I warned you!
As some of you know, I had spinal surgery last year to correct the cumulative damage of being a semi-pro silly bugger for about 40 years. Before any surgeon gets his hammers, chisels, shears and saws out they'll try ANYTHING to stop you having to go "under the knife". Especially if there's a chance that you'll:-
a/ be righteously fucked if they get it wrong and
b/ Still be able to sue them into the stone age if you survive the fuckup.
I came into both categories so I took a long course of Physio and serious painkillers, neither of which did jack to the underlying damage (as an aside, I think the physio accelerated the problem)until I met the surgeon. He needed a particular team and a particular operating theatre to do the 2-level ACDF I needed so I had to wait.

For three months.

He prescribed morphine-based painkillers YAY!
However, opiates cause constipation. Serious constipation. I went off my food for three months as it was going nowhere, except for occasional perfectly sherical, satsuma sized, eye waterer.

I had the surgery, spent two days in a haze of injected morphine and left the hospital with a big scar on my neck and a plate with bolts holding three of my vertebrae together while the bone harvested from my hip fused in and replaced the two shagged out discs.

I came home, a little pained but happy. Unfortunately I was no longer on opiates, therefore I was no longer constipated.

On the third moring I felt a bowel twinge I'd not felt for some time, I was actually happy that I'd be able to have my morning dump, a routine that had been denied me for too long! I took my ususal dumping accesories, book, radio, wet wipes etc in to the bog, sat and waited for the blessed relief that was to be my first post-operative-and-morphine-free log.
Sitting in the warm bosom of my bathroom I awaited the mudchild.
Now, I don't know about you, gentle reader, but I have only ever had to perform the minimal amount of straining to release a brown otter, normally I have the opposite. Open, dump, wipe check and flush, dead easy.

NOT.

THIS.

TIME.

Turtles head!? It felt like I'd got the great A'Tuin and the elephants all vying (sp?) for pole position, goatse himself would have been saying "I say chaps, steady on!". After what seemd like a cliche but was only a figure of speech, I thought I was done. Lacking the neck mobility to look over my shoulder I stood up to survey the monster.

Imagine a 5" ball made of maltesers of all different shades, from light brown to black actually wedged in the pan OVER the water. For a moment I was impressed, I'd battled the fecal monster and won, I was Beowulf, Arnie and Chuck Norris all rolled into one heroic shit-battling ninja. I'd WON!

Then the smell hit me. THEN my bowels, freed from the blockage and the morphine paralysis decided to let go. Spectacularly. All over the batroom door 6 feet away. I was hoiking my guts up, face down in the pan, my nose not more than 2" from the malteser ball, inhaling the fetid stench which gave me more reason to hurl, the resulting bowel pressure spraying slimy greenish blood-streaked sluglike lumps over the door.
After 10-15 minutes of this, I was empty. Completely empty. Lucky thing, because I had to clean the bathroom. Took an hour and a half and five towels I'd never use again.
Once safely bagged in THREE binbags I placed the towels in the bin.
The malteser ball was still there. Broke that up with the bog brush and had to flush in relays.
Never mind the anti-drug propaganda we peddle out, just get the junkies to stop for a day or two, then make them clear up the resulting mess.
Apologies for diameter and smell.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 11:44, 3 replies)

*click*
Near-decapitation is a small price to pay for a story like this. Perhaps.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 11:50, closed)

*click*
Christ, I read this while eating meatballs.
Not clever.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 13:11, closed)

And the straining.....................
............and hurling wasn't great fun, I still had staples in my neck wound and the vertebrae were held by bolts.
A tad painful.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 13:46, closed)