A Bad Day in Black Rock

Just for kicks & giggles I thought I would start with a little fun that comes with being confined to a wheelchair in a nursing home!  DO remember that I'm male.

A Bad Day in Black Rock

 

This morning for something different I watched “2 ½ Men” and Charlie is in women trouble as usual, this time he has gotten constipated trying to resolve his relations between two gals and his shrink told him to get his act together before he needed a C-section.

Well, this brought back a little memory from a few months ago when Sandra came by and asked if I'd had my morning B.M. and whether it was small, medium, or large. I could honestly answer “yes” and “small”. The “small” was two little rabbit turds and the feeling I was about to pop. All day long I was in and out of the throne room, just couldn't get anything going. Guess my cervix wasn't dilated. Maybe it'll work after supper...

It may have occurred to you that I could have gone to the nurse, told her of my woe and she would have given me a magic elixir. Well, my experience with “loose loads” and wheelchairs has been less than satisfactory. One feels the urge, slides into the wheelchair, and rotates in the direction of the loo. A few bumps later one arrives into the prayer stall, bump-bump-bump-bump, (room is kinda small) turn the chair to close the door, bump-bump-bump-bump, turn the chair to face the throne. Oops. Too late. There's more to the story but this is enough.

...had supper such as it was, feeling bloated and waiting for the next contraction. By now I'm pretty sure I know what's going on...

Here it comes, the strongest contraction yet. Where's my Lamaze coach? Must I do this all alone? Oh, the humanity!

A half hour later, no dice. Weakly wheeled to the bed, sweating and shaking. Am I going to die?

An unknown length of time later, a minute? An hour? A lifetime? A great rumble rips the cosmos... Is IT soon to make entrance into this universe? With my feeble, dying strength, I spastically wend my way to the room of all pain. This will be my final attempt, after this there will be no more strength.

Five minutes pass. MOAN. Fifteen. Moan (getting weaker). Thirty. moan (death approaching). Finally, at the 45 minute mark, PUSH! pantpantpant PUSH! pantpantpant AARRRGG!!! pantpantpant AARRGG...OHohoh. It is finished.

With the feeblist of motions, I perform the necessary ablutions including severing the umbilicus. I look upon the shear magnificance of IT! With diapering and a swaddling blanket plus a pacifier in it's cute little swirly pointy “head”, we can make our grand entrance as soon as my strength returns. Of course I'll need a few stitches plus a butt-plug for a few weeks.

I'm loosing it. Need help. Screw loose.

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