Steve v5.0

Let’s, just for giggles, say that I’m a big, fat guy who was recently due for his annual physical exam.  Hypothetically.

I’m all for getting regular check-ups; self-assessment takes a periodic professionals’ touch.  Still, I’m not the kind of guy who looks forward to it.  I mean, I have an awesome doctor who’s attentive and easy to talk to about… whatever.  The thing is, there is a little part of the whole exam-thing that nearly traumatizes me for days after- hypothetically speaking.

OK, just spit-balling here, but let’s just say that trauma (combined with the anxiety of a week-long camping trip and possibly some bad oysters) resulted in a week-long bout of constipation.  Garbage goes in, so to speak, but never makes it to the dump.  And let’s also say that, during this same period, I continued to consume (albeit in diminishing quantities).

Could it be that (and I hypothetically swear this happened) I literally filled-up?  Literally?  What I pictured in my mind’s eye MRI was solid mass extending through my entire digestive tract; stem-to-stern. top-to-bottom, belly-to-bowel, scooper-to-pooper.  OK, getting a little wordtarded there.  My apologies to all my English-speaking readers.  Anyway, I was full up.  Then on the 8th day, things tried to go in reverse.  It was woefully uncomfortable and less than effective.  I stopped eating- didn’t eat for almost four days.

What followed were several trips for lab work, an ultrasound, and finally a meeting with a gastroenterologist.  It seems that I had “enlarged organs”.  When the PA breaks that little bit of news to you, responding with, “I’ll bet you say that to all the boys” gets little more than a sympathetic groan.  It does get an enthusiastic referral to a specialist, though.  Off you go- and off I went.  Awesomeness ensued disguised as a long consult .  Good times.

What  turned things around was the probiotic regimen he put me on.  Evidently there just wasn’t enough good bacteria in my innards.  What I believe happened was a perfect storm of anxiety and oysters that resulted in a dead calm in the sea of bowel movement.  The calming reassurances of the specialist, some hungry probiotics, and a few roto-rooter jokes gradually returned me to regularity.

The moral of this hypothetical jibber-jabber.  Relax during a prostate exam, don’t get worked-up over a vacation, and think twice about eating raw oysters while on a camping trip.

Rock on.