You’re giving me flashbacks to that day in the ICU when they’d been pumping the patient full of oral laxatives for 24h per protocol before they finally pulled the trigger on the stimulant suppository. The blockage came out looking like cocoa puffs in a chocolate milk river of laxative-induced diarrhea and the worst part was that Every. Single. Time. we log rolled the patient to get their bum clean it was enough to stimulate the bowels into producing another shit-valanche.

It started halfway through my shift and kept going at least until I left for hours and the chunks meant we couldn’t even use a rectal tube. The patient was conscious too, and kept trying not to cry in front of their spouse while alternating between apologizing and thanking us. They had a first responder job but I think that gave the poor thing a whole new level of PTSD.

I was just a li’l baby sitter at the time so I helped with the lifting rolling and cleaning but was mostly holding their hands and telling them it was ok to cry every time their spouse left and that I wouldn’t tell their spouse… They were literally both trying not to cry in front of each other which was kinda cute and it’s not like that was the right time to disrupt that integrated coping system anyway but like. Babes. Let that shit out! The other shit is pouring out the other end a little saltwater out the front ain’t gonna hurt anybody!