A Post About Poop.

Our lives revolve around poop at the moment. I guess my life has always revolved around poop.

My childhood was spent listening to my father, the aptly named Grumblebum, complain about his bowel habits. Every day he would dose himself up on salts (for those of you who don't know, salts are this old-fashioned remedy for chronic constipation. Downside - you poo like wee and as it runs out it scours you) and then we would get the running commentary of, "Well, I only managed a little bit. Something is wrong, I just know it."  ALL DAY. Until the next morning and the next dose of salts.

My Grandmother, Yee-Haw Grandma, was fond of conning us kids with the old Laxettes. You know, looks like chocolate, tastes like shit. Still around today, apparently. Wonder if they managed to fix the off-putting so not chocolate no matter what it looks like flavour? Certainly not going to test it myself! Luckily, I never suffered the fall out of the Granny sabotage. Wise Woman put a very quick halt to any attempts after my sister, the Flame-Haired Hellion, suffered the embarrassment of pooing her pants in kindergarten thanks to the yucky chocolate being slipped to her.

Wise Woman herself was even guilty of some poo pushing punishments. I was so young and cannot remember clearly if it was for being naughty or for being packed to the personal perimeter with poo, but the good old paraffin oil was Wise Woman's weapon of choice. {{UGH}}

Sadly, she suffered the indignity of an unresponsive bowel as she grew older. In her last years she had to resort to laxatives herslef, in the form of Movicol, due to the shrinking of her body squashing that poor bowel down until it was quite unable to perform its function.

I was always a strange pooper myself. Twice a week was not unusual, though with irritable bowel thrown in I would have a very painful but effective clean out every few weeks if stressed, or I ate the wrong food and triggered it.

So, when Boy 2 became ill recently, the first thing asked was "When did you last poo?" I don't have babies any longer. My children are eleven and thirteen, so having your mother enquire about your bowel habits is kinda embarrassing and yucky. Even worse when you have to confess, "Over a week ago..."

You can well imagine my reaction to that. He has always been like me, once maybe twice a week. I never really worried as it was the same as my childhood bowel habits, without the IBD. Boy 1 is every-night-same-time boy, just like his dad, Big Boy. So I figured, "well one had to be like me..."

But OVER A WEEK! Can you imagine the backlog in that small body? Let's just say my response was enough to scare the shit outa him. He now poops every second day. Gradually the dried faeces are being pushed out, though we do have a bottle of Parachoc on hand if the GP thinks it is necessary.

As for me. Well, in my old age my bowel motions have finally decided to become normal. Once a day girl, yep, that's me. Probably so I can read in peace for a few moments. What? Too much information? Surely not.

Oh, and Grumblebum and his salts? He developed treatable bowel cancer in his seventies. Took great pleasure in telling everyone he always knew there was something seriously wrong. We didn't have the heart to point out his specialist thought the years of poor diet and bowel abuse probably contributed a fair bit to the cancer developing.