It’s 10.30am. I leave my desk for a few minutes daily. Regular as clockwork. An opportunity to escape the workplace. Post something meaningless on Facebook. And oblute accordingly.
The halcyon days that preceded cancer, redundancy and pain relief medication.
Naproxen, tramadol and morphine have had words though. There are an army of people in this country and across the world on such drugs. Many suffer a side effect that must drive them mad.
I will try not to be too descriptive about constipation. It’s a curse though. And not one that people tend to talk openly about.
The normal function of your body’s waste disposal is completely changed. Sitting there knowing it’s time to go. Only to discover it isn’t.
Sitting there knowing you’ve been. But 85% of what was hoping to depart remains in tact.
Standing up, thinking you’ve not been able to go. Only to discover that somehow you have, but just didn’t feel it. And yet you still have more that declined the exit opportunity.
Needing 18 triple ply rolls for a fiver. Because it’s sticky. Sorry, but it is. Multiple removal efforts needed each time. Not to mention extra bleach for the porcelain.
Granted, the sachets pictured above help. But overdo them and you’re visiting half a dozen times a day. Underdo them and the problems listed above return.
I would like to think I will die with some element of dignity. Constipation makes that seem rather unlikely!