Reading another post reminded me of this, one of the most painful moments of my life:
Like many, I typically need to clear my bowels at some point in the morning. This routine is welcome, and I think that most of us would, if capable, choose to have a fairly consistent toilet time. There are many benefits and pieces of information to be gained, such as proof that your diet is good, BMs looking healthy, etc. But also, like all men I really enjoyed a nice healthy dump. The bigger and prouder, the better. Throughout my 20s and early 30s, a good bracing morning dump was the routine.
After having kids in my mid thirties, I was introduced to a fair bit of sleep disruptions. We had three kids close together, and while I didn’t lose nearly as much sleep as my poor wife, I tried to be reliable with getting up at night to change babies and bottle feed them. In addition to being massively tired at work, my entire body rhythm was somewhat disrupted.
And so it was, on that fateful day, that my morning necessaries visited me once I was at work rather than at home. No bother- great bathroom in at the office, even though it isn’t the comfort of my own home, it’ll do nicely. So there I went to visit the lavatory, weakened by weeks or months of sleep deprivation. I could tell, this was a poop I would be proud of. A solid shit.
I eased myself into my task, not rushing, gently leaning into my duties like a yogi. Once I was ready, in position, limber and dilated, and it was time to void my burden when WHAM a violent sneeze racked my body. I had no warning whatsoever- possibly due to lack of sleep- and thus couldn’t resist or stifle the sneeze. AHHCHHHOOO ploop. That’s what it sounded like. I sneezed and during that fraction of a second, delivered what should’ve been a ten or fifteen second log. It happened fast.
The pain was so profound that I stood up. I stood right up. I stood right straight up and clenched my cheeks, attempting to reset what I was certain to be a prolapsed sphincter. I resisted the urge to reach back and push on my poor butthole with my fingers. I needed to catch my breath. My ears rang. Had to tightly close my eyes. It took minutes to move. When I eventually wiped, I was terrified that I would see blood… thank god, THAT didn’t happen. What did happen was pain. For a week. I didn’t walk normally the rest of the day, and toilet time- something I used to very much look forward to- was ruined for at least a week.
I was so disappointed that my body would choose to sabotage itself. Sounds stupid in a world with cancer and autoimmune disease, but I really mean it. My body chose to do two things simultaneously that ought NEVER be done. How awful it was. Not sure I’ll ever completely trust again.
TL;DR I sneezed while crowning a poop and it felt like somebody bayoneted my bootyhole.