Is This Too Much?
Now, we all know how gross I can be. I don’t generally talk about it here, but I have posted about such titillating topics as, What Happens When You’re Allergic To Yeast Infection Cream, Who SHOULD Sleep in The Wet Spot, and Summer Curtains (vagina in summer). I guess I’ve outgrown being really gross, but I have a question for you.
In my book, I have written an essay based on a blog post. A blog post about being diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, which if you know anything about it, is no real laughing matter. Except when it is. Because if you can’t laugh at the phrase “Bowel Resection” or “Colostomy Bag” you have no soul. Especially when it’s YOUR future phrases here.
Anyway, here’s the initial blog post. I’m not posting the essay b/c, well, I’m lazy and it’s much longer than this. I’ve tweaked it around so Dave isn’t offering to handle my feces but my Bucket ‘o’ Poo.
“I’d imagine that most couples had a far more romantic situation when they realized that the person across the table from them would be the person that they spent the rest of their lives with. I’m picturing an intimate candlelit dinner, or a walk in the park when all of the flowers are fragrant and blooming beautifully, maybe lazing around on bearskin rug in front of a cozy fireplace (complete with crackling logs, of course) with strawberries and champagne.
While I picture this to be all well and good for other people, the moment that I knew with absolute certainty that Dave was the man that (like it or not) I would be spending the rest of my days with was absolutely nothing like this. In fact, it was so far removed from romantic that it might be called The Anti-Romance.
You see, I knew that Dave would be my husband for as long as we both could stand each other when he not only allowed me to put my bucket of frozen fecal matter in his freezer, but offered to help me place the sample IN the bucket.
If that ain’t true love, I’ll never know what is.
But let me back up for a moment, to illuminate PRECISELY why I was doing this (and to reassure you that I don’t have some really foul fetish).
It started over the winter, the pain and the constant crapping, but I kept writing it off as stress or something that I’d eaten (I’m telling you here and now that health care professionals are REALLY the last to seek medical care). Eventually it dawned on me that my body was rebelling against me, and that mayhap I should get it checked out.
So I made an appointment with a gastroenterologist in the area, and begrudgingly trooped in, tail between my legs (no, unfortunately I do NOT have a vestigial tail, although that would be completely rad. Imagine the pranks I could pull!). Besides being completely intimidated by me (which is amazing, considering HE was going to be the one looking at MY colon. You’d imagine it’d be reversed here), he very thoroughly ordered a number of blood tests AND some *ahem* OTHER tests.
And these *ahem* OTHER tests were some of the most humiliating known to man. You think that someone looking up your pooper is shameful, wait, JUST wait until someone orders you to poop in a jar. AND THEN TAKE IT SOMEWHERE. Wait, wait, wait, I can make this MORE humiliating, I promise. Have someone inform you that you have to COLLECT all of your feces for 3! days, and THEN take it somewhere, where you are horrifyingly clear that some poor lab tech in the back is cursing you while gagging BECAUSE A COMPLETE STRANGER IS EXAMINING YOUR POO.
Hell, although the rest of my family is intent on disproving this, what with their insistance that when I sit upon the porcelain throne is the absolute perfect time to have a conversation with me and/or sneak a quick scratch behind the ears (I’m looking at YOU here, Daver), I don’t even like someone TALKING to me while I crap, let alone looking at my own personal byproducts. *I* don’t even want to look at them.
Dave insists that Rate-my-Poo dot com is the most hilarious site on the planet, but I won’t even load that into my search engine, because I do not find poo amusing. Poo jokes are golden (much like dick-n-fart jokes. Yes, I am, in fact a teenage boy, NOT a 27-year-old mother of two. Sorry about any confusion), but actually dealing with The Poo on a more intimate basis gives me the heebie-jeebies AND the Pee-Shivers.
So armed with my orders, my ‘œhat,’ my latex-free gloves, and my bucket, I decided to ‘œdo the deed’ over the weekend. Which was the time of the week that I consistantly spent with my then-boyfriend, a time that both of us treasured. I am utterly unable to censor myself, so Dave was well aware of what lay before me, and although I offered to stay home and ‘œcomplete my orders’ he insisted that he didn’t mind. He even offered to clean out his freezer for my ‘œsample’ (I don’t think he’s cleaned out a freezer again, ever.).
It’s disgusting, when you think about it (well, all of this is pretty nasty), how one must collect the poo to put it in the (extremely large and reminded me of the buckets of cookie dough or popcorn that you get from the Girl Scouts. But filled with something far less awesome) bucket. You have to complete your ‘œbusiness’ in a container that you put into the toliet affectionately called a ‘œhat,’ and THEN you must fish through your excriment to seperate the solid from the liquid (God, I have the heebie-jeebies just RECALLING this) and put it in the bucket that you’ve removed from the freezer.
Before you place the bucket back into the freezer, you must ‘œburp’ it, as the methane gas pressure can build up so much that the top will be blown off, spattering the insides of your freezer with what is decidedly NOT brownie batter.
I don’t know about you, but the absolute LAST thing that I want to do with my excrement is to touch it OR BURP IT, gloves on or not, so each time that I had to do this, I nearly wept out of shame and disgust. Dave, sensing my plight (well, more like having to listen to me whine and shake each time I had to do this), galantly offered to do it for me. He OFFERED to WILLINGLY handle my poop (I would never, ever offer to handle his, no matter how much he whined.). If that’s not love, I suppose that I’ll never know WHAT love is.
Monday morning came, and off I trucked back home which was about 45 minutes away, with the bucket-o-frozen poo sitting shotgun, strapped merrily in place. As I dropped it off at the lab, I’d wished that I were dead. No, scratch that, I’d wished that I was LESS THAN dead, I wished that I’d never been born at all. I wished that MY PARENTS had never been born. So great was my shame that I fell all over myself apologizing to the receptionist, the lab tech as well as the waiting room full of people who could have cared less. I’m certain that I looked insane.
I was later diagnosed with a mild case of Crohn’s disease, which has thankfully been in remission for several years. As for Daver and I, we’ve been more or less stuck with each other ever since. Every time that I become irritated by his colony of dirty socks that happily live next to our bed, I try my damndest to remind myself that, at one point in time, he selflessly offered to touch my poop.”
Here’s the question for you and I want you to answer honestly. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want your opinion, but assuming Dave is no longer handling my poo but the BUCKET of Poo (there is a difference there, I swear), IS THIS TOO MUCH? Is it too gross? Too foul?
(it’s a true story)
After almost puking when my mom threw her colostomy bag onto the table before me last year…I can honestly say that The Daver is a saint. I would NEVER touch my wifes poop. On the other hand, I have informed her that when i’m either A. Too fat to wipe any more, or B. Too old to wipe myself…that she will have to do these things for me. She just rolled her eyes, does that mean no?
THAT IS AN AWESOME STORY…. not to mention one that no one can duplicate! ha…. I cannot say that before being a mom of course– I would have EVER thought I would handle another humans “poo”
What a great story!!! I haven’t had to do the whole bucket-of-poo, but I have done the single day collection, so I can totally relate!!
Way to go Daver!!!
It’s close… but not too much.
I wish I hadn’t started my lunch yet though…
Its not too much, more of a prime example of things you will do for someone that you love, or things you end up doing and don’t seem like a big deal when you have been with them a loooong time. Although its no poop, my husband of less than a week had to help me pee and wipe after I had a blood clot in my brain and my arm was useless for week or so. Thankfully I was too medicated to poo, I’ve never been happier about constipation in my life. I’m pretty sure I would have curled up into a ball o’ shame if I he’d had to help me in that arena.
No, it’s not too much.
And, lest you think you’re alone, both of my wife’s pregnancies have been riddled with GI issues, some of which required my intervention. We’ll leave it at that.
Awwww…what a sweetie. Daver is definitely a saint! and possibly slightly deranged…..I am so pleased that the days of wiping the shit from ….errr poo….from my children’s asses….errr bottoms….has long passed.
Ain’t love grand??? I wouldn’t even hesitate to do anything gross or disgusting for my Babe…
Hey are you this funny and candid in person?
This is an awesome poop story, it will go well with my “How To Clean Your Arse” post…LOL (shameless plug 😉 )
That is an awesome story! I definitely think you should include it. I have a man like that too, we are lucky gals.
Btw, I totally missed your allergic to yeast infection treatment post, but I wish I hadn’t cuz I am too. Thankfully there is one treatment that I can use. Because, ow.
I don’t think it’s too much. But the bit about separating the liquid from the solid could probably be left out and the gross factor would probably go down a little.
I was expecting a trite:
“So I married the first man who proved he could put up with all my shit” summary to this story and I am not sure if I am disappointed or impressed.
Fun story.
It’s not too much. When M ended up in the hospital because of his poop, I found myself in love with him more than ever. Now, after his colitis diagnosis, we have far, far too many conversations about his poo. He hates it, I don’t care. I would burp his poo if I knew that meant I had him around for just one more year.
In fact, if it were a bucket, I would probably have to handle it for him, since he has a quick gag reflex.
Hell, Bec, I would burp your poo to have you around longer 🙂
xo
That’s the most romantic love story of all time! I think you should include it, but I do agree with “T” that you could leave out the separation details.
Glad you’re in remission. That’s one shitty disease!
This has to be those most beautiful and well written “poop” story I have ever read. Seriously, I think it speaks more of “poop”..it speaks of true love and the fact that this all happened before you were married speaks volumns…it’s easy to find love in the pretty and many times when that pretty turns ugly because life happens, that love falls apart. Great post!
Anyone who isn’t ammused by poo is NOT a friend of mine. Personally, that is one of my favorite posts ever!!
You know what? It’s when you realize that loving someone, truly loving someone, is about things like shit and blood and tears, that you are mature enough to really be in love.
You found the right man. At the right time.
You’re lucky in love, girl. You are.
AWWWWW..he is a GOOD man & a total keeper..which you obviously know 😉
I think it is a great story, and while the burping of the ‘bucket o’ poo’ is gross, I think it just highlights how awesome The Daver is…
would I handle my Neurotic Husbands Poo?
Yes, if I had to..
I can put myself in a Zone and nothing bugs me there…lol..gross or not..
would he do it for me?
No, sadly I think he would have convulsions..he has a bit of a germ issue..lol..
but he could surprise me someday…
I say keep it as is..
This is a good poo story! And, I’m glad it’s not mine. I’ve got too many to count, but none involves the level of love displayed by Dave.
I don’t think it’s too much, but I’ve got a pretty high tolerance for poo. (I once had a to clean up after someone who had stepped in it and then walked around my house…and it wasn’t my child or my husband). Go for it.
From my experience with marriage, there is never such a thing as “too much”.
OMG!! Remind me to NEVER… EVER… read your blog while trying to eat my lunch!! I have the heebie jeebies just reading it!!
I’m with you, I don’t look, I don’t examine, I try not to even talk about it. YUCK!!
As for too much, I did laugh a few times so I don’t think you crossed the line into ubber disgusting!! 🙂
Definitely not too much or too gross. Your book, remember? Having a SuperHubby with Celiac Disease, discussions of fecal matter and intestinal activities is always in fashion in our house. It is what it is. Keep in mind that there are people every where with similar stories that will empathize and appreciate having someone else articulate about that which they are not comfortable doing so. The poo stories that I could share if SuperHubby weren’t so squeamish about having his privacy invaded…
It isn’t too much but then again I am a nurse LOL. I definitely KNOW that my sig. other would NOT do that for me! Thumbs up to the Daver!
Not too much, but I’m passing on dinner. And not opening my freezer for a few.
Having gone through infertility, a torn rectal muscle after Bella’s birth, and some other unpleasantries, I still can’t aver that my husband would willingly collect my poo. Maybe on a dare, or a bribe. There would have to be some expensive electronics involved somewhere.
having been through the same exact things you have listed here, including the “other” tests (“your gonna put that where”?), but luckily being diagnosed with just IBS and not Chrones, I do not find any of that “too much”. I laughed, and only cringed a little at the thought of the bucket exploding in the freezer…once I got past that, I laughed again. So, no, not too much.
Not too gross at all. I don’t really understand how you burp poo but frankly I think to go there would be really too much.
Awww, I get the warm fuzzy’s just reading about you the Daver and your poo. It’s got Hallmark Special written all over it:)
xxoo
Personally, I thought it was funny as heck, and definitely should be included!
Oh, Aunt Becky…that sure was nasty…but funny, and definitely not too much. Kudos on the use of the word “mahap,” by the way! ; )
This is disgustingly hilarious. I liked the story, but I read your blog because I don’t mind, well, ‘candor’. In fact, I require it. I guess the real question is, who are you trying to market your book to? Cool people? Then go for it.
If a guy burps your poop in a bucket for you, then he’s a keeper. What a total sweetheart <3
Olli tells a similar story about me by the way – he knew that we were serious as a couple (again) when I cleaned out his fridge in the apartment he hadn’t been in for two months – a fridge that hadn’t been cooled while shrimps had lain rotting during the hot months of june and july.
I don’t have a sense of smell, which made it easier – but man, the thought of it still makes me gag. He told me he loved me about a million times that evening, after a shower or two. 😉
whoa. that is some Real Love right there…
*bowing at the Daver*
leave the story in… but maybe do take out the gory liquid/solid separation stories…
man. if THAT doesnt tell you someone really loves your guts, i dont know what ever will…
Include it! Exactly the way it happened. Unedited, not toned down for the weak of stomach. It’s your love story, make it as gross as you want. It’s not that gross…I stepped (barefoot) into a pile of dog crap last night. And I don’t even own a dog…It’s poop…everybody poops!
I think it is gross by default, yet interesting. Nice Dave, you are a lucky one.
Nothing is too gross these days (infected meat curtains not withstanding lol 😉 ). And that is either true love or a strong constitution. Rachael was completely grossed out that I picked up Naudia’s poo with my hand (you can never find things in her house because she hides them from the kids & dog…and it’s not like it was runny…Pascal’s is looser…that kid needs some greens in her diet other than pickles!). But, it’s not like I didn’t wash/scrub my hands raw three or four times after that!
I agree with everyone stating that it was a great story! aint love grand!?
I couldn’t help myself. I googled rate-my-poo. I thought you were making it up. I was sadly, sadly mistaken…
Now THAT is a love story! Keep it. Every squishy word. Although I don’t think I’ll be baking brownies again any time soon.
Okay. I love that you are so over-the-top, completely honest.
Love? Abs-poo-lutely. (Hardy har har.)
Too gross, foul? Not coming from you. Funny though.
I am being honest.
I think it’s too much.
Sorry. 🙁
that was the best love story I ever heard? where is the gross part?
no, actually I can TOP that story..Ill put it on my shits n giggles page!
My opinion that if it’s not too gross to be real, then it’s not too gross to be discussed.
You’ve got a real wonderful man there, Becks.
Wow, you are one lucky gal. Seriously. Not too gross. It’s sweet.
NOT TOO GROSS!!! Cuzz poo and farts are ALWAYS funny! Seriously though, this is one of my favoritest entries. It makes me not feel so bad about shitting my brain out whenever I eat (oh the joys of not having a gal bladder BUT having diverticulitis!). If you can’t giggle about the love of your life handling your shit -LITERALLY- what can you laugh about?!
(Also, my bad for not being around much these past weeks. Chalk it up to feeling sorry for myself and my piddly ass problems. Cuzz really? That’s what it boils down to. o_O)
OMG….Okay i say include it though. Its your book and your way of conveying yourself is original and wouldn’t be right if told any other way.
My husband and I always joke, that we hope we do not get deathly ill where we will have to clean each others “business” as we are both squimish, but would so do it if we had to. Our gag reflexes match each others and they are both extremely weak.
God Bless the Daver. THE man indeed.
It’s not too much. I think it’s lovely, in a gross kind of way! 🙂 Seriously, it is honest, and honesty isn’t always pretty, and that is okay.
Not too much at all. That’s true love right thar. And you are a stronger woman than I, because I’d never do that. Never. I’d take imodium and hope for the best.
When necessary, we summon up super human strength for the ones we love.
Hubby would doo-doo that for me-me if he had to.
Not at all… in fact, the biggest trend right now are memoirs and personal essays pushing way beyond the limit. From what I gathered from your writing, I would come to expect a piece like that (and I mean that in the most flattering way) and would purchase the book without hesitation.
It all depends on how you are marketed as a writer. If I pick up the book and read the correct blurb, I’d be all over it.
Very well written, indeed.
Never too much, but then again.. I’m known to inspect my childrens poo to make sure their healthy. I’m also a poo whisperer, truth be told.
I wish every one could and would be so honest. Kudos and bravo.
It is gross, but it’s real, therefore it’s perfectly acceptable.
But we don’t have boundaries in my family. So, maybe my opinion doesn’t matter.
I have had to explain to 597,000 people in the past 4 weeks how to spread cling wrap over their toilet to collect a poo sample. And how to fill the jar “just so”. And to freeze this jar, keep this jar cold, and leave that other jar at room temp. I have no quams about poo any more- and I got one hell of a giggle from this story. Some people might think it is gross- but it’s REAL. At some point in everyone’s life they will have to do something equally as ookie… and that’s what connects us all in the vast expanse of crude humor 🙂
Ok, had you given the Daver the booty yet? I think back and I am sure Eric might would have done that for me post marriage; but I cannot fathom him doing that for me now.
Spending years around GI dysfunction, personally I think no doo-doo talk crosses the line. But that’s me. And of course probably one of the reasons I read you.
🙂
It’s life, and it’s funny. Shit happens to everyone, and while I’m meaning that stuff happens and not the literal “shit”, it covers both meanings.
I love it.
Too much? Never!
It made me crack up and it made me go “Ew” but in a funny way, and it made me smile and really, really like The Daver a lot, because honey, if burping your Poo Buckets ain’t love, nothing is.