I guess it is time I get personal.
.
Here are the facts of my own existence.
I am hypothyroid. In layman's terms, it means that my thyroid is underactive and I gain weight very easily. Surprise if anyone has seen how fat I have become. I have tried may diets, including the Aids diet my mother put me on at age 10 because I was too fat (in her estimation). And so I gobbled up the sugary cubes and followed her version of a diet -- little to no food (none without her daily/hourly shaming of how much I ate). Please keep in mind that I was a growing child and hoping to continue to grow (not sideways as she claimed constantly).
I spent a lot of time outside, mostly with the neighbors from across the street. Boys in my Mom's eyes were the same as being boy crazy -- even when I was climbing trees or playing at being Indians (back in the days before PC language and the Indians had become Native Americans. Black people were colored and so forth.
I was immune to poison ivy, though I didn't know it at the time, but everyone got poison ivy, even BB and Isinacrab and the Mushroom, who was simply Bowling Ball Belly which drooped over his shorts while the back of his shorts hung long. He was a nuisance, but he was a younger brother, like any other younger brother, who played with Mackie who lived next door and my brother's age. His parents also own a Corvair, but that was in the days long before auto makers found out that Corvairs were a fire hazard if hit in the rear. Personally, I loved the car and wished to be old enough to be able to drive a car, any car. I loved and still love the look of a convertible Corvair, though I've not seen many since 1969.
As someone who is plagued with hypothyroidism and the impending fat that would soon balloon up around me, going to the bathroom was a chore. I was plagued with large stools, many of which left blood in the toilet bowl and on the TP with which I wiped myself. It hurt LIKE HELL.
Often after dinner and before bed, I had to line up for Mom to dose me with Castoria. It smelled like root beer (yum) which is why even today I gag when I smell root beer -- not so much as an adult. I merely take a whiff, stifle my urge to barf, and say, "No, thank you."
Castoria eventually became some other preparation. I never let things get to the stage where I, like my Mom, took Ex-Lax or suffered with constipation for days. I drank a lot of water and suffered (silently, so I thought) in silence -- or until Mom caught sight of the blood on the TP, which may have been why she delivered the talk while I sat on the toilet in the bathroom.
"Don't worry," she said when I hurriedly threw the TP with its blood stain into the toilet and rapidly flushed. "Don't worry if you wipe and find blood on the paper," she said.
I hadn't flushed fast enough or successfully hid the telltale blood on the paper from her at all.
She misread the situation. It wasn't from the other place, but from my backside.
"Okay," I muttered since she stopped talking at that point.
"Oh, no," she said. "I know it's from your backside. I meant if you wipe and see blood on the paper from the front."
I was suddenly riveted.
"What?"
"I mean you will have become a woman when there's blood on the paper one day. Not today. I'll get the Castoria," she said.
My mouth flooded with saliva and I nearly gagged before I slipped out the bathroom door. I didn't want to be dosed again, not with the root beer smelling Castoria. If I got out of her sight fast enough she might forget about the dosing and I'd be home free.
Not to happen. Not that day and not that night before I dressed for bed that night. She presented herself with the bottle and a spoon. I was caught. She was going to dose me. And dose me she did with the gagging and shivers and begging for a big glass of water.
"It's not that bad," she chided me after she pulled the spoon from my mouth and recapped the Castoria. She put the bottle away and I slunk up the stairs having been dosed.
At least Castoria was momentarily gross and wouldn't wake me in the middle of the night with an urgent need to go to the bathroom where my bowels would turn themselves inside out and the stool would flow freely with only a small, hard to pass lump from the Ex-Lax. I actually hated that far more than the gagging from the Castoria.
You see, Mom knew about laxatives and used them frequently -- far too frequently if you asked me. Her lavish use of laxatives resulted in severe constipation (on her part) and the unmuffled complaints when she finally had a normal bowel movement (she called the BMs). As she got older, she would get so backed up with constipation she was often hospitalized for not going and had to be disimpacted by the nurse or doctor and spend a few days in the hospital until her bowels were clear. Once she had to have a hunk of small bowel moved surgically (about 18 inches), and I. believed it was because she was that full of sh*it. Her eyes were hazel so the levels had gone down considerably.
I don't know if I ever got that constipated. My eyes are blue and clear, so probably not. I got dosed and all was well. I had the occasional bout of constipation, but I didn't tell Mom to avoid having to gag on that root beer smelling Castoria. I don't use laxatives at all -- not unless I'm in the hospital and the doctors and nurses force me to take Ex-Lax or mag citrate or some such laxative. And I don't even take Colace any more -- not since I vowed I'd not take medicines unless forced.
I was recently in the hospital/Rehab and found out that the antidepressant they had forced on me was causing constipation. How did I know? The blood in the bowl and the ripping feeling of yet another BM scoring the walls of my colon as it was forced to be evacuated. I whimpered and then wiped myself until I stopped bleeding. I explained to the nurse that I would not take another antidepressant because I wasn't depressed and not suicidal. She suggested putting me on something to ease the constipation. I said NO. I'll cure it by drinking apple and/or prune juice, but I will not take any medication.
I got my way. I drank apple or prune juice with every meal (a small 4 ounce glass) and began to defecate with ease. I'd won the battle. I wouldn't have to take Colace, which they forgot to give me, or at least took me at my word and let me heal myself with apple/prune juice. My juice regimen did not cure me -- or heal the constipation quickly, but it did work. Soon I was no longer constipated and there was no more blood on the paper or in the bowl. I had triumphed.
I finally knew why I had given my children apple juice. It wasn't just to keep them quiet with a dose of sugary sweet juice as I thought, but because it was a natural laxative and they never had to go through what I did when I was a child.
They never had to gag whenever they smelled root beer and didn't struggle on the toilet either. I hope they figured out that natural methods are the best and maybe they do know that I gave them apple juice to keep them regular.
Too late now. They are in their 40s and I'm sure they have figured out how to go without straining or ending up with hemorrhoids. I don't know. I haven't asked them. They also haven't told me come to that.
But back to my poison ivy immunity. I did forget the rest of that story as I discovered while I sat on the toilet a moment ago -- voiding and not defecating.
All of the Alexander kids got poison ivy when we slept out in their back yard. They scratched and whined and complained of their itches while their mother dabbed calamine lotion on their poison ivy eruptions. I never had to dab calamine on my itches because I had none. I wasn't covered in poison ivy eruptions, not one. I was immune. I didn't know until that day and I've not had a single bout of poison ivy or poison oak in my life. Maybe it's a natural immunity, That's only fair when I've had my share of diseases and such. I've dabbed calamine lotion on my boys because they don't share my immunity. At least I got something good from the DNA roulette wheel when I was born and I'm glad.
I've also since discovered that by getting off all cereal grains (wheat, rice, oats, rye, corn, etc.) my bathroom times are not spent by taking laxatives or even straining and groaning while on the toilet. That is one of the best things about being ketogenic and eating a lot of fat and vegetables. Ooh, but I love my butter and it loves me too. I have continued to lose weight, even though I prefer the veggie meal from Meals on Wheels (MOW). Unfortunately, the veggie meals come with a huge helping of either an entree receptacle of mashed potatoes and their floury gravy, which I don't eat. They add a slice of wheat bread, which I don't eat, and insist on either Mac and cheese or some other pasta concoction as an entree while I make do with a few green beans and avoid the corn at all times.
My stools slip right out and I don't have to strain or whine or suffer any blood or trouble passing my BMs. In my estimation, following a ketogenic or vegetarian diet (as long as you don't add pasta, bread, or any other version of cereal grain) will improve your bathroom experience. The BMs will slip out of you without laxatives or even apple juice (I suggest apple juice without sugar or the kind that is reconstituted with water because it comes from have been concentrated). Same for prune juice -- no sugar and no concentrated source. Just plain, old apple juice or prune juice and get rid of all the cereal grains in your diet. Your bowels will thank me. And you will never need a chemical boost or rely on Western medicine to get rid of constipation.
Vegetables and fat to your heart's content. Have at it and be grateful there are busybodies like me blazing the trails for you.
That is all. Disperse.
