Those of you who’ve been reading my blog for a while are familiar with my stories about my journey with rheumatoid arthritis and my colon shenanigans. For those of you who aren’t quite up to speed on that, just buckle up. And, perhaps read some of my past posts. You won’t regret it. Or, maybe you will but at least you will kind of know where I’m going with this next story.
I just went on a cruise to the Bahamas and the heat just about took me out. I started retaining water like Satan was trying to make a giant water balloon. My cankles looked like melting marshmallows. As luck would have it, I left my water pill at home thinking I wouldn’t need it. On the ride home, I started Googling natural diuretics and ways to boost my immune system to help with the dang joint pain. Any time I have a lot of swelling, my joints act like they need an oil can. I came across an article about using dandelion root as a natural diuretic, and it included other great benefits such as reducing inflammation and improving gut health. Wow, it’s a multi benefit supplement, I said to myself.
While on the cruise, I drank some natural pressed juice with turmeric and ginger in it. I felt better from the turmeric because I swear by it’s anti-inflammatory properties. My luck continued when I searched Amazon for a dandelion root supplement. I found one with turmeric, ginger, cinnamon, lemon balm, and holy basil. I was pleased with my supplement sleuthing and ordered a bottle of the supplement. It arrived yesterday and I couldn’t wait to try it this morning.
After I had my breakfast of yogurt and granola, I popped one of the capsules in my mouth and swallowed with a big swig of water. I was feeling like a natural healing super woman. My intention was set for a path of wellness and reducing inflammation. I would not be tied to taking biologics and pain medicine. Nope, I would fix all of my ailments with this super supplement. I headed off to a day full of meetings and didn’t think much about possible side effects from starting a natural supplement.
Shortly after taking it, I started feeling hot and sweaty. I assumed that was this miracle pill sweeping the bad toxins from my body. Either that or a hot flash. I drank some more water, pushing the capsule closer to my stomach where it was apparently ready to celebrate an early fourth of July with it’s own style of fireworks, unbeknownst to me of course.
I went to my next meeting which was a lunch meeting, with my big water jug in tow. I was so proud of my newfound, albeit very recent, healthier habits. Well, except for the two snack size Mounds bars that I had for my breakfast dessert. Yes, it’s a thing and no, I didn’t make it up. Well, maybe I did but that’s not what is important here.
Mid-way through the lunch meeting, I felt my body getting hotter. And hotter. Then something began to make my abdomen feel like what I imagine a bubbling mall fountain must feel like. Hot and bubbly. Like lava. I was in a sudden panic as I felt like I couldn’t move for fear of a volcanic eruption. My car keys were in my office which was half way across the building. There was no way that I could crawl to my car with my butt dragging the grass like a dog. I couldn’t even think of anyone to send to get my purse. It was a shitastrophe. What’s the one thing that you shouldn’t do when you feel bowel lava is imminent? Laugh. What did I do? Laugh. By this point, my heart was palpitating and my bowels were scrambling from one side to the other. My friend asked me what was so funny. I couldn’t respond other than I’d done something really stupid and it had made me sick. I couldn’t go into all of the gory details. I was afraid that telling the story right then and there would have caused a biohazardous disaster.
I collected myself and tried to think of anything that I could do to get to a bathroom without incident. In my infinite wisdom, I started to text a friend to come interrupt the meeting but then I started to laugh again and couldn’t finish the text message. The laughter reminded me of why I’d stopped laughing before. The only thing that I could do at that point was wait for a break in the impending storm, and pray. Dear God, I do not have a diaper. I do not have an extra set of clothes, and I really don’t want this to happen to me. Please, please, please prepare a home for my bowels that doesn’t involve the inside of my pants. Finally, I worked up the courage to stand up and I awkwardly announced the need to go to the bathroom.
Y’all, I made it. I didn’t have to go home wrapped in a towel or a bed sheet, or hosed down. I came out laughing and had to tell the story to my work friends. Thank goodness I work in healthcare where these kinds of stories aren’t met with referrals for mental health services. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. Finally, I settled down enough to tell them about my “miracle supplement,” and how I had neglected to read one fine detail. What was that little detail? The statement on the bottle that said the capsules contained “high potency fiber.” HIGH POTENCY FIBER. For crying out loud. The label should be “enough magical fiber to turn your anus into a poop cannon. Be prepared with extra underpants. No laughing allowed when the spasms start.” On the bright side, my joints feel great and the dandelion root did it’s job as a natural diuretic.
Messpot Diaries 