Can I just Get a Zipper? - #Wattys2015

Living, Breathing (unfortunately) Fart Joke

After I had the surgery to take out the tumor on my pancreas I started to have "digestive issues." Basically they had to remove the head of my pancreas, and since that is all connected up to the intestines by a duct and a bunch of veins and arterise, they also had to remove my duodenum, the first third of my intestines. Then they grafted my pancreas back on to what remained and pretty much crossed their fingers that it would all start working again like normal. It did for about three months.

One day I was fine, eating nachos with hamburger, the next I was suddenly not digesting fat properly. 

So, if any of you have ever taken those diet pills that stop you from digesting fat, I only have one question. Why the heck would you subject yoursel to that!? My life was basically misery for years. Yeah, I lost weight. But if I had a choice I would never choose to impair my fat dgiestion--and suffer those symptoms. For those of you who don't know what I am talking about. Sorry. I am not going to inform you. It's too unpleasant and not for polite convo. Its one of those TMI situations and you should be thanking me for keeoing it to myself.

But I will talk about one of the symptoms, and that is flatulence. Gas. Farts. Yep, aaaany time, aaaaany place they would just slip out. Sometimes like a trombone, sometimes silent. But always deadly. 

Mostly, they would get really bad when it was really inconvenient or embarassing. But basically it was a constant problem. Sometimes I kind of felt like PigPen from Charlie Brown. You know how he always had that cloud around him? That was me. 

You know how your own farts don't smell as bad as other people's? Well this wasn't true for me any more. I was suffering both from the shame of it and the smell.

All I can say is thank the gods of bad gas that I was already married to a husband who really, really, really loves me. Really. 

I was at a crowded party, standing super close to three good friends and I let one sneak, no problem. "Whoops that was me, sorry," I said, waving my hand in front of my nose. I got a laugh. I got a: "Hey, way to own it!" But then the problem becomes, I am still in a long conversation and there is more to come. Much much more. How many times can one "own it" before people start to wonder what your problem is. 

I could have always played the cancer card. "Oh sorry, I had cancer...I am better now, but there is this thing I have to live with now. And so do you if you want to be my friend." People would be all sympathetic, sure. But that wouldn't make them want to hang around in my PigPen cloud with me. 

There were several tactics I tried at first. Oh yeah, I was trying medication too, but I wasn't having a lot of luck with fidning the right digestive enzymes, for the right price ($1.50 per pill up to three per meal!!), at the right dosage. The quick and dirty tactic is to find some reason to wander off away from people for a minute, let her rip and then wander back and pick up the conversation. But there were a couple ways this usually backfired.

First, who knew gas could be so "sticky." Those farts can hang around and follow you everywhere. You can't just drop them off and abandon them. They latch on like little fart children clinging to their momma on the first day of kindergarten.

Second, people always seemed to want to follow me when I wandered away. They couldn't take a hint. They had to get hit straight in the face with it I guess. And that is what they got. No matter where I would go or who it was. They could be strangers. Customers in my store even. I would start to wander to do my little deed,and they would be right there behind me. Gah!

After a few years, I gave up trying to be anythign but what I was, a living, breathing fart joke. At a certain point I accepted my reality and started realizing the potential. I had a weapon, a whole arsenal, at my disposal. My own personal cache of WMDs. Instead of wandering off to hide the evidence of my curse in a corner, I would stealthfully position myself in the most strategic location to plant my little land mines of malodorousness for the people who deserved it. Customers usually. The jerks I couldn't just let loose on and rip them a new asshole, no matter how much I wanted to. No, my revenge did not involve their asshole. Muahahahaha.

And, you know those times when you just want people to leave you alone? Well, I could very easily make that happen. Life was miserable. But there were a few perks. 

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. It had gotten so much worse than just the constant gas and an occasional bout of those other horrible, unnamed symptoms. For a year and a half I had lived with constant horrible unnamed symptoms. I was starting to think the whole situation was just a little bit depressing. I decided I had to really really press the matter with my doctors.

It's a difficult situation to discuss and still maintain one's delicate demeanor. I started with a few hints. They just smiled and nodded and shrugged. So I switched to "No really, this is a BIG PROBLEM!" And they thought maybe a new medication was in order but never really jumped on it. So finally I just spilled my guts. (Well, that;s an unfortunate pun.) I went into graphic detail about the wretchedness of my symptoms. And at last I had a new perscription. I also had new insurance too and so it was easier for me to swallow those pills, literally and figuratively. 

Day and night! Miracle. Halleluja! All words you could use to describe the result of the new medication. I was cured! I still fart. But like a normal person. And when I fart, I don't have to fear other unspeakable consequences. It's pure bliss in comparisson to my life before the new pills. I can even eat hamburger now and then, but I still limit my pork and beef to a few times a month out of habit, and because I hate taking that many pills all the time.

So that is the story of how the cure for my cancer turned me into a living, breathing fart joke for a few years. Now, thankfully, that is all it is--an inside joke my husband and I share about my past.

I leave you with a few of my favorite jokes:

When all this started we lived on a street called "Tudor Court" aka Tooter Court.

"Hurry up and do that thing I asked you to." -- "I will do that toot suite."

"Bye" -- "Tootles!"