hemorrhoid.
There are some things I know for certain: The sky is blue, the grass is green, and young hip sexy people don't bust out the make-up mirror in the bathtub to reveal that the little sore spot on their bum they've been trying to avoid is a hemorrhoid. How can I confirm that's what I have? Well a fantastic 5 minutes on google image search with the filter off did the trick. A 5 minutes of my life I will never get back (and some images I will never get out of my head no matter how many gruesome horror flicks I watch) confirmed the sad sad truth.
Apparently these are pretty common, particularly in the throws of pregnancy when an already craptastic large intestine refuses to do it's job and eliminate your poo poo properly. This leads to a bathroom experience that must be meant to prepare you for the great birthing event, because it leaves you red faced in a puddle of your own tears in horror on the bathroom floor. The biggest "f*** you" insult sphincter and friends throw at you is that when you glance into the bowl expecting to see a poo the size of texas, you're let down by the little rock hard egg sized turd smiling back at you.
Great. And I have to push out an 8 pounder.
To get through this horror I've named the hemorrhoid. I lovingly call him "hemi". From what I've learned "hemi" will be with me for quite some time. He'll be a lonely little guy until after my daughter joins the world, at which point he'll be surrounded by several friends. I'm warm and fuzzy in anticipation.
The happy smiley rainbow side of this story is that as I flash back to the days as a child spent with my grandparents, I remember my grandmother yelling "Wendell bring me my Metamucil and Preparation H" from her corner bedroom. I know this is significant because my grandparents were certainly adults. I've had several "coming of age" events in my life - getting a driver's license, surviving my 21st birthday party, buying a house, getting married, etc. etc., but surely THIS event is the one that seals the deal. I'm a real grown up.
Maybe in like 5 years when I can drink again and the bartender cards me, rather than flashing him my license as proof of age, I'll just bend over and let him meet "hemi".
hahahahahahahaaa! Dan and I were literally talking about hemorrhoids last night as, on and off, they've become a regular fixture in my post-pregnancy life.
ReplyDeleteAlso, what was the name of the pet hairball that Leah and Simone raised in the Theta house? (Was it "Hemi?" For some reason, I was thinking so.)
Loving your blog,
Bowden