Part 3: Back To The Future.

Updated: Nov 16, 2019

The first week post-op was the most horrifying for me. I had been eating (a little but not too much due to nausea), drinking, sleeping, peeing, but not pooping. I mean, who doesn't get a visit from the poop monster for 6 days? I couldn't fit anymore food in my gut without first ridding of some waste - my stomach was solid like a rock.

"Here Lasha, take this, you're suppose to drink this lemon flavored drink if the stool softeners aren't working." Chris opened up a clear glass bottle which read, "Lemon Flavor" .

"Magnesium Citrate." Chris looked puzzled, " well, with a name like that it's got to do something." he laughed and handed me the bottle.

I was nervous to take this Magnesium Citrate, I had heard of all it's negative effects on my PGCT support pages, which is why I hadn't touched it, looked at it, or even pondered it for the past 6 days.

But 6 days was too much - the fossilization and crystallization process was occurring deep within my bowels.

I unscrewed the cap, not eager to taste Walgreen's depiction of lemon flavor, and chugged half the salt water bottle down.

"I hope this stuff works as quickly as everyone says because I am feeling so sick" I was rocking back and forth, up on my tippy-toes, and re-enacting a Cirque du Soleil performance on the toilet - anything to get my bowels moving.

"Nothing" I grumbled 5 minutes later.

"Chris, nothing's coming out. Can you please help me back to bed?" I summoned from my throne of lies.

"Of course" Chris walked into the bathroom and lifted me off my throne. He carefully walked me to the sink and held me up. After I cleaned up he sat me back down in Hermando and I wheeled my way back to bed.

It had been an hour and nothing had happened. After 6 days of not pooping I wasn't going to waste another minute. I grabbed the so called lemon flavored drink and sucked the remainder down.

"Something's gotta give" I whined.



My stomach violently twisted in knots.

"Yes, maybe something's moving!" I cried out. I hopped back into Hermando and raced my way back to my throne of lies.

I sat down and started to perform my Cirque du Soleil routine, again.

5 minutes later

"NOTHING!" I yelled from the bathroom to Chris in dismay.

It was at that moment I remembered watching the discovery channel on "how to make a diamond" and realized they left out a key procedure, Vaseline.

I will let your imagination think of all the ungodly and unholy things one has to do to get a diamond from the rough.

Don't judge me people, this was a rough ride, and if you ever go in for brain surgery you too may end up becoming besties with your Vaseline container around day 6.

With the force of 1.21 gigawatts (as measured by the University of Texas campus building next door) the diamond projectile ricocheted in all directions off the porcelain bowl, it was like a gun fight at the O'K Corral.

"WHOOSH" The flood gates of hell opened.

"I'm pooping - I AM POOPING!" The poop sweats dripped down my face as I re-enacted a fight scene from Rocky.

Micky Goldmill, "You can do it Rocky!"

Suddenly I felt terrible, my head was throbbing, my anus hurt, and it felt like I was going to puke... I needed to lay back down. Chris came into the war zone and helped me clean up. But, almost as fast as my head hit the pillow my bowels took a turn for the worst, the magnesium citrate had not finished wreaking its havoc.

With the explosive force of Mount Vesuvius, I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom in 2 seconds flat (covering my anus with one hand and waving goodbye to Hermando with the other).

"It's a miracle, it's a miracle!" Chris exclaimed.

As soon as my buttocks made contact with the toilet seat I could hear Doc Brown's voice from back to the future, "Marty, you're going to have to do something about those clothes."

I foresaw two possibilities; one, I saw myself thirty years in the future pooping out a 7 layered Belgian chocolate cheesecake, which would throw my lactose body into shock, and with that premonition I almost passed out.

Two, I'm thrown back in time creating this poop paradox and ripping the very fabric of space and time continuum. The destruction however might not be limited merely to my own bowels.

Though magnesium citrate was no walk in the park, not pooping wasn't my only nightmare a week out of brain surgery.

I had gained my ability to sleep again (to reach REM) and my body was starting to heal itself. I no longer suffered from involuntary muscle jerks or spasms (though I still find myself with a slight tremor or shake from time-to-time). The the real nightmare a week post-op was reliving the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie every night in my dreams.