It’s about more than just pee

June 5, 2016

There’s political turmoil in the U.S. right now around bathroom use. Yes, you read that right. Transgender folks want to use the bathroom that corresponds with their gender identity and conservatives want them to use the bathroom that corresponds with the gender on their birth certificate. While I have some very definite opinions on this issue, there’s one aspect that strikes me as being more relevant for those who have certain chronic illnesses and other medical issues. Or who just poop when they’re not at home.

You see, the argument from transgender folks and their allies is that this is about a simple right: the right to pee. And it is. But it’s also more than that.

I see a lot of these memes, videos, and arguments. I share a lot of them on social media, too. After all, I fully support everyone’s right to pee in a comfortable, safe space. But the thing is, isn’t it about more than just pee? And I’m not just talking about having a private place to pick a wedgie, fix your hair and makeup, or take off those uncomfortable stockings.

For me, public bathrooms, and even private ones, were about more than just peeing. I had around 20 years of undiagnosed Celiac Disease and other food intolerances, so you can imagine what bathroom use was like for me.

I have an unusually strong bladder. I can often go for 4, 6, even 8 hours without peeing. But when I got *that* feeling, there was no choice.

There was the time I was on the highway, stuck in traffic. I got *that* feeling. I knew it was bad. I looked at the stop-and-go traffic and I wondered if I would have to have diarrhea in the grass on the side of the highway. Thankfully, just in time, I got off the road, into a motel parking lot, and found my way to a bathroom. Thank goodness!

Then there was the time I was seeing a show on Broadway for the first time. I was so excited! Walking to the theater, I got *that* feeling. We rushed to the theater, thinking I could quickly use the bathroom, but the doors weren’t opened yet and there was a line to get in. I rushed to the hotel next door, but a guest card was needed to use the bathrooms. I asked at the desk, but they wouldn’t let me use a toilet. I went back to the theater. The doors were open and my mother was almost to the front of the line. I was desperate. As soon as I was through the door I ran to the bathroom. The line for the ladies room snaked down the hall. I ran to the front and asked if I could cut the line. A woman in front said yes immediately, and others followed her lead. I hate to think what would have happened if she’d said no. Maybe she saw the desperation on my face. Maybe she noticed that I was turning a bit white, or even green. Maybe she was just a compassionate person who always helped others. Whatever it was, I was grateful. I ran into the next open stall, and sat down as I felt what seemed like everything I’d eaten in a week leave my body. I was there for a long time. I eventually made it up to my seat, and was still feeling a bit ill. Before the show started, I got the feeling again. I ran back to the bathroom. It was close to curtain, so there was no line. I sat there alone, in the quiet, grateful for the toilet. I got back upstairs just as the opening number began, thankfully feeling much better.

I’ve had more incidents like this than I can count. There have been times I didn’t make it to a toilet in time. Thankfully, those were not in public places. But they could have easily been.

The point is, sometimes it’s about more than just peeing. I’m cisgender, so obviously this particular issue of which bathroom to use doesn’t affect me directly. (It does affect several friends, many acquaintances, and countless people I don’t know personally but who should obviously have the same rights as everyone else.) Still, I can’t help feeling a twinge at all of the talk about how “it’s just about peeing.” No it isn’t! It’s also about pooping! Don’t forget the pooping!

I want to shout it at the tv, at my computer screen, and at every person who says, “it’s just about peeing.” I get their angle. They want to eliminate the politically-motivated distractions being used to force the issue. But let’s not erase the very real problems that so many others are dealing with. It’s about pooping too!

There are certain things all humans do. I get that most people don’t want to discuss them all. But really, why can’t we talk about poop? If we can wipe a baby’s butt, clean out the cat’s litter, and pick up the dog’s poop from the street, surely we can recognize that trans+ folks will need to occasionally poop in public too. And when they do, they need to be able to do it in a safe place.

Because if I hadn’t had a safe place in that theater, it could have been a very messy experience. And no one should have to go through that.

So for all of you out there with IBD, IBS, Crohn’s, Celiac, or any other digestive issue, and for those who simply need to poop, I support you. Let’s win this thing! #itsaboutmorethanpee


Health insurance should cover a bidet for anyone with a GI illness

September 21, 2014

Sometimes things get messy… down there. It happens. And when you have diarrhea on a regular basis, including explosive diarrhea, maybe it happens a bit more than healthy folks might expect.

As recent readers know,┬áthe last few weeks have been especially difficult for me. Still, I’ve been pushing through. I was doing ok, but the last few days have been incredibly rough.

And so I wasn’t feeling great this morning as I read my Facebook feed and slowly ate my breakfast. The stress was getting to me. I’d barely the last 3 nights. I was pretty sure I was all cried out…. at least until the funeral tomorrow. Who knows what that would bring. And how would I make it through the day? The funeral, sitting shiva, the long drives…. would I make it? I tried not to worry about getting over to be with the family again today, figuring I could rest all morning and afternoon and head over much later. I wouldn’t even get dressed, just stay in my pajamas until 3pm. I tried not to think about it. I tried not to think about how my grandfather looked when I visited him on his deathbed less than 48 hours ago. I tried not to think about the hell that my mother and her siblings were going through. I tried to remember the good times. And there were so many good times. I am endlessly thankful for that.

I sat there feeling pretty good emotionally, all things considered. I was hanging in there physically. I was doing ok. I was going to make it. And then instead of feeling gas released by a fart, I felt poop. Yes, I was pooping my pants. This has happened a couple of times before, but with all of my recent improvements GI-wise, I thought it wouldn’t happen again. But it did.

I bolted from the chair and ran for the bathroom. I took just a couple steps and realized the room was fuzzy. One part of my brain knew the problem, and of its own accord my hand reached up, pulled off my reading glasses, and threw them down. I never broke stride. I made it to the bathroom. Most of it ended up in the toilet. It was just liquid. I felt weaker than before, but I managed to wash out my favorite underwear (how unfortunate!) and my favorite fleece pants (just as unfortunate!) but my ass still wasn’t entirely clean. Things had gotten messy, and thanks to my joint problems in my hands, wrists, and shoulders, it was hard to clean up. Worse than what I usually have trouble cleaning up. So I got in the shower.

I stood in that shower for a long, long time. I hadn’t wanted to shower so early, or maybe even at all today. Showering takes so much energy, and that wasn’t energy that I had to spare. But what were my options? So I stood in that shower and thought, not for the first time, about how much I wish I had a bidet. I used one once when I was in Europe and I liked it. I’m pretty sure if I had one now, I’d be using it often. There are so many days when it would help, but few as bad as today.

We don’t talk about this kind of thing often. But a few weeks ago I was talking to a friend who also has GI problems and we talked about those uncertain farts, and how we can never be sure if they’ll really be farts, or if we’ll end up pooping our pants. I was relieved to hear I wasn’t the only one dealing with that, but sad for her that she has the same problem. And why shouldn’t we discuss it? Yesterday, after hearing about my grandfather’s death, I stood in the shower and cried – sobbed, actually – for ages. I felt my nose start to bleed, but I only stopped crying when I felt myself choking on the blood. By the time I got out of the shower I’d forgotten about my bloody nose until I brushed my teeth. I looked in the mirror and saw the blood dripping down. And I feel like I can talk about that, so why not talk about gastrointestinal problems?

So I’m throwing it out there right now, so all of my fellow CI-ers can remember that if you have similar problems, or maybe something entirely different that you find embarrassing, you’re not alone. We all have our stories. We might not talk about them publicly, but we have them.

And if you’re looking for a safe space to share your own otherwise-embarrassing stories, just post them here in the comments. I won’t judge. (And you can use an anonymous name if you want.) Remember, you’re among friends. And at least a few of them have pooped their pants.


%d bloggers like this: