The Great Intestinal Betrayal
Well, Bucerias, you were a blast. More on that here. The trip had all the things that make a great holiday, and then some.
Our flight home was seamless (knock on wood). Our luggage was one of the first bags out of the chute at the baggage claim. A taxi waiting right outside the airport door, a quick 15 mins. home. The next day was spent unpacking and doing laundry, and prepping my work weeks ahead.
Thursday evening, we are watching some seriously sick and disturbing series on Netflix. My husband Brad (the adrenaline junkie), always gets me talked into watching these sick and twisted shows.
My stomach is distended, its a strange sensation indeed. I don’t know if I’ve ever had this happen before. Feeling tired and mentally traumatized; Damn you, Mr. Mercedes
I’m off to bed.
Pain wakes me. My groggy brain is trying to identify. It’s sharp, prolonged cramping in my stomach and bowels. Ive given birth, so in reference, this pain was intense. I’m squirming in the fetal position, writhing in pain. What in the hell is this?
This went on for what felt like forever, when suddenly I got that sudden urge to get to the toilet ASAP.
You know it. We’ve all had been there.
I’ve never been so grateful for a bidet, and the fact that our bedroom bathroom is steps away from the bed. Because little did I know this is how I’ll be spending the next two weeks of my life.
Bedridden, It’s pouring out of me, there is no other way to say it. Pain, cramping, uncontrolled intestinal rebellion. By day 3 of code brown, one of my dearest friends, Becca, has decided I needed medical attention. She will no longer be accepting my adamant refusal of hospital care.
The defiance, in my mind, had many layers of reasoning.
A) How in the hell would I be able to withhold soiling myself in a vehicle ride to and from?
B) I don’t want to sit 5 hours in my own shit, in an emergency room. (Canadian health care - if you know, you know). Also, sitting up for longer than 5 mins is physically next to impossible.
C) Trips to the public washroom in the hospital would be treacherous and messy. Also, hospital public washrooms- gross.
I’m sure I could go on, but I’ll spare you.
Dear Becca has decided that adult diapers are the answer, and she will deliver them to me. Oh goody.
Once the anti-soiling garment is in place, she will transport me to the hospital. Yup, apparently we’re doing this thing.
Incontinence mission activated
On the way back from watching their boys play hockey, Becca and other friend Jamie (No discrepancy- I mean, the more the merrier) go to the grocery store. Of course, there’s photo evidence of this adult diaper sourcing mission.
I mean why wouldn’t there be?
And why is she smiling?
Becca and photographic proof of the adult diaper mission
I hear there are so many choices. Also, it’s not every day this kind of humiliation is accessible at your best friend’s expense. I can only try to wrap my head around the challenges of choosing the right absorbent undergarment for such mission-critical work. Especially when the unwilling wearer is being transported in the back of your very pretty Porsche (We’ve named her Pearl if anyone is interested).
With emergency underpants purchased, Becca arrives at my home and drops the package within reach. Fulfilling my part of this mission, I toddle off to the bedroom, putting on the protective undergarment system.
I’m completely drained from starvation and dehydration. Slowly making my way down the stairs and out to the driveway, where Becca and Pearl are waiting. I bring a few extra ‘just in case briefs’ - just in case.
Off to the emergency we go.
Too weak to sit up, I lay in the backseat. The trip there was soil-free. I even surprised myself.
Once we reach the emergency entrance, Becca runs in and gets a wheelchair, bless her heart. I don’t know what she said to those nurses in admitting, but I have never seen anything like it. She wheeled me in right up to a desk, they took my information, and I was lying in a hospital bed within minutes.
Perhaps the threat of liquid excrement all over the hospital waiting room may have had some play in the speed of my solitary placement. I lay in my private curtain-encapsulated room, a nurse enters and begins the onslaught of questions while prepping me for an IV.
Dehydration had set in, and so they wrapped me in warmed blankets to get some veins popping. Cocooned in warmed blankets for mere moments, the cramping begins. Hastily, I un-cocoon myself, panicked and unsure of bed-to-toilet timing ratio in my new surroundings. I know, I have a diaper on, but there is no way in hell I’m willingly filling this thing.
Small spills only.
I speed walk down the hall to the commode and make it with barely enough time to spare. In all that excitement, they want a sample. I’m worried about shitting myself, and they want me to MacGyver a sample.
You want some of this? I’ve got plenty to spare. No problem. Could probably get ya one of those samples every 15 mins.
While procuring this ‘sample’, the tie straps to my hospital gown have taken a dip in the toilet.
No! Why???
In my haste to retrieve them from the toilet, I’ve dragged them across the front of my hospital gown as well as arm and legs for good measure.
Stool sample secure.
Clean up in aisle 5, please..
I open the bathroom door to shamefully beg for a new hospital gown. The door happens to open in full view of another bed and patient. Sorry dude.
A nurse in great misfortune of being closest to the bathroom caught my eye and apparently also caught a whiff. The look on her face is pure shock, then disgust, with an undeniable lingering expression of a full-on stench assault. She tried to correct it, but it was too late, I can’t un-see that.
All my pride and modesty have been depleted. For the love of god, look away, women! And just bring me another damn gown.
I didn’t say that - but I wanted to.
Becca stayed till the bitter end. Waiting for confirmation on whether I would be set free or kept in for the night.
Good friends, priceless. Am I right?
The next few bedridden hours consisted of some dozing on and off, IV hydration, and anti-nausea meds. A double dose of Imodium, and some waiting for test results. Because seriously, what the hell is this thing? Another couple of crampy, panicked trips to the biffy. The incontinence brief is doing its emergency backup job.
Some more waiting, checking of vitals, another IV bag, and finally my blood work comes back normal. We’re given the information that the stool tests wouldn’t be back for another day or two, and with all other vitals on the right track, they sent me home. Yay.
Homeward Bound
Becca pulls up to the Emergency doors with pretty shiny Pearl. Blanket spread out in her back leather seat for warmth, comfort, and I suspect some protection as well.
I lay down, hoping for a speedy and uneventful journey home. Becca informs me that we need to make a stop at the drug store for some things.
She’s right, we do.
But I don’t want to. I love you, friend, but I just want to get home to the safety of my bed, my dogs, and my toilet. That being said, the thought of some electrolytes and Imodium for home care did have its appeal.
About a block away from the Shoppers Drug Mart, the cramping begins. It’s a big one, it hurts, and what’s worse is that I know what is pending in the pipes.
I have absolutely no control over what happens next.
It starts pouring out of me. I can feel the wet seeping warmth, and it’s sickening. It’s surging escape from my bowel is audible, and what’s worse is the stench that accompanies it. It just keeps coming. Oh diaper don’t fail me now!
Poor Becca is gagging (rightfully so) and laughing so hard I think she is going to pee her pants.
Wouldn’t that be the cherry on top?
I’m also laughing and apologizing profusely. What else can a gal do but laugh or cry? Or both.
In her panic of trying to roll down her window, she has pressed every damn button in her technologically advanced Pearl, reorienting side mirrors, rear view mirrors, rendering them useless. Locks and sunroof activated, she may have even activated a call to Tokyo, on Bluetooth, were not sure.
With her side window finally opened, her head is hanging out as far as humanly possible while still having some control over the wheel. The air is frigid, and this noxious odour is just hanging there, frozen in time. You’re welcome, my friend.
Violated by my own waste system, I lay in the back seat with my stench while Becca runs into the pharmacy for the goods.
Mission completed, we are back on route to home, finally.
Home
I get into the shower and carefully disrobe and dis-diaper, not an easy task when the contents are halfway up your backside. I’m crying inside. I just want to crawl into bed and die in so many ways. But here I am showering off shit.
Help me, I am weak.
While I clean up, Becca sorts my meds with written instructions. She knows I’m starting to fade. Delusional exhaustion is creeping in. Her self-assigned duties complete, she bids me adieu with a virtual hug- I wouldn’t touch me either.
Two days later, came confirmation that I had indeed contracted Salmonella. Where exactly? I will never know.
2 weeks - Bedridden and shitting myself. Did I mention the mysterious body rash?
Ya there was that too.
3rd week - Nauseous, extremely weak, still not confident in leaving the house.
4th week - Still nauseous, tired, hyper-vigilant with any odd sensation in the bowel area.
5th week - Energy level is somewhat back on track. I’m eating pretty normal and workouts are back on.
I didn’t think Salmonella would be fun. But honestly, I never thought it would be like that.
It is no joke. It will kick you in the ass, quite literally.
Also, staying consistent with my usual ‘sick on my birthday tradition,’ this lovely gift from Mexico hit full force on November 6th, taking me right through into December. Giddy up.
So yay me! Keeping up with this coveted ritual of random birthday illnesses.
Good riddance to Nasty November 2025.
Thanks for being here and thanks for taking the time to read my words.
Pleae do comment like and share- Chaos is better with friends.
