 3 weeks nor had a cupcake - and that's major for me. Now people without HIV can get IBS. They don't know the cause of this illness, for each person it's different. My HIV doctor, who handles my primary care, speculates that mine is caused by all the years of toxic HIV medications. Who knows, but we do know that stress can trigger IBS. Lord knows I'm under a ton of stress. Trying to figure out where your next meal is coming from, will do it to you every time.

So here I am unable to use the bathroom and eating is tricky at best. Like the taste of turkey make me nauseous. Now for sure, I've had mild food sensitively and bloating off and on over these last few years. I've just learned to live so it, but I haven't had IBS this bad in 3 years. Click Here to read about my IBS flair up the last time. 

This has been crazy to say the least. My Gastroenteritis (GI) doctor's primary goal at this point is to get me regular again. She says that the more I use the bathroom, the more regular I will get. So, to stimulate my bowels, she has me taking Meta-mucil (fiber)  3 times a day, Miarlax which is a mild laxative and stool softer, 2 times a week and she has also prescribed a new medication that may help that I'm getting this week. 

I'm frustrated to the point that it is affecting me emotionally. I've had a ton of sleepless nights in the last few weeks, which, certainly is not helping the problem. My attitude sucks. I'm not at a good place right now, not at all. It's like as soon as I adapt to whatever the hell it is that is attacking me, something else hits and then I have to figure it out all over again to adjust to my new normal.

On top of all this I'm still having pain in my back and side. It could be all this constapation, but it feels like something else so, I'm having an MRI this week. For sure managing chronic health is a full time job. That's why I tell people that having HIV is more than popping a pill, T-Cell count (CD4) and Viral Load. It's a wonder that I keep me all together.

For sure, I'm never going to quit, no matter how much I feel like I want to. My perseverance is simple, when I wake in the morning, this means that I'm still a part of God's's earthly plan. This means that there is something I'm supposed to do with my life, so I keep pressin'. I press because the sum total of my life is greater than the sum total of my pain. 

And Here Comes The Shit... Part Three

I had a sleepless night, running back and forth to the bathroom. Sunday my stomach seemed to have settled down and I took advantage of that reprieve. Bright and early Monday morning I called the GI doctor. She was totally booked for that week and I went into begging mode. When the doctors PA called me back, I did more pleading and got fitted into a slot in their office 45 minutes from my house. "Oh well, I'll take it," I said! I was in desperate mode. Someone needed to figure out why I couldn't use the bathroom. Laxatives were not the answer.

As we talked more about my problem, she hit me with the bomb shell. "Your bowels are probably still full," she said.  My mind started to scatter all over the place. "How did I get here," I wondered? This is a mess and I wasn't sure how all of this was going to be corrected.

"You're not going to suggest I continue taking Magnesium Citrate are you?" I asked meekly. But inside  I was screaming, "I CAN'T!  "No, I don't want you to take any more of that."

Then she recommended a milder stool softer/laxative called Miralax. "You should take it everyday," she said with emphasis. "Every day," I repeated, letting it sink. "Yes," she said, "everyday until your visit." "Huh, that's a full week of laxatives," I complained. She explained again, just like both the ER doctor and my HIV doctor, when your bowels are that full it takes time to clean.

I was not happy, but as the week progressed, I adjusted.  If I had to be out of the house for any length of time I brought extra bottoms. But for the most part I stayed put. Accidents in the house was all I could handle after the Walgreens/Starbucks ordeal.  Click Here for details

The week was manageable. I had a few near misses but for the most part I got through it with a breeze. By the end of that week, I could even tell when my tummy was sending me a message, "Get the hell up and head to the bath room!"

The weekend was mild and then it occurred to me Sunday night that I hadn't gone to the bathroom all day. "Oh well," I shrugged it off, "maybe my body is tried." I knew that I was and I dozed off to sleep. By mid-afternoon on Monday I still had not pooped. By now I started to think that the Miralax was no longer working. One day not using the bathroom was one thing, but two days, was another.

 This was becoming way to much and a tad overwhelming. One moment I can't poop and the next moment I'm pooping all over the place. Fear started to raise in my spirit. I know the long term use of laxatives can be dangerous and addictive. I couldn't wait to see the doctor in the morning.

My old GI doctor had moved into a sub-specialty around GI and I was given a new doctor. Dr. Lee I loved. First off, it was much easier talking to a woman about all of this. But she is young, bright and attentive.

She patiently listened to my drama over the past two weeks. "I need a break," I explained. After she completed the rectal exam and there was nothing blocking me, she decided that I needed a colonoscopy. She wanted to do it on that Thursday, but since I hadn't used the bathroom in two days, she didn't think that the traditional colonoscopy prep would be enough to prepare me, i. e. clean me out. 

For those who are not familiar with a colonoscopy, your bowels must be totally clean of stool so that the doctor can see.  The colonoscopy was important because people with HIV are prone to cancers. We needed to make sure that there was nothing going on that needed additional attention and might be inhabiting my ability to poop.

First off, she wanted be to start taking a fiber like Metamucil everyday. Then pure dread came over me when she told me to take Magnesium Citrate everyday until it was time for the colonoscopy prep. I heard her clearly, but I was stuck somewhere between stupid and you have got to be kidding me. 

"So ummmmm you want me to drink a bottle everyday?" I asked. " Her head went up and down as she typed away at the computer sending my prescription directly to the drug store. But that's a lot Dr Lee," I complained. "Yes, but a weeks worth won't harm you and we have to get you clean."

I walked into the waiting room shaking my head to Tiara who was waiting on me. I started complaining right away, "I can't believe this, she wants me back on Magnesium Citrate for the rest of the week." Tiara just shook her head," here you go again."

And boy was she right. Each day became harder than the next. Each morning I would take Sophie for her walk then start my day. If I had to do anything that required me to be out of the house, I drank the Magnesium Citrate once I retuned and I carried extra bottoms. But again, I wasn't taking many chances because it was very unpredictable. 

By Thursday, my sprint had dropped to an all time low. No matter how I tried to prepare myself, it was a mess. It didn't matter what I was wearing because by the time I made it to the bathroom, it was coming down my leg and once I pulled down my bottoms it would gosh out like a sprinkler, everywhere, on the toilet, wall, shower curtain, rug, my clothes. I have never experienced anything like this in my life. 

Be clear, I'm use to diarrhea. I've taken medications in these last 25 years that caused it for sure, but I have never had an experience like this before. Not even when I did the prep for my last two colonoscopies. It seemed like the poop that was coming out of me was endless and angry. 

I was depressed. I was really depressed. I started just throwing my soil clothes in the tub and washing down after each poop. I was just trying to make it from one poop to the next without loosing my mind. Tiara, had gone back to school, but she was giving me pep talks everyday. That was so refreshing! A young woman, who believed in me and continued to give me the push I needed. Thursday night, after one of her pep text's,  I made myself wash the clothes and bleach down the tub. I took a long bath and tried to prepare myself emotionally for 3 more days. 

Friday and Saturday was more of the same. Sunday night when I started the official prep for the colonoscopy I thought for sure I would be almost clean. "My God," I said to myself, "as much as I've shitted this week, my prep should be a breeze." But it wasn't and still Monday morning at 3:00 A.M. when I finished drinking the balance of the prep, my bowels was not totally clean. Finally, the last poop before Tiara's grandmother picked me up  at 6:00 a. M. to take me to the hospital I saw clear instead of brown. That meant I was totally clean and really for the colonoscopy. "Thank God," was ll I could say. 

After the colonoscopy I crashed, physically and emotionally. 

To Be Continued...

Part One Clink Here
Part Two Click Here

And Here Comes The Shit! Part Two!

Part One Here!

I set there frozen, unable to think, unable to act. The only part of my body that seemed to be working was my behind. I took a long deep breath and fought back the tears. "You will not cry over this shit. It is what it is," I mumbled to myself.

I don't know how long I had been in that bathroom, but I knew I had to pull myself together and get out of there. I flushed the toilet and pulled my shorts from over my ankles. The first thing was to wash my behind. I pulled and pulled toilet paper off the roll and dipped it in the toilet and started this familiar process of washing my behind in toilet water.

Pull, Dip, Wipe, Flush over and over again. I did that until the toilet paper came back clean. Then I wiped my legs down and cleaned my flip flops that had been splashed with a little shit. Now that I was clean, I went to cleaning the toilet. A little soap on the toilet paper and I cleaned off the shit residue from the toilet and the droplets on the floor.

 I stood there looking down at my nasty shorts. This was a dilemma. If I dumped them in the toilet, then they would be totally soaked. I didn't really want to walk home in totally wet shorts. Solutions were not coming to me as I stood there looking down at that mess. I knew that I couldn't put them back on shitty and walk home. That was not an option. My choices were limited, so I went to the sink and tried to clean only the sit of my shorts with the most amount of stool, but the was futile because it only made poop go to different spots. 

I was frustrated and finally I gave into the fact that I couldn't totally clean them in this sink in Starbucks, it wasn't fair to them or me. So I resolved to put them back on, part wet, part soiled and part dry.

As soon as I went to put them back on, I could feel my stomach at war and rushed back to the toilet just in time. "I need a break God," I whispered, "Will you help a sista out?" I asked.

I sat on the toilet, with the wet, soiled shorts in my lap and shit running out of me like a water faucet. I was so over it!! Over it! Over it! "I'm calling the GI doctor first thing Monday morning because this ER solution is a freaking mess," I said to the floor. I drifted into thought, "What is wrong with me?" I asked myself. This was becoming a bit overwhelming.

 I was lost in thoughts when I heard a knock on the door.  Shame swap over me, I was not going to let that man know that a woman was in here, but they started pulling the handle and I lamely hollered, "Someone's in here."

I couldn't rush things along so he would just have to wait. Finally my stomach settled,  I got off the toilet and put my part wet, part soiled, part dry shorts back on. The cold parts of the shorts sent a chill up my spin, a horrible reminder of the madness I had just experience. I took a deep breath, went back to the sink and with soapy paper towels cleaned it as best as I could. I double checked the toilet and floor, all was good.

Raw shame, hit me as I opened the door and saw that man leaning against the wall waiting for his turn. More shame swiped through me as I thought about the smell. "It is what is it Rae," I mumbled and made a B-line for the door.  As I approached Walgreens I thought about all the stuff I dropped on the counter, probably sitting there waiting on me. "What the hell, I might as well," I mumbled. As I walked into Walgreens, my stomach had seemed to settle. 

I went straight for the counter and thanked God no one was in line. As I walked home I was grateful for the floppy shirt I had on with the long tail in the back. At least people couldn't see the biggest soiled water spot. As soon as I made it in the house my stomach was at it again. "Thank God for home,"  I sighed as I sat on the toilet. "I'm calling the GI doctor," I reiterated out loud. 

When I thought that it was safe to get off the toilet, I stripped and showered. The warm water and the crisp smell of the pomegranate and mango shower gel cleansed me of the ugly and reminded me that even in chaos, God small miracles are alive. I was grateful for the water and the renewing of my senses. 

I made me a cup of peppermint tea to settle my tummy and curled up with Sophie and a book in the big chair in my bedroom. I thanked God for my, "Safe-place," (a cup of tea, a book and Sophie) as the calm settled over my spirit. 

Little did I know, that my body and spirit would be put to a major test the next two weeks. Yep, someone, the universe, the devil, karma, some crazy ass with a voodoo doll,  and even God whatever, whoever was testing my resolve, of that I became convinced. 

To Be Continued! 


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And Here Comes The Shit..

I didn't panic as the shit began to seep out of my behind in line at Walgreens. I mean, I am the queen of shitting on myself. Like for real, for real. In fact, I've shitted on myself so much over the years with AIDS and have told those stories so many times, that one of my most famous mishaps is the muse for the lead character in actress Sheryl Lee Ralph's one woman show, "Sometimes I Cry: The Lives of Women Infected and Affected by HIV!" Yep, "Ms. Chanel," that's me, shitted on myself in a restaurant, dressed to the nines, in St. John and Chanel, had a melt down, clean my butt with toilet paper and toilet water and waltz out of that bathroom like the Diva I am and finished my dinner.

Shitting on myself is no big deal, I've been there, done that! I thought that I was emotionally immune to a shitty behind and clothes. So as the poop seeped out of my butt in Walgreens last Sunday, I told myself, "You can do this girly!" So I gently laid the items that I was holding on the counter, whispered to the cashier, "I'll be right back," and I walked out of that Walgreens and headed across the street to Starbucks where I knew a bathroom would be guaranteed. "I got this," I whispered to myself again. But right in the middle of the street between Walgreens and Starbucks, my ass exploded and poop splashed out of my ass like a water hydrant on a hot summer day in the hood. I flexed my ass muscles inward but that was futile, the poop kept coming and coming and coming. I could feel it trickle down my thigh and I knew that the light tan shorts that I was wearing would not be my savior. 

I walked briskly into Starbucks as the poop kept coming and went straight to the ladies bathroom. The door was locked, I moaned, "You have got to be kidding." As panic crossed my face I reached for the handle on the men's room right next door. "Lord please let it be empty," I mumbled as poop and panic sucked the life out of me.

 "Thank God,"I cried as I pulled my shorts down and sat on the toilet. As poop flowed out of my behind like water in a faucet, I looked down at my shorts around my ankle full of shit and sighed deeply. 

"Bitch you can't have nothing easy, can you?" I asked myself. Like for real, I feel like I'm on a perpetual "Job Test," or something. Let's see how resilient she really is, that's what I think is someone's plan for me; yep how can "We," whoever we are, the devil, the universe, the Karma from my last life time, God, some crazy ass with a voodoo doll is putting me to the freakin test, to see how much I can really withstand.

YES, they are scheming against me, I can hear them now, "She thinks she's immune to shit, well, lets show her. She thinks she's a tough cookie, well what's she gonna do with this shit?" Yep, that seems to be my test. My doctor even said yesterday,"Like why can't you get something easy like strep throat." All we could both do was chuckle.

But there was no chuckle in me sitting on the toilet in Starbucks. This was not going to be an easy one. My shorts were so soil, I knew I could not leave the bathroom the way that I had came. I just didn't have it in me to put those shitty shorts back on and walk out that door. I sat defeated! After three days of taking laxatives  and shitting this was becoming all to much for me, just way to much. My ass had diaper rash and now shit was everywhere, my ass, the toilet sit, the floor and bathed in my tan shorts.

"I'm tired Lord ,"I mumbled, "tireddddddd." After the BlogHer conference I came home and hit the sack. I was beat to no end. The IV medication was still in my system when the conference started, so my struggles during the conference, I believed to be a residual from the IV medication. The pain in my side and back just wouldn't go away, but I had checked on my kidneys, which is the biggest danger while on cidofovir and they were fine, so I kept it moving.

But after 3 days in bed after the conference, I knew something else had to be wrong with me. By that Wednesday night, I crawled out  of bed and made my way to the ER. After fourteen hours, the doctor had the answer. My bowels were totally full. "Excuse me," I said. "Yes," the attending that had taken over my case said, "The exray shows that your bowels are totally full from one end, to the other." I looked at him long and hard, "He had got to be kidding me," I thought to myself, while trying to make sense of what he was saying. 

"But I've had bowel movements everyday." I said. "Well," he explained, "Sometimes, loose stool can escape constipation and slip out the side.  Hummmmm, for once in my life I was speechless. I sat puzzled. He continued to explain that he was prescribing Magnesium Citrate to help clean out my bowels.

 I arrived back home at 4:00 A. M. tired and beat down. The next morning I began the process of cleaning me out. I touched based with HIV doctor, who manages my primary care and she suggested an additional laxative and concurred with the ER doctor that it may take a couple of rounds. We knew what the problem was, but had no answers to why I had the problem. The first step was to clean out all those freakin toxins from my body. 

Thursday I spent the entire day in the bathroom and it was not pretty. Friday morning when I woke up, I was so red and raw I couldn't go another round. I needed a freaking break. I had small bowels movements throughout the day but I was not in any condition to drink another bottle of Magnesium Citrate. When I woke up Saturday morning my pain level hadn't decreased one bit and I pulled myself emotionally together for another day of laxatives. After breakfast, I drink that nasty bottle right on down and waited, and waited, and waited and waited and nothing came. My stomach was on fire, but still nothing came.

 After about 6 hours of waiting it was clear to me, that particular laxative was no longer working for me and I headed to Walgreens to pick up the other one my doctor recommended.

YES! I was standing in line with a laxative in my hand when the poop started to sip out of my behind. "Really Lord, like for real for real God,"I mumbled. I've been sitting at home all day and now the shit decides to come. Usually I'm able to laugh at the madness, but sitting on that toilet in starbucks, looking down at my shitty shorts 3 blocks from my house, I was numb.

"What the fuck am I going to do?" I asked myself over and over and over. I just sat, looking down at my shitty legs and shorts, unable to put together any kind of action plan. Super Woman had left the room.

To Be Continued...