"How do you live with Irritable Bowel Syndrome without killing yourself?"
The answer? Well... I guess you've gotta have a pretty good sense of humor about it all. It's one of the more humiliating things you could have wrong with you. I mean, I guess I could have a conjoined fetus attached to my head, but I think South Park did a good job of making that a socially acceptable condition.
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| If only the fetus had IBS... now that's comedy! |
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| Basically |
It's this toilet time that really, really adds a layer of humiliation to folks like me. I'm sure there are twelve Farelly Brothers movies that have to do with some unfortunate dude that's stopped in to wash his hands over at McDonald's only to be trapped with someone making obscene sounds behind a stall door. Granted, public bathroom etiquette dictates (at least in my mind) that if you're gonna cop a squat, you should do it as quietly as possible. There have been many a times I've killed time at airports where weary travelers are making some ungodly noises - grunting, straining, heavy breathing...it's enough to make you wander exactly what they're giving birth to next door. Come to think of it, next time I'm in that situation, I should take an audio recording so I can post that to Facebook... though I'm not sure how to tag strangers...
There's nothing wrong with being quiet and trying to maintain some dignity while doing very undignified business. Making a scene just leads to snickers and pointing.
| And staring, apparently... |
When I was on the road, wrestling, I was given the distinct opportunity to use bathrooms in rest areas, gas stations, and community centers. I'm fairly sure that's why my IBS changed from moderate to severe - I must have picked up something from those hell holes.
Rest Areas, surprisingly, seem to be the cleanest of the three. If you can manage waiting until the border, you can usually get some choice seating at a visitor center rest area. Those tend to be maintained pretty well. Though, you have to be cautious of the auto-flush mechanisms because a lot of them are so sensitive that the second you shift your weight (to limit the amount your legs go to sleep), they flush and you get a nice dirty-water bidet treatment. I'd go during the day, if at all possible. At night, cleaning crews aren't on hand, and you may be better off just going around back.
Gas Stations are pretty bad, as you can imagine. Most folks that are desperate enough to cop a squat in a gas station toilet are the kind of folks who would do it in a port-o-potty (guilty), so you're dealing with pools on the floor, lack of paper, and gang-signed seats. I still haven't figured out the whole "tagging the toilet seat" thing. Maybe by getting into the proper toilet seat tagging position, they're preparing themselves for prison life... I assume toilet taggers would be the bitch in a prison situation. Avoid gas stations unless you have no shame.
Community Centers tend to be made for little kids. Toilets about a foot off the ground, three squares of paper left, and no locks on the stall doors - if they have doors at all. This is the most terrifying time to have IBS when you know some 7 year old can bust in on you and start pointing and laughing, knowing full well you can't do jack shit about it.
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| You're lucky my pants are around my ankles |
Vampires have garlic. Superman has Kryptonite. I have fiber and lactose. This week, more specifically, I had Wasabi Peas.
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| Please note my restraint on using "Give Peas a Chance" |
So what things to I eat to get around having these stomach issues? Well, there's bread.
That's about it.
So to recap... avoid Gas Stations. Poop with the grain. And learn to laugh... cause it ain't getting any better.
Next week, We'll tackle my colostomy bag.
