To maintain continuity, the puborectalis muscle compresses the anal canal. The tissue sling should be released during bowel movements. I have not done so.
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In mid-March 2021, in a bowling alley, I look at the balls rumble and wonder if I’ve had a bowel movement since President’s Day. I try: Miralax, Restoralax, Magnesium Citrate (liquid and powder), Senna (tea and pills), Psyllium (powder and pills), Benefiber, Citrucel, Digestive Enzymes, Swedish Bitters, Probiotics, Prebiotics, Flax Seed (milled and Whole), Chia Seeds, Prunes, Figs (Soaked and Dried), Squatty Potty, Dulcolax (Tablet and Suppository), Allicin, Glycerin, Berberine, Neem, GingerFleet Enema, Artichoke Extract, Dandelion, Cascara Sagrada, Pumpkin Puree, Licorice Root, Slippery Elm, Beans, Colonic Massage, Sea Moss, Apple Pectin, Aloe Vera (Juice and Gel), Kiwi, Acupuncture, Perianal Splinting, Beta-Glucans, Alfalfa , Red Clover, Going off Wellbutrin, Going on Adderall, Apple Cider Vinegar, Praying.
In May, I a. I will go gastroenterologist, She has a signet pinky ring and gelled hair. I pull my shorts down to show a bulging in the iliac region of my lower left abdomen, which I guess is from buildup in the sigmoid colon. I scream. The doctor stares.
Later, browsing the medical directory Zocdoc, I learned that he served as the sole physician for 2,000 soldiers in Afghanistan. I stretch a tissue. I say I’m probably over-emotional because of the gut-brain connection. The folks on the podcast say that “gut bacteria are responsible for 95% of the body’s serotonin supply.” Doctor says avoid crucifixion vegetables And download a low FODMAP diet app (FODMAP stands for Fermented Oligosaccharides, Disaccharides, Monosaccharides and Polyols). He prescribes Linzess – an oligopeptide agonist of guanylate cyclase-C – and refers me to Lenox Hill Radiology for an X-ray of my intestinal tract.
The main side effect of constipation medicine is Diarrhea, I don’t experience so much diarrhea as prolonged leakage. I cancel plans to attend a trivia party in Ridgewood, Brooklyn, so as not to risk emissions on the M train. When Linzess fails, the gastroenterologist prescribes Amitiza – a bicyclic fatty acid and prostaglandin E1 derivative. marginal diarrhea, and then nothing. I obsessively track bowel behavior with a diary next to my toilet.
I watch a YouTube video of a masseuse named Monique on how to cure constipation with love. Monique holds up a piece of paper that says, “I let life flow freely through me.” Put a hand on your heart, she says, and ask yourself: “How true is this affirmation?”
Lenox Hill finds “considerable fecal material in the descent” Abdomen as well as the rectosigmoid area.” My doctor diagnoses a combination of slow transit and outlet constipation. The terms “peristalsis,” “lazy colon” and “dyssynergia” are used. Tight anus has reduced mobility.Anorectal manometry is the next step to test muscle pressure in the sphincter.
You never really know how constipated you are. There’s a lot of clickbait about unwittingly harboring 20 pounds of so-called poisonous poop. I stop skipping commercials for the Seven-Day Gut Reboot and ketogenic intermittent fasting mints. I want – no, need – to hear about chlorophyll lemonade By a board-certified dietitian, Ayurvedic doctor, and mother-in-law of four who knew there had to be a better way.
The colorectal specialist at Turtle Bay has mildly distorted air. “What can we do for you?” he asks. I’m going to love his nurse, he tells me. He is the greatest. The woman is seen wearing an Angry Birds face mask and takes me through a manometry test. The results show a reversed rectal rectal gradient – I squeeze when I should be pushing. I go along with instructions for an exercise called “anal winks.”
Bloated, I go out with a Vegetarian Author who wants to share small plates. I wonder about the FODMAP ranking for Beat Carpaccio while he talks about the aesthetic nature of parentheses versus parentheses. “The round brackets are pockets of air, room to breathe away from the sermonism of the mainstream text,” he says. “Square brackets are sharp, angular. Think about it when you see ‘sic.'” He moves on. I wonder if scallop risotto is made with white or brown rice, or if it even matters at this point.
I wear the wrong outfit for pelvic floor biofeedback therapy. If I had thought about spending an hour pants-less with a cord to my rectum, I’d wear an oversize top, maybe a dress. Instead, I’m half-naked at a table at the Gastrointestinal Motility Disorders Center in a light white blouse with a milkmaid neckline. It’s rustic, heartfelt and unreal for the moment.
Between anorectal pulses from the electrical stimulation probe, physiotherapist It negotiates this by asking how I would describe my personal style. Let me say something irrelevant about the Olsen twins. The therapist instructs me to synchronize Kegel contractions with the rise and fall of the animated dolphin as it flutters across a monitor attached to strings in my anus. The more I contract, the higher the dolphin jumps. For future appointments, I wear a skirt and thigh-highs so I can keep Kegels intact with my outfit.
After showing my gastroenterologist seltzer and refusing to test for small intestinal bacterial overgrowth, I switch to the one whose administrative assistant says he “gets thrilled” from finding creative solutions to problems that other doctors have to deal with. cannot solve. From my second appointment, I learned that many of my new gastroenterologists’ creative solutions include muscle relaxants; Valium can be supplied in suppository form in combination with a specialty pharmacy in Park Slope. And that I am a good candidate for anal botox.
Insurance won’t cover $1,200 anesthesia for anal botox sedation, so I’m awake. The proctologist wears the pointy-toed logo-Jacquard Gucci stilettos. Reviewing my folders, she says I can crack a nut with my sphincter. If you overdo anal Botox, you risk incontinence, she assures me, her approach is conservative. She laughs. I laughed. She uses an aerosol skin refrigerant spray with a skinny straw nozzle to send a gust of frozen air inside me.
In Central Park, after injections, a faint prick in my butt, I sit on a bench dedicated to the loving memory of the Cohens and contemplate the visceral meta-narrative. swallow, collection, hoping to generate something real; Proceed through a deceptively long winding path; consume the necessary roughage; adopt a popular consistency; Strive for a sense of fulfillment. “The paradox of human life,” said Simone de Beauvoir in a 1965 Paris Review interview, “is precisely what one tries to Happen And, in the long run, only exists. It is because of this discrepancy that when you look back at your life, you see that you simply exist. In other words, life is not behind you like a solid thing.”
My second magnetic resonance dephakography is in the subbasement of Mount Sinai. The technician points to a set of built-in speakers in the MRI machine and asks if I want music. He says whatever I want. Panicked, I request a “hit”. The doctor inserts three syringes of blue gel into my rectum which will simulate the passage of stool for ultrasound. I wait for instructions to simulate defecation. “Cold Heart” by Dua Lipa and Elton John begins to play.
It’s a human sign when things go wrong
When his scent and the smell of temptation intensify
Cold, cold heart hardened by you (oh)
some things are looking better, baby
Just passing (no, no, no, no, no)
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
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