King of Excellent (according to Scaryduck)

Monday, June 13

On I.B.S. Libs

Irritable bowel syndrome is a nightmare. I've had it on and off for about 17 years, and I thought I should share it with you all.
So there you are, sat watching a film. Mr Invisible, with his new steel toe capped boots, comes along and boots you in your gonads so hard you can barely breathe. The pressure from it has pushed your entire lower bowel into a pocket in your pelvis about the size of a thimble. Your balls also try to retract into the same space, and basically something has to give. It's at this point I mention it to TDT.
"OOOh, spasm," is the normal comment. This is followed by a mad rush to the toilet, to relieve the pressure on the now incredibly compacted bowel. I'll save you the displeasure of what happens in the toilet, but needless to say, it has on occasion taken an hour for me to return from Thomas Crapper's most famous invention.
There are lots of theories as to what can be done. The general (and wrong) consensus is that lots of fibre is a good thing. If you eat lots of stuff to make you shit, then the shit will flow through quicker, and the bowel doesn't have the opportunity to be irritated. The reality is the already irritated bowel now has loads more to push through, meaning the explosion in the bathroom is not only disastrous (small mushroom clouds have been seen above the west coast of Ireland following Bran Flakes), the bowel actually hurts for hours afterwards. Other things known to make me use the brown laser include fizzy drinks (we suspect), alcohol (no comment) and apparently large meals can also cause problems. So, basically, I'm doing myself no favours, yes I know. So I've recently taken to taking peppermint oil capsules ("Culpermin") which are supposed to stop Mr Invisible with the big heavy steel toe-capped boots picking on my baby makers, and it would appear to work. I also take some anti-diarrhoea tablets, that have the added effect of bunging me up. This causes TDT much displeasure, because as my lower bowel now wishes to pass a turd the size of a small nuclear submarine, the air tanks let rip with the usual trumpetting. This is followed by the usual conversation of
"But you're not! You pushed!"
Eventually the phase of pain passes, and I get a week of no pain and regular patterns. I dunno about Cancer research, I do know I wish they'd find a cure for IBS. I'm fed up of it, and so's TDT. And judging by Shallot clawing at the door on the bad days, so's he.