I’m full of shit

Really. Full of it.

Before I go on – please stop reading if you have a delicate sensibility. I warn you: I am about to strip my ‘lady’ image off and trample it into the ground with this post.

It’s not a talked-about thing is it, poo. Americans call it ‘poop’. It sounds cuter that way, like it’s got little googly eyes and a cheeky grin.

We’re allowed to talk about food though. We’re allowed to talk about what goes into the top end. We’re even allowed to take fancy photos of it and publish it on social media for the world to see. Not the other end though. Not when the digestion’s happened. There are no carefully arranged shits with vignette effects on Instagram. That’s for darker corners of the web.

But it’s as much a part of our lives as all the chia seed smoothies and gluten-free cakes and other gunk we smear about the Internet. It’s all gotta go somewhere! Behind every tasty looking cake in the world, there is a turd.

So I’m going to break the silence.

As you will know if you’ve read my two previous posts, I am on the 90 Day SSS Plan by The Bodycoach. I’m now  on day 11 and it was all going swimmingly until my bowel threw in the towel and said ‘nope that’s it, I’m done.’

I’ve had irritable bowel syndrome for as long as I can remember. IBS is just a bunch of embarrassing arse-related symptoms that may or may not be caused by something, maybe. Nobody really knows.

On a daily basis I get stomach pains, bloating and a variety of bowel movements in varying degrees of severity. But now, 11 days into my healthy eating plan, nothing’s budging. I’m bloated, exhausted, uncomfortable but unable to…vacate (have a poo) despite feeling I’m on the brink of giving out like an M&S melt-in-the-middle dessert.

Everybody else on this healthy eating plan talks about how many inches they’ve lost, how energetic and full of renewed verve they feel. Doesn’t anybody else feel like all that spinach they’re packing into their omelettes and smoothies and stir fries is just steadily impacting in some tricky corner of their large intestine?

I went to the doctor today. You see I’ve been meaning to do something about it for the last ten years. She prodded my tummy and asked a few questions and typed a few things into google and now I’m booked in for a blood test and faecal sample (yes, now the pressure’s really on to actually successfully shit at some point in the near future). They’ll be checking for anything more serious like inflammatory bowel disease and other scary sounding things I’m now resisting the urge to look up.

I know I’m not alone. Many of you (if anyone had the stomach to get this far) will also suffer from IBS. It’s not nice is it? It doesn’t make you feel particularly good about yourself. And I don’t think it would be too presumptuous to say it’s kind of worse when you’re female.  Girls don’t tend to talk about poo to each other. There’s this idea that we should be grossed out by it, because sophisticated women shouldn’t want to identify with something so crude and primitive. That’s why we wear high heels and make-up and jewellery right? To elevate us from the bald naked creatures we really are.

Men on the other-hand positively bond over poo. When they’re little boys it’s the best thing ever. The kid who farts in class is a comedy genius. Even when they’re adults men can happily shit together in neighbouring cubicles continuing their conversation between casual plops.

Why is that? Why is it such an issue for women?

Anyway I’ve really gone off tangent. I didn’t mean for this to become another dig at gender convention.

The conclusion is this: I’ve decided I’m going to carry on with my 90 day SSS plan because it’s actually working in terms of fat loss and I’m sure my body will get itself together eventually. In the mean time I’ve stocked up on a cocktail of laxatives from the chemist, I’ve got prune juice, I’ve got Ibuprofen, I’ve got water. Now all I have to do is sit and wait.


One response to “I’m full of shit”

  1. I can sympathise, I was diagnosed with IBS more years ago than I care to remember. I was in my early 30s and the GP said “It’s the only sensible diagnosis” which basically meant I don’t really know what it is but let’s just label it as IBS given your age and general health.

    More recently I saw the dreaded blood!!! This time it was off to the consultants and then a trip to the radiology department where, during a barium enema I was bombarded with enough radiation to fell a Wildebeest at 800 yards. “Oh, you’ve got Diverticular Disease” says the consultant. “What about my IBS?” I reply. “You’ve probably got that too, it doesn’t matter they are pretty much the same in terms of symptoms anyway”.

    Great, a double whammy! When asked what they can do about it, the reply was fibre, lots of it. Which is consultant code for go away as there’s nothing we can do so don’t bother us again.

    More recently I’m spending more time on the toilet than off it so I can feel another trip to the consultant coming on for more horrible tests.


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