WARNING!!! This installment includes a discussion of bodily functions. If you have a weak constitution, perhaps you should wait a few days until my next post. If you are an individual with manners, dignity, or respect for others, there is no way that you and I will ever see eye to eye on anything. I suggest you delete this blog from your browsing history and pretend you never met me. With that disclaimer, I believe we can continue.
Our subject today is gas. Natural gas in fact. The most natural gas there is: the fart. I like to call it flatus. Not because I'm a health care professional and it is the technical term, but because it is a stupid sounding word and I still can't believe it means fart. Therefore, it always makes me laugh to say it. If you think I'm immature and disgusting, then you should blame my father. When it comes to the manufacture and distribution of flatus, the man has no equal. I have never met, and doubt I ever will, an artist that can clear the room as thoroughly as my dear old man. In my house growing up, the breaking of wind was sacred and revered and totally hilarious. It is sort of poetic that I became a Certified Nurse Midwife because flatus is a common and rewarding part of my profession. If you think that is strange, then you need an anatomy lesson. Because I am lazy and would never spend time researching copyrighted pictures appropriately, I decided to choose a pic that could never get me in trouble with enfringement laws. This lovely artwork was made by an LPN and good friend of mine that works in my office. Poor Maren was trying to communicate with a non-English speaking patient and when pointing to her anatomy and screaming the word "anus" several times did not improve the situation, Maren doodled this gem:
If she had not added the labels, I would have had no idea what the heck this was. I laughed so hard I hung it above my desk. She actually scribbled the original on a paper towel and I giggle every day when I look at it! What I hope you can derive from this model is that the anus and vagina are close together. Thus, when babies make their wonderful journey through the lovely cave of lady flesh that is the vagina, bowel contents both gas, solid, and liquid, often make their way out. It is both disgusting and completely normal. I have found my true calling, but back to the subject at hand.
I have a few simple rules that I follow in passing flatus:
- Don't pass gas at the dinner table
- Don't pass gas in church
- Don't pass gas unless only someone you know is around - spare the general public
- Flatus passsage is sometimes necessary if your belly hurts "better out than in"
- Flatus passage is acceptable if when properly timed, it will disgust and/or bring down the house in peals of laughter
If you doubt the usefulness of the final tip, then you obviously did not know a CNM I used to work with. I loved the eccentric lady and sometimes when she walked, she tooted with every step. Although she was breaking rule 3, she never apologized. In fact, she never even acknowledged it had happened. It was THE most hilarious thing and I miss her dearly. I can only hope my talents will affect others in the way hers has. Luckily, age and vaginal deliveries have the potential of turning every woman into the golden specimen that my friend is so I will keep you posted on my progress.
Over the last couple of weeks I have gotten into some trouble with my gas. It is for this reason that I am posting today. The first happened when I had been stuck at the hospital delivering babies for a couple of days. I was minding my own buisness in one of the private lounges eating my dinner in solitude. Ironically, I happened to be reading a bulletin about "Deadly Diarrhea" that was sitting around in there. It was all about C-Diff which is no laughing matter. If you don't believe me - Google it! Anyway, I was following rules 3 and 4 when I heard the door to the lounge open. This leads me into one of the pitfalls of flatus: If you pass alone, you have no scapegoat. I had cropdusted the entire room and was now caught brown handed. I also want to point out an important fart suggestion: Don't take credit unless cornered. The reason for this logic is my own crazy mother. That woman has zero sense of smell. You could break wind all day in front of that lady and as long as there was no accompanying sound - she would never know. Also, I do not know the math equation for the decay of fart gas. You never know how quickly one will dissipate. It is possible to make it under the wire as long as you don't lose your cool and shout, "IT WAS ME!" Unfortunately for the story, I have no idea if the doctor that came in was polite and didn't call me out, or if the gas had dissipated. I made some small talk about deadly diarrhea and got the heck outta dodge. I met one of the nurses in the outside hallway and started talking and walking back to Labor and Delivery. I happened to have a huge mug of Diet Dr. Pepper in my hand that I had just purchased with my dinner. I walked up to one of the doorways in the hallway and I fell. Right through the door! I have no explanation for why because I didn't trip nor slip. I hadn't even put my hand up yet to push open the door. I just fell out into the next hallway. Down went my mug belching its brown goodness onto the floor. Down went my body on top of the puddle. Down went my pride on top of me! Several people helped and cleaned up my mess and I was left with a very sore and bruised knee for about a week. Before you dismiss this nastiness as a coincidental accident, I would like to suggest Karma was at play. The universe did not like my cropdusting crime and so it chewed me up and spit me out. I should let the poor doc know who likely will catch cancer from my cloud that we are even, but that would violate the advice I just gave about keeping mum.
I thought my flatus punishment was all over until April Fools Day when I went to watch the sealing of my brother Jeff and his wife Ember in Salt Lake City.
Here they are and they are disgusting. The day was actually quite pleasant. I got to see my middle brother for the first time in several months. When I first saw him I peed a little. What's going on here? You have to show up looking like a homeless bum? You couldn't at least cut your mop? One funny note, our hair looks almost identical right now so my husband mistook him for me during the lunch from behind. Thanks guy. I guess nearly 17 years of marriage have been good to me if I look like a 20 something man. But look at that sexy neck and ear of said lover. He is delicous people. Seriously.
We finished watching my three brothers make complete fools of themselves in front of the temple and then I realized I hadn't taped it. This is my problem. The circus that is my life feels so normal and happens daily that it doesn't seem noteworthy until I try to explain it to others. Bear with me. Hopefully this blog thing will help me get better about documentation. We next had a delicious lunch at the Rodizio Grill and I ate roasted pineapple until my insides hurt. It was wonderful but it couldn't last. I had to get back to Idaho to deliver some more babies. I delivered one at 1159 that night. Kind of cool! I was walking out of Trolley Square Mall and found my chance to make my mark by following flatus rules 3 and 5. Unfortunately for me, it was not gas that passed its way out. That's right. I pooped my shorts. Karma again, though I don't have a ready explanation as to why. I waddled strategically into the nearest restroom to investigate the extent of my problem and realized I had three options:
- Go commando under my skirt
- Try washing my underclothes in the sink and hope no one sees me
- Ignore the problem and go home
Given that I'm not much of a lady one wouldn't work. Three was no bueno because even I have a few lines in the sand. Therefore, two it was! Here's how I felt in the bathroom...
Since it was in the afternoon on a Wednesday, no one caught me and when I walked out and told Jared what had happened, Officer Lily yelled, "YOU POOPED YOUR PANTS MOM?! YOU'RE A GROWN WOMAN!!" This is where I was able to give Lily some very sound life wisdom. I leaned over and told her, "Lily even grown ups poop their pants sometimes!" She was speechless. Given that I feel it is best to live your life like an open book so no one can spread rumors about you, I quickly sent a text to everyone I care about so that they could share in my misfortune. Here is one more piece of advice. If you tell everyone, everyone knows. Are you confused? Then read this exchange I had with my brother Jameson (Pasty Bastard) after I berated him for his incompetance in completing an assignment I gave him:
Thus ends my informative post about flatus. Let's review shall we? First, fart when you need to as long as the Rules of Flatus are followed. Second, remember that Karma is always looking to humble you. Last, even grown ups poop their pants sometimes. Good luck out there everyone!
This was absolutely hilarious! I had tears streaming down my face from laughing as a struggled to read it out loud to my sister and husband. seriously, you said what most think and are too embarrassed to say out loud,THANK YOU!
ReplyDeleteThat said, I contest rule no. 3 to an extent. Tooting around strangers is funny to me. They are less likely to say anything but look around intently trying to figure out who done it. People who know me don't question that, they know, therefore the humor dies a little but perfect strangers or people who aren't as familiar don't know what to expect and tend to be more tactful which can be pretty dang funny.
Keep it coming, we are thoroughly enjoying this!
PS I spent most of my 4th delivery tooting in Helene's face. She actually questioned whether or not she should get the riot mask out just in case I exploded :/ She bravely went on to deliver two more of my babies. What a woman!
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