So I’ve been having to go to the bathroom like 3-4 different times (5-6 on bad days) within an hour or two of waking up the past couple of weeks. I wake up to my tummy feeling full and starting to quietly groan. Within 10 minutes or so, the pressure starts building as my bowels wake up, slowly beginning to cramp and churn. So, I get out of bed, and usually the first trip is just to let some pressure and gas out so everything can start moving through me.
As I start drinking coffee and hitting my vape, things start to get more turbulent. By this time I’m usually running my hands in big circles on my belly, waiting for the first big wave to hit. This one is usually the most tame, releasing a little bit of the crampiness and bloat. As I finish my coffee though, things ramp up until I’m clutching my painful tummy, trying to soothe it as it empties the rest out between strained, sickly gurgles that send cramps through my middle.
So what I want is for someone to wake me up, hand me a coffee, and tell me to get into the car. I would probably already need to go by the time I got buckled up. First you’d drive me to a drive-thru because I should really eat something after waking up, because there might be a wait at the diner. My tummy is protesting before we even get there, already so full and rumbling. You get me a nice greasy breakfast sandwich and another big sugary coffee. You can feel how hard it’s getting already while I beg you to help soothe it.
We get to the restaurant and there’s a short wait, but it’s moving fast. You don’t have to tell me I can’t use the bathroom, but you do anyway. The sandwich and extra coffee is starting to make the gurgles worse and the bloat tighter and it digests. We get seated and you order me a classic diner breakfast— eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, hash browns, and, yes— more coffee. By this point it’s getting pretty painful down there and my stomach keeps crying out with long groans as if it’s scared to be stuffed more.
I’ll eat the proteins first, which is less volume, but the gas starts even sooner. The carbs just completely fill out any space that was left. At this point my shirt would probably be riding up over my massively stretched, upset gut. The server comes for the check and you ask her to add a slice of chocolate cream pie. My tummy groans loudly, and the server side eyes us with a surprised look. Two forks? No, certainly not. It’s all me who crams each bite in to my distended stomach.
When we do get back to the car, I practically waddle in and put the seat back, both hands grasping the hard mass that my belly has become, bowels roaring for relief. You put your hand on my belly and the instant your put pressure on it a long, deep gurgle come out with a cramp that leaves me breathless. I can’t help but whine. I feel like I’m going to burst with every rumble.
It’s time to drive home, but first you pull off into the pharmacy. You make me walk in with you, shirt clinging to my loud, bursting belly, to the digestive care isle and pick out what laxatives you’re going to give me. Chewable, you decide, just for the irony of making me put more into my belly. You give me a few to start eating in the car. The pain is almost unbearable at this point. Every breath is shallow so as not to move my swollen insides. I can feel them writhing beneath my hands, bubbles bursting an inch below my fingertips. You tell me we’re almost home, just hold it, though I’m really not sure if I can. And I’m certainly not sure if I can handle whatever you’re going to be feeding my sick tummy next.
