I’ll Never Forget That Day
So when I was 14, I got into a huge fight with my mother and she sent me to live with my aunt and uncle. It was an incredibly stressful event, and combined with my innate shyness about pooping anywhere but at home, at first I didn’t notice that I wasn’t pooping. After about two weeks I began to feel awful and tried, without success, to poop. It had built up so much that I think it was impacted. To top it off, my aunt and uncle were weird about bathroom stuff, partly due to having one bathroom in a household of five people, and twice while I was trying to force it they knocked on the door and asked what was taking so long, which made the whole thing worse. I didn’t tell anyone, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of fear of getting in trouble.
They were strict and I did get in trouble for random things. Another very uncomfortable two weeks passed, until one day, a month to the day that I had first arrived and the last time I had pooped, I was sent out to rake some leaves and I was just in total agony. I went back inside and told my aunt what was going on. She was thankfully very understanding, although incredulous that I had waited so long to tell her. She told me she’d had poop issues her whole life. She went out and got me laxatives, suppositories, and a fleet enema and showed me how to use it. At this point I was in so much pain and just sweating bullets and praying for relief. The remedies barely helped matters, but in an hour or so I hopped on the toilet and tried to make things happen.
I put both hands on the walls and pushed with all my force, knees up to my chin, straining with all my might. I’ve since given birth and I pushed harder during this than I did pushing out my son. It hurt so bad and I felt I was straining every muscle in my body to void this beast. After 10 or so horrifying minutes, I still wasn’t having any luck, and I began wondering if I should ask to go to the hospital, but the idea of a doctor digging poop out of my butt way just too much to bear, so I pressed on. After 15-20 more agonizing minutes, grunting and straining and thrashing and pleading with my bum to cooperate, finally, finally, I heard my first heavy plop. Oh thank God! I cried from the pain and shock and relief. The first foot or so of poop wasn’t much easier, it was so hard and dry.
I had to twist and strain for a while, but after that, it got a bit easier. About 30 minutes in, I stood up and looked into the bowl. Have you ever had a poop so large, so complete that it entirely filled the rim of the toilet, halfway up the bowl rising above the water? I have. I have never, and I mean never, seen a pile of human poop like that and hope never to again. It was about the size of a large round birthday cake. I flushed once, twice, plunged, and got back on the toilet for round two. Finally, the flood stopped, and I gingerly wiped, flushed, cleaned the toilet, and emerged from the bathroom a changed person. I ached inside for a few days after, but oh my god the relief was incredible. I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. LastArmistice