No Justice for the Colon

  Good morning! You know, sometimes? There’s just no justice in life!
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  You start out with a problem. To many, it’s a relatively small problem, but to you it’s a serious life issue. I’m talking constipation.
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  Oh, this isn’t any old run-of-the mill constipation, nnnoooooo! This is the kind of constipation that lasts for days. Sometimes weeks. This is the kind of backed-up that leaves you the very epitome of a living, breathing poo-poo piñata. The kind of epic fail that makes you quake in fear of giant bear-hugs lest they have the effect of stomping on a brand new tube of toothpaste.

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  The Docs give it the official sounding name Dysmotility, adding an air of dignity to the fact you simply cannot poop.
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  Then the afore mentioned Docs give you a gift, the hope of a normal potty life. They present you with *insert trumpet fanfare here* Motility Drugs!
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  Finally all will be right with your world. Finally, after a lifetime of astounding your family and friends by your ability to forego morning stints in the bathroom and one unfortunate experience with a Navy Nurse possessing the bedside manner of the Marquis de Sade and an instrument that looked much like a spoon with a foot-long handle, you shall be regular. *happy sigh of contentment*
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  Fast-forward a few months You are now convinced that your GI Doc and NOT the Navy Nurse is the reincarnation of the dreaded Marquis. Why? Because as it turns out “Motility Drugs” is nothing more than a pleasant way of saying “pills that make you shit like a Christmas Goose”!
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  You have now morphed from the girl who only needed to schedule bathroom time maybe once a week to the girl who can’t leave home-base before noon due to the fact that from 5:00 AM ‘til then you can’t go more than 30 minutes without the dreaded “cramps” and “urge” that signal another round of “EVERYTHING-including-my-fillings-just-came-out”.
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  You walk like a penguin with hemorrhoids because of your limp and…you have hemorrhoids.
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  But wait, there’s more!
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  Enter the blessed pain meds. Yes, those awesome little pills and powders that bring an air of functionality back to your life. They turn the red haze surrounding your existence back into the blue skies of happiness.
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  But nothing comes without a price. And the price you pay for ingesting these wonderful gems of relief is…CONSTI-FRIGGIN’-PATION.

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  My friends, there is nothing sadder in this World (OK, in MY World) than a woman who is terrified to break wind. “Why,” you ask? Because I’m now working with drugs that tell my colon, “Run Forrest! Run!” and drugs that laugh in the face of a welcoming potty and a good book.
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  As I sit here pondering repeated unproductive trips to the Throne Room, my ever-expanding abdomen, and the sounds emerging from the lower part of that region, I am reminded of a poem I first read years ago while still in Grade School;
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Here I sit all broken hearted
Tried to poop, but only farted.
Mother Nature gave me a second chance,
Tried to fart and crapped my pants!


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