Everybody Poops (but not like me)

This topic has become so painful, I almost can't write it.  In fact it's been sitting as a draft for weeks.  But when I set out to chronicle this beautiful mess, I said I would tell the truth, and not hide things that are uncomfortable because someone else out there could be feeling like they're the only one.  And because I do not want to be the only one.

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Everybody poops, but not like me.

Most people poop so regularly they don't even think about it.  They never ask themselves, did I go yesterday?  How many days has it been since I pooped?  But spinal cord injury has given me what is politely called "bowel motility" problems, which means sometimes I don't poop.  I'm putting the food in, and instead of hopping on the first flight to Colon International (Exit-only) Port, the food is lounging around for an extended stay in the Intestinal Hotel.  Sometimes exercising helps move things along, but not always.  Sometimes I take a stool softener/laxative, and sometimes doing so causes me equal and opposite problems.  Sometimes my medications or diet cause plumbing problems, too.  Sometimes... okay, a lot of times, it is not safe for me to permit even the tiniest flatulence to pass, because doing so might soil my clothing and bed.  You know how it is when you're stuck in a social situation where you absolutely can't fart no matter how badly you need to, and how painful and miserable that built up gas pain is?   I'm like that all the time, Steven Wright used to say.  I'm not like that all the time, but often.  Often is bad enough.

Other people have tough poop days too, sometimes.  Usually experienced in the privacy of a bathroom, though.  Other people don't evacuate their bowel problems into a trash bag-lined bucket, and then have to ask someone more able-bodied to dispose of it.  Other people have never had to work through the transition from diaper to independent toileting while they were old enough to remember it.  We mercifully forget what it was like to have our parents wipe our bottoms, unless they are having to wipe our bottoms when we're in our thirties.  That is unforgettable, for both parties, no matter how necessary and appreciated it was.  And it was definitely appreciated.  I have never before or since been in a situation where I felt so much gratitude and such devastating humiliation, all at the same time. At least I've moved beyond that stage.

Still, there's a lingering odor of embarrassment around here.  I've made the leap to total independence during the day, graduated out of the fantastic daily assistance of the loving family member who's been helping me for more than a year.  But it's not safe for me to dispose of my commode waste myself, so it has to be stored for disposal later, when my husband comes home.  I try to manage the odor with Febreeze, but it's still a constant reminder that things are definitely not normal around here yet.  I wonder when they ever will be.