IMPACT

Enough requests for this diddy have led me to simply post it for anyone interested to read. I cannot in good conscience not warn you -dear reader, that if detailed discussion of bodily waste is not your thing; read no further. If on the other hand, you relish poop stories...enjoy!




- IMPACT -


On Wednesday the hospital staff wanted me out of their room. They had been feeding me fruit, yogurt and painkillers since Saturday when I arrived after breaking my right hip and right elbow during a crash on a bicycle ride. I was recovering from the surgery to place pins and screws in my broken bones so they would heal correctly. Now I had over stayed my welcome. Before I could leave though they wanted me to prove that I could get out of bed, into my wheelchair and onto the toilet by myself. I also had to take a dump. The P/T did some drills, got me in and out of bed a few times, had me roll to the end of the hallway and back and got me on the can to whiz as a test run before the nurse shoved a suppository up my butt for motivation.

The suppository worked. I got to the commode, did what was required and was in a hospital bed in my own living room a few hours later. Thursday I moved a triplet of rocks and figured even though I still had mud on my boots, I was out of the woods. I wouldn’t have another BM for 5 days. While continuing on the prescription pain pills every 2 hours like a junky with a rich enabler for a lover, my wife, A, fed my pain like clock work day and night. My appetite was back and friends brought me pizza, burritos, grilled cheese sandwiches and ice cream. I was blessed to be surrounded by such caring and loved ones.

Tuesday I was awake by 8, in my wheelchair and at the table by 9. Finished my coffee and breakfast and was booting up the laptop at 10 when I felt the urge. A wheeled me to the bathroom, got me to the commode and something in my gut didn’t feel right. The turd felt as if it had overshot the hole. I’m not crystal clear on anatomy but I know enough that going down that road, there is nowhere else for the crap wagon to drive. Like telling a hiker to turn left at the top of Half Dome. Said hiker can go over the edge or back down the cable ladder but there is no lateral option.

I squeezed and moaned. I focused on the contraction and then tried to relax. I was afraid that if I could rally myself to push any harder I’d rip the skin to shreds and still not be able to rid myself of the bad-man.

During the 2 hours I spent in the bathroom I tried to massage the area externally and began to understand what I was up against. The anus was swollen clear to the pointy edges of pelvis commonly called the sit bones, compacted with a weeks worth of concrete-like waste. I used a plastic spoon in attempt to pick at, maneuver, extract or all three the orb that was now lodged in purgatory between intestine and commode. My muscles quit contracting and the shit had no reverse gear.

On occasion a small nub would crown, showing itself like a turtle slowly shows its head. I would pick it loose with the spoon. Its consistency was tacky like a block of clay. The spoon clogged up quickly and was soon useless. I had to work manually. The pain, disgust, awe and confusion that something this large and toxic could coagulate inside me without fair warning from the medical professionals who bolted, pinned and stapled me back together kept me in an emotional quandary. A cleaned me up and got me into my wheelchair. I tried to sit square but quickly realized the pain my double parked shit was on the area’s soft tissue. Like standing up quickly to go to the chalkboard with a hard-on in a high school class, I sat back down but angled heavily on my left hip to avoid pressure on the log-jam.

Situated back into bed, I curled near fetal style. In the days since my accident, A had been a trooper, over-powering or at least hiding the emotional roller coaster of work, being 6-months pregnant on top of nursing a broken husband back to health. Finally though, on the phone to the Emergency Room staff, she broke. Explaining my condition, her condition and my inability to sit square, she asked for some staff to get me onto a gurney once out of the car. She was in tears. Frantically dressing, gathering snacks for the day ahead, we both wondered how she would get me into the car. Just at the moment when we looked each other in the eyes with a decade of highs and lows behind us, and silently committed to attempting to move me; knowing the possibility of either of us falling, someone knocked on the door. A friend was in the area for work and thought he’d stop in to check up on us. He put A at ease, got me into the car and off we were to the ER.

The Triage nurse was kind enough to leave me fetal on a gurney in a dead end hallway with a piss-pot and a blanket. Should I have another BM I was a shade closer to privacy than display and could moan, contort and cry with at least no one sitting next to me. Hours passed slowly.

About 5 pm I was put in an ER room of my own and a male nurse explained he would give me an enema or perhaps two. “We are super swamped,” he told A. “If this one doesn’t work in 15-minutes, give him this one.”

He held up his other hand with a tube that looked like a family sized tube of tooth paste. He began to explain the process to her while I instead focused in on his strawberry hair and fair, freckled face. “Jam the tip all the way in and SQUEEZE real hard,” he said. His face turned red and his beady-eyes were about to pop out. “Really SQUEEZE the tube to get all the fluid out and up into his butt. Okay? If you have trouble just call for me.”

He fully inserted the tip and SQUEEZED real hard, just as he said he would, filling my bowls with an oily concoction. I held my breath pinching my ass shut to keep the lube inside me. A attempted to distract me by recalling recent phone calls she’d received from concerned friends in an effort to keep the time from seemingly standing still. 15-minutes passed and I stumbled onto the portable toilet, drained the enema concoction and moaned in absolute pain while the pressure of the giant shit pushed against my anus. I almost cried. A found the nurse again and I explained that this thing was simply not going to come out with an enema. He assured us it was a multi stepped process and we would continue with a second round.

After the second enema ended like the first, a moderately attractive 40-something female doctor with shoulder length blond hair came in, shoved her hand up my ass and asked if it hurt. I told her the truth. Lying naked, fetal and turtling an aircraft carrier, I had lost all sense of humor and dignity. For a moment she fingered me like a puppet, then removed her hand, removed the glove and asked if I preferred an injection of pain killers or an IV. I chose the IV. Through the entire hospital experience the week before I learned that more drugs and fewer punctures into my flesh was the best I could hope for. Moments later the male nurse returned, put an IV into my arm, and hooked me up with fluids.

A asked for directions to the bathroom and left me alone with my morphine drip. On her return I was visually calmer and she told me the doctor was waiting for a particular nurse who was about to start her shift and was the best at removing the blockage of an impacted bowel. “I just spoke with the nurse,” A said. “She is the best because she has long thin fingers.”

I immediately put the worst case scenario together. “Oh, no, no,” I cried, “a nurse with long, thin fingers? She’s gonna be a hottie! Is she hot?”

A stuttered; looking at me curled up naked but for the bandages over the incision wound from my previous surgery, “Yeah honey, she is an attractive girl.”

I was pissed.

Moments later, from my fetal position and relaxed, morphine haze, I sized up the “specialist” nurse with long dark hair that hung in soft loose waves framing her smooth sun kissed skin to be about 5’10”. She wore a t-shirt with a print of mountain biker who had already ascended to the base of her shirt and was about to climb the hill of her left breast. Her shirt fit perfectly in all the appropriate places and hung loose from the round edges of her fit figure. Even her frigging scrub pants hung better than a pair of top shelf jeans on a super model. She walked from my field of view to my exposed ass and I knew this was in fact the worst day of my entire life. I asked weakly, “So you like mountain bikes?”

Hot Nurse said yes. She asked about my broken hip and elbow. I apologized for having her start her shift digging out my shit. She said it happened all the time. Maybe for her it happened all the time, but not for me. Not with a hot nurse. Not ever.

Hot Nurse said she had broken her pelvis and femur in a water skiing accident at age 13. Funny, I thought; at that moment I felt 13. Naked, drugged, chilly, and completely naked, I asked her about her activity level now in a faint effort to diagnose my future but mostly to establish that we shared not only the same injuries but interests too. She said all was well, that she ran marathons and rode her bike all she wanted. I cried a little. Hot Nurse applied lube to her long, thin, latex-gloved fingers then stuck two digits inside me. I again apologized and clarified, “All your gonna find up there is a giant crap. I swear I haven’t put any G.I. Joe's or Hot Wheel cars up my butt as some sort of fetish.”

Hot Nurse laughed. I made Hot Nurse laugh! I was still naked and chilly though.

A stood in the corner painfully sympathetic for me but enjoying her own secret fetish of talking about funked up bodily processes and the disgusting things other people do to themselves for enjoyment. She jumped into the conversation with a nod to Hot Nurse and in a whisper asked what kinds of things Hot Nurse has found up people’s butts. The two talked softly about objects that do go -but shouldn’t go- into one’s anus. I shifted uncomfortably, politely not interrupting their conversation as she roamed the inside of my anus with her hand.

Hot Nurse pulled her hand out of me and stripped the gloves off. By this point the room was rank with the smell of my stalled shit. I looked at her giant hazel eyes and she looked back at me. I watched her mouth open as her lips separated and her tongue unconsciously moved forward in her pallet to form a word. All I could think was how insanely gorgeous she was. “That thing is the size of a softball! I can’t seem to get a grip on it,” she said. “It just keeps spinning.”

A Pause filled the room for a moment. Her lips that had so sensually teased me delivered words that did not match her beauty and brought my fantasy escapism quickly back to reality. On top of being stunningly gorgeous, this girl was a total tom-boy. How hot was that? How else would she have ended up a nurse? She could have easily been a swim-suit model.

I was never that quick witted with girls, especially in this sort of situation. I wondered if she played softball in High School. Hot Nurse broke the silence and exclaimed, “I have an idea. I’ll be right back!” then disappeared.

A clasped my hand with one of her own and patted both with the other. “I’m so sorry that she’s hot. She does this all the time. Don’t worry about her being beautiful.”

Much time seemed to pass before Hot Nurse returned slightly out of breath and medical supplies cradled in her arms. “I had to go all the way to Central Supply for this!”

She breathed heavy, her chest expanding, contracting rhythmically. I could tell she had abs as tight as a drum skin. From her still straining diaphragm, I figured she must have run all the way there and back.

I imagined what she looked like running through a basement hallway gripping the supplies in each hand as her arms pumped back and forth in stride with her long legs. Her shirt shifting left then right over her firm breasts held with care by a sports-bra. Yelling, “Outta the way S.T.A.T. I have a patient to save from a giant softball sized shit!”

She would skip the elevator and take the stairs. Having already worked out earlier in the day wouldn’t be a problem for her strong thighs and lean glut's powering her up each step through the corkscrew stairwell back to the ER where she would explode through the door, angelic, tossing her hair back without even a drop of sweet, Hot Nurse, angel sweat then burst into my room to spare me from certain death by my own uber constipation.

In reality Hot Nurse held up a catheter tube and two boxes of K-Y jelly tubes. “I’m gonna run the catheter past the stool and have your wife inject the tube of K-Y while I turn the stool with the catheter. Then we’ll do the same on this end of it and I’ll move it around with the catheter to really lube it up and it will just fall right out. Sound good?”

“Okay,” I said.

A jumped from her seat, pulled the surgical gloves on and was giddy with excitement as the two stared at my plugged asshole. Once manipulated, Hot Nurse pulled the catheter tube out of me and gave the same instructions as I heard for the previous enemas. She left the room, A again held my hands and laughed at the excitement Hot Nurse had for her idea.

After 10-minutes or so I felt the turd moving south and the K-Y beginning to drip out, down the inside of my leg. I moved quickly and carefully onto the commode. I feared falling on my broken hip, shitting all over myself and looking foolish.

A saw me onto the commode where I asked her to glove me before she left the room to avoid the stench. The giant turd crowned, turtled, and then stalled. The familiar pain of an orifice fully dilated but in need of one more centimeter consumed me. I fought from crying, instead trying to focus on squeezing the bastard out. I moaned and swore in pain. When it would budge no more, I reached down with my left hand grasping it like a 40 ounce bottle of beer and pulled. “Oh, good Lord,” I exclaimed.

A stuck her head back in the room. I held the largest handful of shit I have ever seen, out in front of me, steaming for her approval. “Wow, honey,” she said, “drop that in the bucket and I’ll get you another glove.”

Minutes passed and I worked an equally large shit out in the same manner as the first. Hot Nurse came back in. By now the room was rank, worse than a construction site porta-pottie in the peak of summer heat. “Sit up straight,” she said. Arching her back to display proper posture which pulled her shirt taught in an inspiring way. My broken arm rested on one thigh and my good arm on the other. My gloved left hand covered my chilled junk. I followed her directions and sat more erect. My bowels gurgled loudly. Hot Nurse’s eyes opened wide as I had a blow out that echoed and reverberated in the plastic bucket filled with waste beneath me while we maintained eye contact. I fought back from severe sobbing. I felt relieved but none the less wanted to die. Hot Nurse smiled, said to relax and left the room.

She returned carrying a steaming stack of wet hand towels. A followed and asked if I felt better. Before I could answer, Hot Nurse asked if I could stand, with my weight on my good leg and lean against the bed. As I did, she took the bucket of bile away. I heard voices in the hallway and Hot Nurse reply, “Yeah, finally!”

A told me all the nurses knew about “the guy in C-23.” I heard a splash and curplunket in the toilet of the bathroom next door, then a flush. Hot Nurse returned, telling A that her wiping me was unnecessary and that she was happy to clean me. “Really, I do this all the time, it’s no big deal, have a seat…rest.” Hot Nurse said.

I stood semi-bent over, legs spread as if being frisked. Hot Nurse wiped me off with care opposite a cop feeling for weapons or contraband. A sat in a chair in front of me on the other side of the bed, smiling. My bowels relaxed, my anus felt like a freight train had gone through me. I couldn’t escape the embarrassment of Hot Nurse wiping the shit and K-Y off of my ass and from the inside of my thighs.

By this point it was nearly 11:00 at night. I got dressed again, the male nurse returned with papers to sign then wheeled me out to the door as A went to get the car. When she pulled up, the cars headlights lit up the foyer of the ER. The male nurse looked me straight in the eyes, “Bro, you were awesome. You did us all proud back there.” He helped me into the car, shook my hand and wheeled the empty wheelchair back into the foyer. Hot Nurse ran past the Triage desk, rushing to help another patient in another room.