Poo-cano, and how I was almost courted by Sasquatch

WARNING! This blog post contains a graphic and hilarious story about an emergency, outdoor bowel movement. Read with caution.

Right after I was accepted into the clinic, I started experiencing some discomfort. Underneath my last few ribs on my right side, around where my liver sits. It was on again off again, keeping up at night with mild pain and I had burps that tasted like farts. Seriously. It was kind of advantageous during the ongoing fart wars in my house that included the dog. And I had the runs, all the time. I did some research on the google machine and diagnosed myself with gall stones. Armed with this information, I went to the doctor. I tend to have bad luck with doctors. When I have a big problem, she tends to be out of town, and, people who don't know me, think I'm making things up. I told her (the replacement doctor) my symptoms and what I thought I had. She didn't believe it was gallstones, said I probably had a viral infection, and sent me on my way. A week, and many missed work hours later, I was at the walk in clinic down the street. I explained my situation and my self diagnosis. I explained that if it was an infection, how did my boyfriend not contract it? 'Maybe you are just really good at washing your hands.' On the outside, I was a calm patient, accepting a diagnosis from an arrogant jackass that doesn't see anything much more serious than a broken arm or a 'viral' infection on a daily basis. On the inside, I was feeding him to my sharks in my shark tank in my secret lair (if I was fantastically rich and a super villain, I would have one.) But, 'just in case,' he gave me a req for an ultra sound, blood work, and a stool sample. I trekked across the street to the lab and they took my blood. Then they gave me the supplies to obtain the stool sample. I took it home and read the directions. I had to wait 2 weeks after taking any anti diarrhea medication. TWO WEEKS! Whats the first thing you do when you can't stop having liquid poos? You take some anti diarrhea medication. And lots of it (not that it was working, but it was worth a shot). Two weeks! I was nearly in tears. I phoned to book my ultrasound, and that was a week away as well. I was almost out of sick and holiday days. I was mad. So I did what I always do when no one else believes me, I call my nurse.

I seriously don't know what I would do without this team of health care professionals. I would be super fat, naked, and crying in a ditch somewhere eating doritos. She thought of something no one else did. One of my medications can causes pancreatitis. Oh, good, someone who doesn't think I'm disease ridden and thinks I may be right, that something is wrong with me. She booked my with the replacement doctor the next afternoon to have it checked out. I called the booking hotline and told them to give me the next available ultrasound appointment and I didn't care what part of the city it was in. They found one on the opposite end of town and off I went. The next afternoon, at the doctors office, my suspicions had been confirmed. I had gallstones (thankfully, not pancreatitis). Small, passable ones, but at least I knew what was wrong. She told me to cut out fats completely and give them a chance to move out. I did that, things were looking up, and I was feeling better. I was also doing a showboaty, 'I was right, you all suck,' dance in my head, but that's besides the point. Then, I had to go out of town for work.

I went up to Ft McMurray to do some work, it was a one night stay and I was heading back into town. On the way out, I decided to grab a quick bite at a burger joint, instead of getting something that wouldn't upset my gall bladder. I was in a hurry, it was late, whatever the reason, it was one of the worst decisions of my life. About an hour and a half out of Ft McMurray, I could feel the on set of an exploding poo. I was trying to make it to wandering river, with indoor plumbing and warm interior. As I continued, I realized indoor plumbing was a pipe dream and I aimed for the rest stop a few kilometres up the road. I knew the one on my side of the road would be closed, I saw the sign on the way up the day prior, so I already planned to run across the highway. I was running the scenario over in my head. 'Grab hi vis jacket, get out of truck, don't forget keys, look both ways, run across highway, tear open bathroom door, lift outhouse seat, sit, poo.' It seemed so simple, I had it all planned, if I could just get there. It was dark, I couldn't make out any of the landmarks and I was getting desperate. Would I have to poo in the woods? Would a bear eat me? Or a Sasquatch try and mate with me? There were too many variables, I might die, so no pooing in the woods. Finally, I saw my saving grace. The road widened to 2 lanes and I saw the telltale blue outhouse buildings. I pulled over and prepared to execute my meticulously laid out plan. Grab the hi vis coat (safety first, it was dark on one of the most dangerous highways in the country), get out of the truck, got the keys, look both ways, play frogger across the highway, tear open the bathroom door....oh no. This one was out of order too. My life flashed before my eyes and a knew the poo was coming, there was no stopping it. I quickly accepted the notion of what was about to happen. I ran behind the building, dropped my pants and squatted in one smooth motion, and pooed. On the side of the road. Behind a rest stop. I could hear it splashing against the building and I felt shame. 'Yep, this is happening' I said to myself. I also felt pity for the poor guy who might have to pressure wash this off if we didn't have a heavy enough rain fall to wash my shame away. And the strongest feeling of all was regret. I don't regret much, I tend to learn from my mistakes and let them teach me a lesson. But I knew better, and I ate that burger anyway. If I was more emotional, I probably would have cried while squatting and pooing against that building. But I am not. So I pulled up my pants and waddled across the highway to the waiting truck. I wadded up some napkins and stuck them down my pants. I didn't know the state of my pants and didn't want to have an accident in the work truck. I drove to the bathroom I dreamed about, grabbed a clean pair of underpants, and waddled into the gas station. I ruined a perfectly good pair of underwear that day, realizing that I forgot the 'grab napkins to use a toilet paper' part of my brilliant plan, but the work truck survived without a stain. I made it home and shared my story of the mighty poo-cano with all who would listen. One day, I will tell my children as a cautionary tale. I will include Sasquatch so it is more fantastical, like a fairytale. Until then, it will be known, as the poo-cano story.

The end of my world! (I may have overreacted here)

This turned out to be waaayyy harder than I thought. Who knew that changing a lifetime of bad eating habits and a crack like addiction to carbs would be so freakin' difficult? Apparently, not me. I was beginning struggle so badly, after I had started out strongly. And every time I fell off the wagon, I felt I was starting all over again. It wasn't really that bad, but I tend to overreact, so it felt that bad. Then came an actual, life changing, moment, that wasn't that bad but I lost my shit anyway. My boyfriend was diagnosed with Celiac disease. That meant no wheat. As much as carbs were my enemy, I still wanted to have them once in a while. It was safer to have a wheat free house than to risk cross contamination. So after a bit of research, I had a melt down. Nothing major, kind of like the fire in the chemical plant in superman 3, where everything ended up fine, but almost exploded? Wheat was good at hiding....EVERYWHERE! We threw out so much food and cleaned everything. We had to drop most of our favorite restaurants, which was kind of a good thing, but anyone who knows me knows I like to do things on my own terms, not because I have too (I'm kinda stubborn that way). So all that hard work was about to look like a skinned knee compared to the hemorrhaging brain that was was about to ensue.

Not only was I reading nutrition labels. I was checking ingredient lists for sneaky sources of wheat and Google-ing brand names to finds out if they had wheat free facilities. Then I became a know it all. Worse than before. I annoyed all my co workers and my friends and anyone who would listen, with facts about Celiac disease and wheat and blah blah blah. I'm also a bit of a show off, so I wanted everyone to know how smart I am. (That's the price you pay for being friends with someone so awesome. Take that!) The avoidance of wheat turned out to have a good side effect. See, wheat mostly resides in the restricted section of the grocery store....the middle aisles. Not as intersting as the restricted section at Hogwarts, but it was to be avoided nonetheless. See, the outside edges of the grocery store have all the 'good' stuff. All the fruits, veggies, dairy and meat. There is also the bakery, but we just avoided that all together. Until that is where they but the gluten free bread. Makes sense, but also under minds my point...dammit. My point is, the gluten free diet made it easier to stick to the good parts of the grocery store. And caused another problem. See, gluten free diets are good, because you are eliminating excessive carbs. Gluten free diets are not good, when you sub them out for gluten free carbs. In my label comparisons, gluten free bread has more calories and carbs than regular bread. But it is a craze right now, so let the whores have their trinkets, I suppose. (I have no idea what that means).

So we started eating gluten free carbs, pasta, bread, cookies, etc. Its just like eating a regular cookie, but doesn't taste as good. In fact, it tastes like crap. I was so busy trying to replace our gluten with gluten free, I was forgetting the big picture. Weight loss! Hello! I forgot my rules, to measure my pasta and bread, have half my plate be veggies and eat low fat dairy. That was easily rectified, and I was back on track. Then I got the phone call I had been waiting for. The clinic my doctors office had referred me to approved me and was ready to book my first appointment. I was excited and apprehensive. I had worked hard and lost about 20 pounds, but I knew this was one step closer to possible surgery, which was kind of scary. I didn't know much about bariatric surgery, and I knew they would teach me, but, I was mostly worried about the new people I would meet. Would my new nurse and dietician be as awesome as the ones I had now? (spoiler: Hell no). I knew my diet would have to change again, but to what extreme? I had to do something else, I was almost at my plateau. See, it is really difficult to lose more than 5 to 10 % of your body weight with diet and exercise alone. That was 34 pounds, max. That wasn't going to cut it. My first visit proved to be both frustrating and uplifting at the same time. The clinic had a lot of success stories, but any weight loss program other than theirs was shunned like that awkward cousin that you're sure is a virgin at 40 and has serious impulse control issues so becomes a mailman (mine was a girl, go figure). I asked about HCG, which was a diet my best friend was on and had been hugely successful. I was worried because I was diabetic and needed more information than the internet could provide. My doctor didn't know enough about it and referred my to a gynecologist, but his wait list was about 6 months. This was my only option for now. So I trucked on, open to all options and waiting to learn new and exciting things.