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Life can be overwhelming, especially when you’re juggling caregiver duties and personal responsibilities. That’s how I found myself in the emergency room for a rather embarrassing issue.
The pain in my abdomen felt excruciating, leading me to believe I was suffering from appendicitis. My husband, a physician, asked if the pain was more intense on the right side. I hesitated but admitted it might be. He took me to the ER.
It was Halloween, and the night was lit by a striking blue full moon. The emergency room was packed—one of the busiest nights of the year—and their computer system had crashed. Despite the chaos, my condition was so dire that I was quickly given a room and a welcome injection of morphine.
Convinced I had appendicitis, I even argued with a nurse about whether a CT scan was necessary before surgery, fearing it might prolong my stay. I had urgent matters waiting for me at home. My grandmother, who had been living in the same building as us for the past two and a half years, was gravely ill, and I wanted to be by her side. My kids, aged four and six, were with my sister, who had planned a rooftop candy hunt for Halloween.
While I waited for the technician to wake up, I filled out my grandmother’s cremation paperwork on my phone, just in case I needed it while under anesthesia.
When the scan was completed, it revealed the shocking truth: my appendix was perfectly healthy. The actual issue was that I was severely constipated, with stool backed up all the way from my large intestine to my small intestine—definitely not where it should be. I was taken aback when the doctor asked how often I had gone to the bathroom that week. I couldn’t even remember.
Though these circumstances were extraordinary, the buildup to this embarrassing moment had been years in the making. After my mother passed away and my grandmother moved in with us, I struggled to manage the needs of my children and the matriarch above. Bubbi had been receiving hospice care for suspected pancreatic cancer for the past 20 months. Even with help, the weight of responsibility was immense, especially during the COVID pandemic when I also had to oversee my children’s remote learning.
In this constant state of caregiver burnout, I made time for exercise as it was my means of coping, which also alleviated my lingering postpartum back pain. I occasionally squeezed in a few minutes for meditation. Yet, feeling guilty about screen time for my kids, I often rushed my showers, earning the nickname “Earth Mama” from my husband. I would only sit on the toilet if I could finish in under 30 seconds—what I heard other moms refer to as “the mom ninja poop.” Once, I even counted how many days it took for me to use the bathroom without an audience: seven. I sought help from various doctors for my persistent bloating and discomfort after two C-sections, but the answers were elusive. I chose to believe the infectious disease specialist who suggested I had a parasite rather than the gastroenterologist who simply said I was full of crap.
In the ER, I was given a prescription for laxatives before being sent home to prep for what felt like a colonoscopy. A few months later, a friend who also had two C-sections visited the same ER with a similar issue. She ended up hospitalized with a decompression tube for five days and required surgery for an intestinal blockage. We both learned that scar tissue from previous surgeries could be to blame. After further evaluations—one of which involved swallowing a tiny camera and carrying a tracking device to log my bathroom visits—I was finally diagnosed with stress.
Upon returning from the ER, I rushed to my grandmother’s apartment, kissed her, and told her I needed to rest after a tough night. She perked up. “What’s wrong?” she asked with concern. I replied, “Just some sympathy pains.” She passed away two days later.
At my first follow-up appointment with the gastroenterologist, I joked about using my deceased grandmother’s Miralax—might as well finish the bottle. She empathized but recommended a stronger medication. Over the past year and a half, I managed to reduce my reliance on laxatives as my stress levels stabilized. The kids are back in school, Bubbi’s apartment has been cleared out, and I’ve started meditating twice daily. I even told my gastroenterologist that I’m now taking the time to chew my food properly. She confirmed that it makes a difference, along with taking a few minutes to sit on the toilet.
For those navigating similar challenges, it’s essential to prioritize your health and well-being. If you’re interested in self-insemination, you can explore helpful resources, like this one on home insemination kits, or check out Cryobaby for expert advice on the subject. For more information about pregnancy and home insemination, the CDC offers excellent resources.
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Summary:
Navigating the challenges of caregiving and personal responsibilities can lead to unexpected health issues. After experiencing severe abdominal pain, a trip to the ER revealed that stress and neglecting self-care had caused significant constipation. The journey through caregiving, loss, and eventual recovery highlights the importance of prioritizing one’s health and seeking help when needed.