Bathroom Tales 1

So I walked into the women's room and it was...fragrant. No big. That's what it's for. There was a woman standing at the sink, no one else there, and I assumed it was her. Again, no big. I did what anyone with bathroom etiquette would do and avoided eye contact and went quickly into a stall to do my business.

But then she left.

I immediately panicked, realizing that of course anyone who came in after me would think I had bombed the place and I wanted no part of that. It was a race against time to finish my business and get the hell out of there.

I made it.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what it's like to have bathroom anxiety.

Tales From the Potty: The Chatter

I have a difficult relationship with public bathrooms. I need complete and utter isolation to do my business—you know, Number 2. I'm very self-conscious about the smell, the sounds, the whole thing. My strategy has always been to only go when no one else is in there. A one-holer? Forget it. The risk that someone will be standing outside waiting is too high. Especially in an office where you'll see the same people day in and day out. If I walk into a bathroom and someone is already in one of the stalls, I will turn around and walk right back out. If someone is standing at the sink, making it awkward to simply turn around and leave, I will enter a stall and, depending on how long they're there, pretend to pee and then jet or wait them out.

If someone comes in once I'm in the stall and doing my business, I will stop the production line and wait. I've had some tense standoffs in the bathroom, waiting for however many women are coming and going to finally clear out. There's a woman in my office who brushes her teeth in the bathroom and she drives me bananas because it always seems that she needs to brush her teeth when I'm in there.

I tell you all of this to set the scene for this story. There's always a stall in every women's bathroom that is sort've the designated shitter. It's usually the one furthest from the door, or the handicapped stall. I paid a visit to this stall today at work, while the bathroom was empty and everyone was preparing for our Yankee Swap. Not long after I got comfortable someone else came in. I hunkered down to wait them out, and I start to hear a few...noises...coming from their stall. Nothing unusual, just the kind of thing that makes you bless the anonymity of the stall.

Suddenly the anonymity was broken. The other occupant of the bathroom called my name. She...called...my...name. I couldn't do anything but answer. I mean, she obviously knew I was in there. She clearly saw my shoes (damn my unfeminine Skechers boots in an office full of girlie girls!) and identified me. So I answered, and she announced that she was going to fart (ummm...yeah, you've kind've been doing that already). She apologized and explained that she'd had Mexican for lunch. Holy cow. Are we seriously having this conversation right now? So she farts, and I'm sitting there mortified for her and me. I'm pondering cutting it short and getting the hell out of there, but since she clearly already breached bathroom etiquette by engaging me in conversation I can't be guaranteed that she won't also choose to exit her stall, and then we'd have an awkward sink moment. So I wait, and a few minutes of silence go by, and she says, "This is awkward."

No shit.

I agree, and we lapse back into silence. I'm cringing here, just mortified. She finally flushes, washes, and leaves, and I'm left to process everything that transpired. I'm thinking about how I'm gonna face her in the office, and about how the pretense of anonymity in the bathroom has been shattered. We can never go back. I now know that people can identify me, and that no amount of quietly sitting is going to save face for me. She broke the fourth wall. Things will never be the same.

If only life were like this:

Diverticulitis

It's gonna be that kind of post.

Last Wednesday I started having stomach pains. Fast forward to Friday when I found myself seeing an NP at my doctor's office because I was in increasing abdominal pain, my right side was tender, I had a small fever, and I was starting to worry that it could be appendicitis. She started to worry about that as well based on my symptoms, and sent me to the emergency room.

I'm no stranger to the emergency room around here. I'm a bit of a hypochondriac, I admit it, and I follow the rule that if I have insurance there is no reason I shouldn't go see about whatever it is that's freaking me out. Better safe and slightly poorer than dead. I've heard too many horror stories about people who've had headaches or aches or whatever and didn't bother to get them checked out for some reason, only to find later that it was some sort of intestine-eating virus or tumor that they could have fixed if caught earlier. If I feel a lump on my boob, I'm in that week to get it checked out.

I rolled in and they put me through my paces. They started out with an Xray and ultrasound, and found nothing wrong. Then they did a CT scan and found my enflamed colon. Sweet. I have to say, nothing makes you feel good like having people duck out of a room while they bombard you with radiation. At least the woman doing my CT scan was gorgeous. That helped.

This whole process took pretty much the entire day though. For the most part it was actually pretty comfortable. They gave me a blanket out of the blanket warmer and I snoozed in my little side room while they were in and out over a period of hours. They finally kicked me out of the room though because someone sicker came in, and I had to suffer the indignity of being one of those people chilling along the side of the wall in a roller bed. It is actually quite embarrassing; everyone can see you, and you don't have anything to do/look at so you're making eye contact/not making eye contact with everyone who strolls by. My phone was also at the end of its tether (because batteries in Androids last for shit) so I couldn't even amuse myself with fanfiction or Candy Crush Saga. Boo.

They finally sent me home with a prescription for antibiotics, painkillers, and a mandate of a liquid diet for a few days. I pretty much didn't eat anything solid from Thursday afternoon until some time on Tuesday. Yet, I still had to go to the bathroom. I'm happy to report that as of now I feel better. No side pain, and I'm able to eat most things I think without too much problem. I'm all freaked out now though because I'm worried this might be a sign of some sort of stomach/colon/other cancer. I still don't feel 100% and I'm hoping it's because of the antibiotics, which I finish up on Friday.

In light of my sickness my new challenge is two-fold: hydration and poop. I don't typically drink a lot of water. And by a lot, I mean any. I can —and have— gone days without a drop of water. I drink other stuff, like coffee, but I am not the kind of person to seek out a glass of water unless I get extremely thirsty. That's not good for me so I'm forcing myself to drink more. As far as poop goes, well...I'm bathroom shy. Like, extremely. I'm the person who has to wait until everyone is out of the bathroom before I go. I hold it as long as I need to to ensure an empty bathroom. I will also wait out anyone who comes in after I've already started. It's really pretty bad, and this is apparently part of my problem. So, I need to drink more water and poop more freely. Not easy for someone like me, but if I have to suffer a little embarrassment now to avoid being back in the hospital with diverticulitis, so be it.