EARWORMS

Flare-ups vary for each patient, and I know I don’t always suffer the same way through each one. In recent years my primary symptoms have been violent gagging, spitting up bile, diarrhea, and often times passing blood through the aforementioned diarrhea. I usually can’t tolerate food but feel hungry and nauseas at the same time. But the one symptom that has come to be my most loathed is one you don’t hear about in pharmaceutical ads or awareness campaigns and I may be the only one who experiences this phenomenon in conjunction with IBD upsets: the unrelenting earworm.

Earworms aren't actual worms, but if they were they'd look like this

For those unfamiliar with the term, an earworm is a song that you can’t get out of your head. We’ve all experienced it and we all know it’s annoying. But when that earworm burrows its way into you for several days straight, rattling around when you’re slumping out of bed at 2, 3, 4am to shomit and collapse into a shivering ball on your bathroom floor, it’s a much larger problem than most would assume.

Sometimes the offending tune is a television jingle, like this Optimum Triple Play ad that haunted my 2010 flare.

EIGHT SEVEN SEVEN, THREE NINE THREE, FOOOUR FOOOUR FOOUR EIGHT!! I would sing to myself while hunched on the toilet in the dead of night. It’s three years later and I still remember that damn phone number – it’s how I found the YouTube video to post here.

During that particular flare I was miserable every waking second. The only peace I got from my CALL YOUR MA, CALL YOUR DATE abdominal cramping and spastic vomiting was when I was asleep. Waking up without an earworm was bad enough, but IO DIGITAL CABLE MAKE A LOT OF CALLS WHENEVER YOU'RE ABLE waking up with an earworm was excruciating.

It wasn't until the next flare when I was tormented by Lady Gaga's "Poker Face" that I realized how lucky I was to have had Regaeton pirates on the mind.

BEST PRACTICES IN SELF DEFECATION

A friend on Facebook once posed this question regarding self-defecation:

"Is it possible to shit your pants with a solid poop instead of diarrhea? In other words, does self defecation necessitate the runs?"

In my experience, while more often than not accidents do involve the loosies, it is absolutely possible for a formed turd to cause your woes, or at least it may start out that way. In the end, if you’re pooping in your pants it’s going to get squishy in there, diarrhea or not. Whatever the consistency, it’s never a good time but here are some tips to help get you through:

TAKE PREVENTIVE MEASURES
Obviously, when shitting your pants you’ll want to get yourself into a situation where you can clean up and put the whole event behind you as quickly and discreetly as possible. Taking even the simplest precautions can better prepare you for crapping your pants.

For me, I’ve always been wearing cotton bikini briefs. I just like the way they fit, but they’re also ideal for a patient of IBD, as I find it best to be wearing snug underwear and slightly loose pants when losing my bowels. Tight undies will help contain the mess, which is important when trying to act casual. If your doo-doo does escape the first layer of protection provided by your drawers then loose fitting pants should be your next line of defense because they won’t give you away with big stains (the logic being that the fabric is farther from your skin, whereas if you were wearing spandex everyone could tell from the spreading brown stain that you shat yourself).

Regardless of your attire it is never fun or comfortable to poop yourself (fecal fetishists excluded). You’re probably going to have to run or at least scurry somewhere to take care of the situation and that will just smear the poop all over your butt cheeks, genitals, and maybe even down your legs, and it doesn’t stay warm for long. In addition to considering your wardrobe you should probably take care to have a wetnap on you at all times, and stow a spare pair of pants wherever is convenient. I keep pants and underwear in my desk at work, the LAST place you want to be when shitting your britches!

CHIN UP
Don’t forget, LOTS of people shit themselves, and you’d be surprised how few of them have an excuse like IBD. In fact, I’d dare to say post-infancy human will shit themselves at some point in their lifetime. It’s perfectly natural to feel embarrassed even if you know you shouldn’t, but let that feeling come and go swiftly and don’t beat yourself up when your body fails you. Shit - you guessed it - happens.

KNOW YOUR OPTIONS
Public bathrooms can be a nightmare to find and a horror to use. I find when taking a new job or moving to a new area it’s helpful to survey the local public restrooms and learn which businesses are helpful and which will make you feel like a derelict. At one point in my career my office moved from a half hour commute to an hour and fifteen minutes. My body was very used to pooping once I got to work, a schedule that proved problematic when my timing changed. I soon learned my local restrooms and got in the habit of running into the Manhattan Mall to take a mid-commute shit almost every day. And say what you will about the density of Starbucks locations, having three to choose from on another morning commute route literally saved my ass (well the ass of my pants, really) on more than one occasion. Naturally there may be occasions where you just have to make an unplanned deuce, and in such occasions you’ll have to make like Michael Westen and improvise.

COMMUNICATE YOUR NEEDS
Not sure what to say? Well, if you’re in one of the thirteen states that recognizes Ally’s Law, you can whip out a MedicAlert bathroom pass, but I imagine even that might be met with skepticism. (Maybe I’m being too jaded - ever since I dressed as Agent Scully for Halloween when I was 13 and was denied candy for being “just a kid in a trench coat” I’ve had a chip on my shoulder about people taking me seriously when flashing a badge.)

I’ve successfully claimed “morning sickness” to use a public bathroom before because I was too exhausted to explain that I had a poop-inducing disease. It’s certainly much easier for people to wrap their heads around. But if you’re feeling ballsy, just be straight and tell them how it is:

"I have colitis. I can poop in your bathroom, or I can poop on your floor."

I feel this retort is especially appropriate at pharmacies without public restrooms, because when your client-base is sick people you damn well better have a bathroom for them.

TRY NOT TO PANIC
I know it’s hard not to stress when you to feel the first tell-tale pangs of imminent self-defecation, but try to breathe. I was stuck on the subway one morning and started to cramp up as I had many times before. I hatched a plan to squat between subway cars (with the hope the doors weren’t locked) and drop my plop on the tracks if need be. But I also began taking deep yogic breaths, expanding and softening my abdomen as I inhaled, and the anxiety soon passed, taking my cramps with it. We all know there’s no surefire way to avoid the pants-pooping that is bound to happen at some point in a lifetime of IBD, but I have learned that minimizing my sense of panic increases my chances of making it to the bathroom.

THE ARTFUL SHOMIT

Today I realized the upstairs bathroom – which I consider “my” bathroom since I shit up there and Manfriend shits downstairs– has a serious flaw in that the toilet is across the room from the sink. I can't believe I didn't ask myself this sooner, but…what do I do if I have to shomit??

It's been a long time since I've lived without a sink-adjacent toilet, and this concerns me. I’m hesitant to yak into the bathtub, and I have always had an aversion to puking into a garbage can or any other container that I would then need to clean because cleaning up vomit will only make me puke more. It is therefore imperative that I have a disposal plan that is reliable and efficient. The need to shomit has thankfully not been an issue this past year, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be prepared. In a pinch, I could always attempt to puke between my legs and into the toilet, but this is a tricky move and not optimal due to the limited drop zone.

It is inadvisable for beginners to attempt this maneuver

The first time I ever shomitted was pre-diagnosis, just a few weeks before my first hospitalization. I was twelve years old and I was remarkably quick-thinking when facing the realization that I was about to have two emergency exits operating at once. I wasn’t far from the sink, but I was a newbie and too afraid to lift my butt for the reach. Instead I threw open the cabinet beneath the sink, dumped out a sack of my mom’s maxi pads and hurled into the plastic bag. This became standard operating procedure going forward.

Teachable Moment: One time I lost my grip on my vomit bag and it spilled on the bathroom floor and my dad yelled at me because it was gross and frustrating, but it hurt my feelings and I held a grudge for a really long time after that. So don't yell at a sick kid if they drop their puke bag, okay?

In 2010 I experienced my worst flare-up since my initial diagnosis, and during this time I developed shomitting moves that would qualify me for the American Ballet Company. At the time I was working at an office with two floors. My cubicle was on the lower floor, with two private bathrooms tragically placed next to two of my higher-ups’ offices and adjacent to my own work area. Even with the water running I could hear my co-workers talking and typing and it only stood to reason that they, in turn, could hear my trumpeting ass and muffled gagging. So, whenever possible, I would dash up to the second floor to the (almost) always empty bathroom. This particular bathroom appealed to me because the noise from the neighboring server room provided ample aural cover and was in no proximity to anyone’s office. I could sometimes hear folks in the kitchen but usually they’d be making coffee and the rattle of the machine would only add to the din.

Order my instructional pamphlet and you, too, can be an expert at the shomit two-step!

The first time I ran up there with the understanding that I was about to shomit I hurled bile into the sink while simultaneously slamming and locking the door behind me, undoing my pants, flipping the toilet lid up with one foot, spinning and landing side-saddle to finishing business without spilling a drop. Hands down the best dance move this untrained white lady has ever pulled off. (Those that know me are aware of my long held belief that untrained white persons should not attempt to dance.)

There truly is an art to shomitting. Part of it is a matter of balance and timing, but ultimately it comes down to knowing your own body. Unfortunately this knowledge is usually gleaned by learning the “hard way” but you do eventually get a better read on when your clench is about to lose its hold and when your esophageal sphincter is ready to blow. Hearing what your body is saying will help your shomit technique immensely.