A Brief Interlude – And an Alcatraz Bathroom

Posted on 22 April 2013 by nocolon33

Sounds like the opening of a joke, doesn’t it?

It’s not. I’m going to start with a brief interlude in which I brag about my kids. I will end with the tale of a bathroom.

Tinkerbell, Jedediah and Elly Mae each have some talent. Tink and Elly Mae each dance. Jedediah woke up one morning and wanted to act, and he’s got some chops.

Sela and I, together, have five left feet. The only person I know who has a voice worse than Sela does is me. So where they get this talent, we don’t know.

In the last week, we’ve been to a recital for Elly Mae’s dance team, an awards banquet for Tink’s dance team and several performances of Jed’s play.

Sela and I are extremely proud of each of them. They selected activities that were important to them, and they worked HARD and practiced. A lot. There are few things that have given me as much joy as a parent as seeing them get excited about an activity that they chose, as opposed to the requisite soccer, etc. that every kid is forced to try.

We’ll talk about Tinkerbell’s foray into horseback riding in some post in the future. No idea what that was all about.

As Buzz once said (and I’m paraphrasing), “To the bathroom, AND BEYOND!”

Jed’s play was at the Junior High School. Which is convenient because Jed’s a junior high student.

Being at the Junior High School necessitates going to the bathroom in a junior high school bathroom.

With me so far?

It shouldn’t surprise you to learn that boy’s junior high school bathrooms smell like junior high school boys. So I was put in a foul humor upon entering.

I’m also fairly convinced that the first casualty of school budget cuts was functional toilet paper. This stuff was the worst of the industrial bad. Wow. It was so bad that my butt audibly complained. Seriously.

Despite all of that, the worst part was the sink design. Picture this. Two side-by-side sinks. Not a problem. Where were the soap and paper towel dispensers? To the left of the sink on the left, of course. You couldn’t get to them from the sink on the right. You might as well have had one sink since only one was usable at one time.

Don’t give me any complaints about space constraints. There were options. A myriad of options. Between the sinks for the soap dispenser? Anyone? Anyone?

At least I only had to use the thing a few times. Jed’s gotta use it all the time.

My No Colon No Feels Good

Posted on 22 March 2013 by nocolon33

I’m having one of those days (following one of those nights).

A “my no colon no feels good” kind of night and day. Those of you with IBD and more complete insides know what I’m talking about, too.

I won’t bore you with the gory details. They’re gory. Kind of like the stomach flu (one way traffic—down only) on steroids.

It does present a conundrum, however, and this is something that I’ve pondered for over 15 years.

Is this really a “my no colon no feels good” thing? You know, something special to people with my constitution? Or, is this a garden variety bug or “I ate something that didn’t agree with me” thing? Something that affects even the commoners?

Allow me to get philosophical for a moment. I figure I’m actually getting “biological,” as opposed to “philosophical,” but I also figure that any person can strive to say something philosophical without sounding like a total idiot, but when the same person tries to say something grounded in actual science, well, he/she could be wrong and actually sound moronic.

I’m thinking that taking the colon out of the equation screws up the equilibrium from mouth to anus, so to speak. Messes with the order of things, you might say. Leading me to this question:

Excluding pouchitis (clearly a no colon phenomena), would someone with no colon experience the same intestinal issues under the same conditions and the same diet as someone with a colon? In other words, is the “my no colon no feels good” situation a function of my “no colon” or just “no feels good”?

Let me insert some real life data:

FACT: I haven’t vomited since Day 3 after my second surgery (despite my system’s best efforts following the Epcot Center “Mission Space” Incident of 2005).
FACT: I haven’t had the stomach flu since I became no colon.
FACT: I have never suffered from constipation since I became no colon.
FACT: I sometimes wear white socks with dark shoes and dark socks with white shoes, being forced to suffer endless ridicule from Sela, Tinkerbell and Elly Mae (Jed just shakes his head).

Why am I asking? Because if my “no colon no feels good” is just your regular, run of the mill bug or “I ate something that didn’t agree with me” thing, “traditional” “medicine” (like how I used separate quotation marks?) like Pepto Bismol, Alka Seltzer, antacids, etc. should make me feel better, right?

But if this is some foreign situation, an affliction for which there is virtually no market (who is going to spend billions and billions to design a medication for the “no colon no feels good”?), then I am, well, out of luck

Feel free to comment or email me with your concern over my condition (he said in a shameless grab for sympathy).

Port-o-Potties: A Necessary Evil

Posted on 15 October 2012 by nocolon33

An Alcatraz Bathroom Installment:

Before I begin, I share with you the following from the fountain of all knowledge, THE WIKIPEDIA, regarding a particularly horrifying story published by Stephen King in his fifth short story collection, “Just After Sunset.” The story is called, “A Very Tight Place.”

“Curtis Johnson . . . is lured to a deserted construction site by his neighbor, Tim Grunwald, with whom he’s been having a legal dispute involving Curtis’s beloved dog, Betsy, who was killed by Tim’s electric fences. He is confronted by Tim who forces him into a Port-O-San, tips it over and leaves him trapped there in the heat of a Florida summer day to die. With no way to get help, Curtis must figure out how to escape or die.”

Can you think of anything more disturbing? Being tipped over in a port-o-potty, on a hot day, and being literally consumed by “what’s down there”? I think about this EVERY time I use a port-o-potty. By the way, I’m not going to spoil how the story ends. If you just can’t go on without my giving away the ending, I must quote two great modern characters from the classic film, “The Princess Bride,” which recently celebrated its 25th anniversary:

Inigo Montoya: I must know.

Westley: Get used to disappointment.

Let’s be honest, shall we? We’ve all been there. You gotta go, but the only option is a nasty-looking port-o-potty. (Also from THE WIKIPEDIA. The following names for these gizmos that I have been referring to, and will continue to refer to, as a “port-o-potty” (even though I REALLY like the last one): P-Pot, Porta-John, PortaJane, Port-O-Let, Port-a-Loo, Portaloo, Porta-Potty, Tidy John, Kybo, Biffs, Standard Porta Potty Restrooms and Toi-Toi).

A problem unique to port-o-potties is that I find that there’s no, absolutely zero, thought for the next user. “Hey, this thing is already SO NASTY. I’m not going to spend two seconds wiping my feces off the seat for the next person. That next dude isn’t expecting a positive experience.”

I cannot express the level of nausea that I am currently experiencing just thinking about this. I could barf right here at my desk. Which would be bad. I’m taking deep breaths to calm the lightheadedness. Also small sips of Diet Coke.

Unlike other Alcatraz Bathrooms, upon entering you really have no choice but to do something with the seat. I don’t usually see the option of a toilet seat cover, so you’re relegated to using TP. I have found the TP dispensers in port-o-potties to be of the sub-standard, high-friction variety. You know what I mean. You can’t grab off a long piece easily. In fact, you have to slowly pull (or pull and turn) so as not to break off a piece that is utterly useless for your purposes. Did I mention that, if you’re in this situation at all, you gotta go? This preparation takes time, people. TIME YOU MAY NOT HAVE.

Fact is that many of us have no choice. In fact, WE SEE THE PRESENCE OF A PORT-O-POTTY AS A BIT OF A SAVIOR. Isn’t that sad but true.

Toilet Seat Covers–Friend or Foe?

Posted on 5 September 2012 by nocolon33

I’ve never been a fan of toilet seat covers. This goes back to my earliest experiences. You know the flap that hangs over the ledge in the front that, I guess, is supposed to protect your equipment from the Petri dish of germs in and around the toilet? I always thought that part went in the BACK instead of the FRONT. Why? Because my experiences with poop consistency (consistency as in “firmness” not “uniformity”) and my poop blowing all over the place, I thought that the flap was an attempt to protect the integrity of the bowl. I was also young, naïve and stupid.

I generally do not use toilet seat covers. In the nastiest of Alcatraz Bathrooms, my procedures are as follows. First, I wipe the seat with TP. I’m not shy about TP usage for this purpose—this is not a time to show how “green” you are. I must protect my hands. Then, I do one of two things. Either I use or try to use (more on this in a moment) a toilet seat cover, or (most often) I use TP (folded over two or three times, depending on the level of nastiness), over the seat and hanging over the front of the toilet (like the seat cover flap).

When I say I “try” to use a toilet seat cover, well, toilet seat covers and the containers that dispense them are fraught with design flaws. I think that, truly, the crappiest (pun intended) of engineers are assigned to crummy projects such as this. About half the time, the seat cover rips just exiting the mounted dispenser. I used to think that I was pulling them out incorrectly, but I follow the up-down, down-up, in-out, out-in whatever instructions, and the thing STILL rips. And what the heck is up with style that is folded over twice, essentially in quarters? I find these on airplanes mostly, and I guess that the design was driven by space limitations. That thing comes out of the dispenser just fine (usually), but unfolding the thing? I have nothing but scraps in my hands.

I cannot tell you the number of crumpled toilet seat covers I have thrown away, flushed or (forgive me) left orphaned on the floor behind an Alcatraz Bathroom toilet.

The ONLY good news here is that the most abominable of Alcatraz Bathrooms usually have industrial flush capabilities so that stopping up the toilet with all the extra paper (both unwiped TP and seat covers) is not a common occurrence.

I have to say, in cleaner Alcatraz Bathrooms, like at a friend’s house or at work, for example, I don’t usually cover the seat. What kills me, though, is that there is ALWAYS, ALWAYS one stray hair on the seat. Without fail. What to do about stray hairs? Listen, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and sometimes you’re wearing Milk Bone underpants (a nod to modern philosopher Norm Peterson). God help me, sometimes I just sit on them. I’m not proud of this, but we all eat plenty of rodent hairs in our food so a stray hair on the seat can’t hurt. Right?

And you kids out there, just to be clear—you can’t get pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat. Tinkerbell—you CAN get pregnant by being alone with a boy for over three minutes. That’s why your dad has to come with you on all future dates.

Policing your brASS

Posted on 3 August 2012 by nocolon33

Policing Your brASS

Guilty. Guilty as charged. Big time. This goes back a long way, too.

I don’t clean up after myself well.

As we’ve established in previous posts, I have no colon. But I have been poop-challenged for almost 40 years. Sure, I had some periods of UC remission where I, arguably, pooped like regular boys and girls.

But I also had (and continue to have) long stretches of loose stools. And, of course, there were the loose and bloody stools.

[Brief aside: I try to tell patients and their families that bleeding in UC can be the most benign symptom. And it’s easy to say that one drop of blood can make the whole bowl red and that you shouldn’t overreact . From first-hand experience, though, I also know how terrifying it is to see blood in your bowl or, worse, in your child’s bowl. End of brief aside.]

I’m a huge NCIS fan. That’s another story, but it’s from NCIS that I learned the phrase, “policing your brass.” It’s meant to refer to picking up your spent shell casings after shooting a gun or rifle. Being a good housekeeper, if you will.

“Policing your brASS” refers to cleaning up after yourself following a messy poo.

As Sela says, “nobody wants to sit on your $hit.”

I have to say that I was better about this when I used to bleed. I think this was because I made it too easy for the poo detectives back then.

Poo Detective: Can you describe the scene?

Poo Witness: There were red, watery dots all over the seat and bowl.

Poo Detective: Did you say “red”?

Poo Witness: Yes sir.

Poo Detective: He’s at it again. Han.

Poo Witness: How can you be sure?

Poo Detective: Well, we’ll go through the registry of bloody pooers in the neighborhood, but Han had the means and opportunity. And he works on this floor. We’re pretty sure we have our man.

This is not a strength of mine. My performance at Alcatraz Bathrooms is much, much better than my performance on my home field.

Not to make excuses, but the after hours poos present my biggest challenge. Why? Well, my vision is about 20-6000, so I don’t see too well without glasses or contacts. Following a nocturnal trip to the loo, I may police my brASS and think that everything is hunky dory.

But the killer always makes a mistake, doesn’t he? He fired four shots but only remembered three. He picked up three spent casings and missed the fourth. He’s caught, red (or brown) handed.

Please, please be courteous to the next user of toilet, whether it’s a family member, a co-worker, a friend or a stranger. Again, as Sela says, “nobody wants to sit on your $hit.”