Many years ago, pre-infertility, pre-Mystery, heck, pre-everything, I spent a summer backpacking in Southeast Asia. A few weeks after I arrived, all bowel functions ceased. This was a huge shock, as, well, I don't mean to brag, but I've always been rather productive in that department. A day passed, then two, then four, then a week, and nothing. I kept eating, figuring that eventually I could push the obstruction through, but to no avail. I just blew up like a balloon. A great big balloon full of, well, you know.
At the time, I was in a small remote village, and from the waist up was having a glorious time. There was no pharmacy, and no doctor, so seeking medical attention would have required a several-hour bus trip. I kept putting it off, assuming that the problem would eventually sort itself out.
Ten days into the ordeal, I felt forced to take desperate measures. Now if you have ever been in that situation, you can probably imagine the sort of unspeakable act that I'm talking about. If not, then there is no way that I am going to be the one to pollute your mind with such thoughts. Let's just say that it wasn't pretty.
And it didn't help. I was the world's worst consumer of toilet paper for a shockingly long time. Then, all of a sudden, I started feeling a gurgling in my bowels. Being rather inclined toward digestive distress, I was familiar with this feeling as a precursor of explosive diarrhea. And I started to wonder which would win, the diarrhea or the constipation. I pictured an epic battle going on in my belly, resulting the victory of the one and the annihilation of the other, or alternatively, in a massive explosion. In the end, the diarrhea won, as it always does. Thanks to a convenient giardia infection, that was my last experience with constipation. Until now that is.
While we all wish for an uneventful pregnancy, last week was a little TOO uneventful. Uncomfortably uneventful. There were no "events" whatsoever. So, once again, I find myself full of, well, you know.