I Shit You Not

This almost happened

Warning: The following will describe in detail the side effects of a menacing bacteria. FYI— I’m good with gore. I grew up with a Pathologist father, so bodily functions was dinner table conversation. One time, I called my dad at work and asked, “Can you talk?” To which he replied, “I’m in the middle of cutting a leg, can I call you back?” When I was 8 years old I took a human heart to school for show-and-tell. (Essay forthcoming.) Our family easily discussed diarrhea while eating Jello-O chocolate pudding desert.

I almost had a poop transfer— the resettlement of one person’s crap into your colon. A smooth move of a different sort. Have you heard of this? It’s an actual medical procedure…

I had C-Diff. It’s a bacterial infection caused by Clostridioides difficile. Don’t be fooled by the French word for, Difficult. This bacterium is not a romantic Parisian but a form of the Latin adjective, Difficilis, and it’s brutal. Imagine a tidal wave of brown liquid spewing from your butt. Picture having to clean the toilet after every dump because a tsunami just made land.

Now envision this with an elderly person in a nursing home. The CDC personally told me (via their web site) that 1 in 11 people over the age of 65 diagnosed with a C-Diff health-care facility infection die within a month. 

I was 54 and needed a root canal. The root doc who I guess is officially called an Endodontist, said, “I’ll prescribe an antibiotic for you so you won’t get an infection after the root canal.”

So you won’t get an infection… Key words.

I warned endo-root-doc, “I am very sensitive to everything I put in my body. Please give me a friendly antibiotic.”

I know. No such thing as “friendly” antibiotic since they kill all the good bacteria in the gut as well as the bad. 

Meanwhile, my gut was already shouting at me, “Don’t take the friggin’ antibiotic.” Did I listen to my intuition? Sorry gut.

After the root canal I dutifully gulped down the course of antibiotics. Please note, dear unclogged reader, that I was already consuming probiotics every day. During this 10-day course I took extra probiotics.

Suddenly, I was on the toilet. A lot. Like I ate bad pork. (Remember trichinosis? Not a thing anymore since it was GMO’d out of pork.)

I called root doc to get to the root of this.

“Call your PCP.”

Really?

My PCP ordered a stool sample. That’s when you go to the lab and pick up a shopping bag and people in the waiting area think you just bought a Uniqlo sweater. But inside the bag is the “hat” which looks like a toilet-bowl-shaped measuring cup, a tiny plastic spatula, a lidded specimen container and two different colored liquids in test-tube-ish receptacles. And instructions. It was an at-home science experiment. (Now, of course, when I see someone else at the lab with the shopping bag I know there’s no sweater. Instead, I give them a knowing nod.)

I had to poop in the hat then scoop whatever was firm into the – never mind. I’m getting nauseous writing about it. So much for having a Pathologist dad.

I called my mom.

“I might have C-Diff,” I told her.

“What?! They get that in nursing homes.”

“I had to mix the poop with two different chemicals. It was a disgusting mess,” I said.

“Isn’t the lab supposed to do the mixing? Your job is to just hand over the stool.”

“Short staffed?”

It suddenly occurred to me to Google the antibiotic that the root doc administered.

Sure enough Clindamycin can cause C-Diff.

I was pissed. Root canal doc didn’t listen to me. I told him I was sensitive. Another bad-doctor experience added to the list.  Like the time I had an inflamed protruding pinky joint, and the urgent care doc said take Tylenol (I needed a splint). Or the time I had a super painful “frozen shoulder” and the doc said to do shoulder rolls (I needed a cortisone shot). Or the time a naturopath told me to take iodine instead of my thyroid med and I almost ended up in hospital.  I could go on…

Guess what cures C-Diff which was caused by an antibiotic? Another antibiotic. I made an appointment with my gastro. Yes, I had a regular gastro because of all the gut issues I’ve had.

“I really don’t want to take another antibiotic,” I told the gastro’s Nurse Practitioner (the gastro doc was too busy doing endoscopies and colonoscopies). I liked the NP. She knew her shit. Literally. She explained everything in street language, which I appreciated.

“You crapping everywhere all the time?”

“That would be me.”

I guessed from her looks and demeanor she was a surfer. Her nose was red and peeling and she could have naturally squeezed in the word, gnarly into a sentence.

“You’ve had diarrhea six times today? Dang, that’s gnarly.”

I imagined that she had flip flops in her locker and her car keys were attached to a floating keychain.

“If you don’t want to go on antibiotics again there’s another option,” she said.

“Really?” I was eager to learn more.

“It’s essentially a stool transplant.”

“You mean like a poop transfer?”

“It’s called, fecal microbiota transplantation or FMT.”

(Gnarly wouldn’t have worked in that sentence.)

She went on, “We take the healthy bacteria from someone else’s feces and—”

“Insert it into my bum? That’s amazing. Can it be from someone I know?”

“It’s usually better that way.”

I was downright giddy and already thinking about hubby Jeffrey. I schemed in my head-- He does have a much cleaner diet since I’ve been doing all the cooking. Although he has admitted to eating donuts at work.

When I had my c-section Jeffrey saw many organs. The gyno took out my bladder, intestines, placed them on a metal table and put them back in again. Jeffrey loved telling people that he knew me “inside and out.” While I couldn’t say the same for him, I was thrilled at the prospect that hubby’s fecal matter could cure my gut ills. And it would be fabulous dinner party conversation.

“You know, I have my husband’s shit in my heinie.” Some guests would be impressed while others would judge me for using the word, heinie.

In case hubby couldn’t be a waste candidate, I thought about the diet of everyone I knew. My son was out. He thought Panera¹ was healthy. I suppose that was better than McDonald’s. My daughter’s boyfriend was Italian. Pasta with butter was their go-to side dish. I was gluten and dairy free. This would not do.

My mom ate everything from gooey, overcooked string beans at Thanksgiving to Philadelphia cream cheese. I haven’t eaten that hard spread since 1985. She once opened a package of sliced Cod and the house smelled so bad the fire alarm went off. She didn’t notice the stench while Jeffrey and I had to go outside as we were gasping for air. My middle sister was addicted to Crystal Light. I don’t do artificial sweeteners. Anyway, mom and sis were in New York. I doubt fecal matter could be put on ice and shipped across country.

My eldest sister would have been a perfect match, but her poop would also be a flight away. Besides, I doubt insurance would cover a MedEvac flight for feces.

I had researched natural alternatives to cure C-Diff but nothing was a guarantee: Black Seed Oil, Bentonite Clay, Probiotics… Hello? I took probiotics but they were hiding in the tornado shelter while Dorothy was aerated out of my bum.

C-Diff is very contagious too. I kept a container of antiseptic wipes in the bathroom. With every trip to the porcelain I cleaned the seat, faucets, hell I even had a separate hand towel. I did not want hubby to catch this.

“So, the antibiotics that cure C-Diff, which was caused by antibiotics, won’t give me another wicked bacteria which can only be cured by yet another round of antibiotics?” I asked the surfer NP.

“Nope.”

“I’ll take ‘em.”

That was that. Within a few days the C-Diff subsided. I retested and the bacteria was gone. The extreme weather condition that wreaked havoc on my system left me short on toilet paper but long on relief.

The End of the end.

Please check out the hilarious Chris Stanton who offered this perfect title at no charge. Thanks, Chris!

• Only 1 question; who would be your poop transfer candidate? Out them here.

• Okay, two questions. Do you have a Dr. No-Listen story?

1. Panera Bread— an American bakery/cafe chain with over 2000 locations. Their food is not fresh as they claim. Everything is prepackaged or bagged.