Happy to be a Poopy Kid Again

I have undergone surgery a number of times, mostly for orthopedic issues, but this last surgical intervention for a minor hernia correction was the worst.  I had a very complicated shoulder surgery with multiple tears—the recovery?  A piece of cake.  Surgery on my right wrist, left thumb, and left ring finger? No problemos.  Is it my age, my weakening mental spirit, or my declining physical resiliency?  Regardless, I developed a hernia condition sometime during the past two years while wrestling.  I largely ignored this problem, thinking that it would never need to actually be corrected.  It got worse.  Following my most successful marathon, my hernia symptoms got a lot worse—come to think of it, a lot of minor physical problems got a lot worse during the brief training for my marathon, during the hellish hell that was my marathon and during the post marathon recovery stage.  So I scheduled a consultation with an old friend, who also happens to be a very well respected general surgeon, Dr. Barry Bernfeld.  Dr. Bernfeld and I coached AAU basketball over 10 years ago.  Our daughters were the same age and played together.  Barry grew up in Queens, NY and actually played basketball at a fairly high level at one point in his life.  As knowledgeable as Dr. Bernfeld is about basketball, he is much more skilled as a surgeon, which bode well for me as one of his patients.

As expected, he confirmed my need for surgery to correct this “minor” problem.  I was warned that the recovery could be challenging.  I was told not to drive a car for a week, nor lift anything heavier than a pair of shoes for 3 weeks.  I scheduled the surgery for Thanksgiving week because I had a light work schedule and Chelsea was planning on being home for the week and was willing to drive me around.  I was confident everything was going to go smoothly. 

The trouble began on Day 1 post-op.  I couldn’t poop. The problem increased in intensity until Day 3, I was bloated, desperate and was extremely miserable.   I have heard constipated people describe this condition as "uncomfortable."  To characterize my condition as merely “uncomfortable” would be a gross understatement.  I was on the verge of checking myself into the ER.   I have always been a poopy kid.  I can’t remember ever suffering from constipation.  I suppose this is why, when finally afflicted with this condition, that it seemed to be something akin to a slow death.  I’m pretty sure there is no one in the history of constipation who has suffered quite like me.   I was pretty patient with my constipation on Monday.  Tuesday morning I realized I needed to take action and started with stool softeners.  Nothing.  By Tuesday evening, I was taking laxatives.  Still nothing.  By Wednesday morning, I was desperate and very bloated.  So I paid a visit to “Larry the Pharmacist” at Wray’s Drug Store, who hooked me up with some special elixir, which in the words of Larry “were guaranteed to make some magic happen.”   No sooner had I imbibed the magical potion than I remembered I was scheduled to dedicate a grave that afternoon.  I was panicked.  What had I done? I was more than a little concerned that my magical moment might happen at the most inopportune time. 

As it turned out everything worked out--the grave was dedicated in a most dignified manner and I was able to make it home before the rumbling down under began in earnest.  Having experienced something which thousands of Americans experience on a fairly frequent basis, I was elated to be back to normal, which for me is a happy, poopy kid!