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.