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HYJACK....Dogma...OMG.......WOW!!!! Amazing! Beautiful! Great Job! I'm wowed!
Ok, this isn't my story and it's a bit long....but I almost p my pants every time I read it! And to me it is DS worthy!
A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little *******s. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two cir****tances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good **** but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a **** I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the cir****tances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.
I began "The Move."For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move."
Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any cir****tances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of **** at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the **** stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little *******s attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precidence over **** no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since ****ting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of **** the consistancy of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The **** wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the **** wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of **** remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit... While all the ****ting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though.Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles?
In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in **** that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid **** All while thick **** was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no ******g toilet paper.
What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.
About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt immediately.
Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.
And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.
The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.
Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above.
At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little ******* kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.
When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.
The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
Ok, this isn't my story and it's a bit long....but I almost p my pants every time I read it! And to me it is DS worthy!
A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little *******s. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two cir****tances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good **** but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a **** I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the cir****tances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.
I began "The Move."For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move."
Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any cir****tances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of **** at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the **** stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little *******s attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precidence over **** no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since ****ting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of **** the consistancy of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The **** wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the **** wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of **** remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit... While all the ****ting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though.Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles?
In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in **** that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid **** All while thick **** was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no ******g toilet paper.
What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.
About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt immediately.
Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.
And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.
The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.
Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above.
At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little ******* kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.
When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.
The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!! It's been a very long time since I laughed that hard. I promise you that I am going to bookmark this page simply so that I can read it whenever I need a laugh. Please don't delete it!
I guess your new anatomy couldn't handle all that you wanted, hey??? Hopefully, the would-be newbies out there aren't frightened to death!!! If any are reading this - don't eat that much that early out b/c you cannot handle it!
Thank you sincerely for that laughter!
I guess your new anatomy couldn't handle all that you wanted, hey??? Hopefully, the would-be newbies out there aren't frightened to death!!! If any are reading this - don't eat that much that early out b/c you cannot handle it!
Thank you sincerely for that laughter!
HW / SW / CW / GW 299 / 287 / 160 / 140 Feb '09 / Mar '09 / Dec '13 /Aug '10
Appendicitis/Bowel Obstruction Surgery 8/21/10
Beat Hodgkin's Lymphoma! 7/15/2011 - 1/26/2012 
Ran Half-Marathon 10/14/2012
First Pregnancy, Due 8/12/14 I LOVE MY DS!!!
I have a reeeaaallly funny almost bathroom story to tell you, except I was a child. Please keep that fact in mind!!!!
I was playing inmy grade school's playground when I was 5 or 6 years old. The end of the play ground was kitty corner to the street I lived on & I lived half-way down a very short street. You could, in fact, see my house if you were to look from the corner of the playground. I was with my sister who was like 8 or 9. Well, of course, I had to go to the bathroom, #2, but I was scaired to go home by myself & my sister absolutely refused to go home with me.
Even called me a baby - horrible words to 5-6 year old!
I waited & waited & waited, hoping my sister would come home with me if I just held it a little while longer. Well, it finally got to the point that I absolutely KNEW that I MUST leave NOW - so I did. I made it about half-way across the intersection before I started pooping my pants. That made me cry b/c I was a Big Girl pooping my pants
so now I was a Bad Girl
So here I am walking stiff-legged down my home street b/c - you know when you gotta go & you're pooping, you know you've peed too. Just as I walked past the cross walk that bisected that sidewalk in front of the apartment building that was on the corner, I passed in front of this little old lady who was being assisted by her husband walking to the car. A turd rolled out of the bottom of my pants. She looked totally dumbfounded at the turd & looked back up at me & down at the turd again - they both stopped dead in their tracks. Well, that just made me cry even harder as I waddled home & told my mom. My sister got into SO much trouble
for not walking me home.
I hope that made you laugh! Good luck with everything!
I was playing inmy grade school's playground when I was 5 or 6 years old. The end of the play ground was kitty corner to the street I lived on & I lived half-way down a very short street. You could, in fact, see my house if you were to look from the corner of the playground. I was with my sister who was like 8 or 9. Well, of course, I had to go to the bathroom, #2, but I was scaired to go home by myself & my sister absolutely refused to go home with me.
Even called me a baby - horrible words to 5-6 year old!I waited & waited & waited, hoping my sister would come home with me if I just held it a little while longer. Well, it finally got to the point that I absolutely KNEW that I MUST leave NOW - so I did. I made it about half-way across the intersection before I started pooping my pants. That made me cry b/c I was a Big Girl pooping my pants
so now I was a Bad Girl So here I am walking stiff-legged down my home street b/c - you know when you gotta go & you're pooping, you know you've peed too. Just as I walked past the cross walk that bisected that sidewalk in front of the apartment building that was on the corner, I passed in front of this little old lady who was being assisted by her husband walking to the car. A turd rolled out of the bottom of my pants. She looked totally dumbfounded at the turd & looked back up at me & down at the turd again - they both stopped dead in their tracks. Well, that just made me cry even harder as I waddled home & told my mom. My sister got into SO much trouble
for not walking me home.I hope that made you laugh! Good luck with everything!
HW / SW / CW / GW 299 / 287 / 160 / 140 Feb '09 / Mar '09 / Dec '13 /Aug '10
Appendicitis/Bowel Obstruction Surgery 8/21/10
Beat Hodgkin's Lymphoma! 7/15/2011 - 1/26/2012
Ran Half-Marathon 10/14/2012
First Pregnancy, Due 8/12/14 I LOVE MY DS!!!
Here is another giggle for you Panda!
My 6 foot 5 inch husband woke up late one morning. He had a meeting with some High Level State Officials and was expected to do a presentation. On his way out the door, he grabbed a large cup of coffee and a couple of muffins that I had just taken out of the oven (Bran, raisins, molasses...you get my drift!) He had an hour long commute and made it just at the very beginning of the meeting. Trying to slip in at the last minute, the only seat available was right at the front...
During the meeting, he reported to me later, he started getting crampy and was waiting for the best opportunity to slide out to the restroom. Just when he was about to get up, the main speaker introduced him and proceeded to expound on his credentials and skills. He asked him to step up to the podium. When my husband got up (this is where it gets funny) he reported to me, he was squeezing his butt cheeks together so hard, he thought he was going to pass out! And of course, he had to step up on to a raised floor and when he did, he claimed that he let out the longest and loudest fart he had ever produced!!! His first comment at the podium, was some of his "skills" were hidden. The entire room was in hysterics!
My 6 foot 5 inch husband woke up late one morning. He had a meeting with some High Level State Officials and was expected to do a presentation. On his way out the door, he grabbed a large cup of coffee and a couple of muffins that I had just taken out of the oven (Bran, raisins, molasses...you get my drift!) He had an hour long commute and made it just at the very beginning of the meeting. Trying to slip in at the last minute, the only seat available was right at the front...
During the meeting, he reported to me later, he started getting crampy and was waiting for the best opportunity to slide out to the restroom. Just when he was about to get up, the main speaker introduced him and proceeded to expound on his credentials and skills. He asked him to step up to the podium. When my husband got up (this is where it gets funny) he reported to me, he was squeezing his butt cheeks together so hard, he thought he was going to pass out! And of course, he had to step up on to a raised floor and when he did, he claimed that he let out the longest and loudest fart he had ever produced!!! His first comment at the podium, was some of his "skills" were hidden. The entire room was in hysterics!
Hi Panda,
I traveled by myself for surgery and spent the evening doing my bowel prep in a hotel all by myself, so I feel for you!! I don't know how funny my experience was, but here it is...
I was so stressed about getting everything I needed packed up and to the hotel in the Detroit area that I didn't really have the opportunity or time to plan a nice "last meal" as they say. I drove the six plus hours to my hotel and then went to a 7-eleven type place to get something to eat and drink because I was starving, I didn't really eat much that day. So, what did I pick? Two large cinnamon rolls and milk, not thinking about the bowel prep later that night. I didn't have any concept of what the bowel prep was going to be like, nor that eating a lot of food right before probably wasn't the smartest idea!
I didn't care, I was stressed, I was alone and so I ate. The sad thing is that the cinnamon rolls weren't even that good, but I ate them anyway.
I started the bowel prep and started to drink the gallon of liquid, but I started throwing up almost immediately. I panicked because I started to feel awful and couldn't keep any of the liquid down. I didn't know what to do, so I called my step dad, who is a nurse and explained what was going on. He told me I needed to try and keep drinking the liquid as much as possible so my surgery didn't get cancelled the next morning.
So, I spent the night, literally, sitting on the toilet, drinking the liquid and throwing up into the bath tub. Some eventually made it's way through my system and I started to go to the bathroom, but I was miserable.
When it was time to leave for the hospital (I was supposed to be there at 4:30 AM) my bowel movements still weren't clear, so I thought for sure my surgery would be cancelled.
My surgery went without a hitch and my surgeon said I was clean as a whistle, which was a miracle. I think all the throwing up saved me from my last meal. I've since learned that I am actually allergic to the typical bowel prep liquid they give you and I now have to take pills instead. When I learned that pills were an option, I was so annoyed!! Oh, the misery I could have avoided.
Live and learn! Hang in there, I know it's scary and hard to go this alone, but it will all be worth it! We all have you in our thoughts!
I rarely remember or think of those few days. I've never regretted my DS, ever!
Good luck!
Jillian
I traveled by myself for surgery and spent the evening doing my bowel prep in a hotel all by myself, so I feel for you!! I don't know how funny my experience was, but here it is...
I was so stressed about getting everything I needed packed up and to the hotel in the Detroit area that I didn't really have the opportunity or time to plan a nice "last meal" as they say. I drove the six plus hours to my hotel and then went to a 7-eleven type place to get something to eat and drink because I was starving, I didn't really eat much that day. So, what did I pick? Two large cinnamon rolls and milk, not thinking about the bowel prep later that night. I didn't have any concept of what the bowel prep was going to be like, nor that eating a lot of food right before probably wasn't the smartest idea!
I didn't care, I was stressed, I was alone and so I ate. The sad thing is that the cinnamon rolls weren't even that good, but I ate them anyway.
I started the bowel prep and started to drink the gallon of liquid, but I started throwing up almost immediately. I panicked because I started to feel awful and couldn't keep any of the liquid down. I didn't know what to do, so I called my step dad, who is a nurse and explained what was going on. He told me I needed to try and keep drinking the liquid as much as possible so my surgery didn't get cancelled the next morning.
So, I spent the night, literally, sitting on the toilet, drinking the liquid and throwing up into the bath tub. Some eventually made it's way through my system and I started to go to the bathroom, but I was miserable.
When it was time to leave for the hospital (I was supposed to be there at 4:30 AM) my bowel movements still weren't clear, so I thought for sure my surgery would be cancelled.
My surgery went without a hitch and my surgeon said I was clean as a whistle, which was a miracle. I think all the throwing up saved me from my last meal. I've since learned that I am actually allergic to the typical bowel prep liquid they give you and I now have to take pills instead. When I learned that pills were an option, I was so annoyed!! Oh, the misery I could have avoided.
Live and learn! Hang in there, I know it's scary and hard to go this alone, but it will all be worth it! We all have you in our thoughts!
I rarely remember or think of those few days. I've never regretted my DS, ever!
Good luck!
Jillian
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