Entirely too much information.
I mentioned briefly in my last post that my metformin side effects have returned. Boy howdy, have they ever. I am peeved by this for many reasons, one of which is that it seems cruel for side effects to disappear for six months and then reappear with the ferocity of a wolverine who hasn’t eaten in two or three years. It also seems cruel to be forced to suffer medication side effects without receiving all the benefits of said medication. If metformin doesn’t want to get me pregnant, fine, but could I then be spared the searing intestinal cramps that wake me from a sound sleep? I appreciate the evened blood sugars and improved mood, but two substandard ovulations—each achieved only after a month of napalming my ovaries into blackened, smoking, cyst-free submission with birth control—isn’t really cutting it in the reproductive department.
But nothing is more distressing than the side effects themselves. After dinner on Friday I was at a bookstore when a gurgle issued from the general area of my intestines. Even before the soundwaves had fully permeated my brain, I felt a seismic shift in my undercarriage. Though I am not an athletic person, I think I may have set some sort of speed record getting back to my house. I can not use public bathrooms under such circumstances. Mock me if you will, but truly, the things that happen during one of these attacks are things that do not belong in a public anything (except, apparently, on a public website). It makes me weep to think of how close I came to soiling myself. In six days I will be twenty-seven years old. There are many things in life I cannot control, but surely at this age my bowels needn’t be one of them.
When the Actually and I first moved in together, my old apartment had two months remaining on its lease. It sat empty, a few blocks from our new love nest…except for when I had to use the bathroom.
Yes, in an effort to keep the romance alive in our fledgling relationship, I would get in my car and drive to another location each time I had to move my bowels.
Now, a few years later, I wonder if things haven’t swung too far towards the other extreme. Surely there is a happy medium between removing oneself from the premises to use the restroom and last night, when I returned to bed after some time spent turning my insides inside out and found the Actually awake and concerned for my welfare.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he whispered, “I heard a lot of…flushing.”
This is no way to live. And yet thanks to my ovaries, my RE, and the good people at Bristol-Meyers Squibb, I have little choice. Curiously, the class of drugs to which metformin belongs originates from the French lilac. I think there is potential here—couldn’t the drug be modified to cause a patient’s excrement to be pleasantly lilac-scented?
This is just the first solution that comes to mind, and I’m not even a professional chemist.
In the meantime, I think I may start wearing a veil around the Actually, just to keep the mystery alive.
23 Comments
My husband and I still have a “no talking” rule when it comes to any bowel related issues.
The list doesn’t stop there, however, we also have a “do not enter nor come near the closed and occupied bathroom” rule, a “do not discuss, in any detail, what might have occurred in there” rule, and a “stay out of the bathroom in question for at least 10 minutes after the previous user vacates” rule.
I think it might be the ONLY area with any mystery left for us nowadays. And strangely, all talk of vomit or vomit-related situations seems to go over fine, as does pee/peeing. So I’m not sure why the poop gets the bad rap. Any ideas?
Hmm, the poop mystery is long gone in my marriage. Sorry that yours had to die, too. But I have to say you have qualms that I let go of a long time ago. Sometimes a public bathroom is the only option, and considerably better than soiling yourself….
Oh, sister, I feel you. The things that Metformin does to me have no place in a public bathroom, either. Sarge knows to just leave me alone when he hears me crying in the bathroom. Mystery, we have none.
That mystery will be there until the time comes in your relationship that you have to assist the other with toilet hygeine (aka wiping), which hopefully won’t be until you’ve reached your 80’s and 90’s giving you many more decades of veilessness.
My boyfriend and I also had a stauch no-discussion-of-anything-that-issues-forth-from-the-ares rule… until we spend two weeks together in Thailand. We were forever changed.
I’m so sorry to hear of the unpleasant Metform. side effects.
But your story reminded me of one my friend Wendy used to tell. She worked at Barnes and Noble for a time, and loved to tell us about people that would regularly take the books back to the rest rooms to read while doing their business. Once, a gentleman actually fell asleep on the pot while reading a coffee table book.
No lie.
As someone with irritable bowel syndrome, I have to say:
I UNDERSTAND.
The sudden, urgent explosive diarrhea has to be Satan’s favorite toy.
So sorry about the sideeffects… take care
Another IBS sufferer here with support!! I used to eat and not leave a restaurant because I knew that I only had 15 minutes between eating and uhhh… removing … my meal.
Depending on how long these symptoms last you will get over the public bathroom issue. In fact you will see it as a HUGE win as it is not your responsibility to clean up that mess.
Both my sis and I have had some serious (SERIOUS) cases of IBS and now poop is just a normal everyday fun conversation, usually over dinner.
The relationship isn’t really serious until you’re calling each other into the john and saying, “Come look at this thing! And bring a coat hanger to break it up with!”
I’m convinced my husband must have had some traumatic potty-training experience as a child, because even after seven years of living together he cannot stand to know of anything I am doing in the bathroom…it’s like he prefers to believe I never actually have to use the toilet.
But when it comes to HIS bathroom activities — HOLY HANNAH — even the neighbors know when we eat Mexican food, he has no shame!
Damn double standard.
As for the Metformin, I’ve only been on it a week but I do feel your pain. Just today for lunch I ingested something that did not agree with my intestines and I ran screaming back to the office looking for my Costco-sized bottle of Tums.
I hope you’re feeling better :-)
Oh, Alexa, you poor thing! I’m sorry the Metformin is being such a bitch. I totally understand about the reluctance to use a public restroom for certain activities, but if the alternative is violent self-soiling, I do make exceptions.
We used to call it the sour apple quicksteps. Sounds like you get the sour apple sprints.
You have my sympathy!!!
Try the extended release. I went through six months of hell until I finally asked for something else. I still have the occasional, please honey we have to go home. Also, some people may think I’m bulimic because I sometimes run to the bathroom after I eat, but it is better.
So that’s why it’s called having the runs!
Sorry, I know it’s NOT funny, though you tell the story with great flair, as usual.
I hope the symptoms vanish again, never to return.
Your comment about lilacs reminds me of a fake product SNL was fake selling a few years ago– this little ventriloquist gadget for your butt, that turns to sounds of your farts into witty repartee.
Instead of an embarrassing episode of flatulence in the middle of a party, nearby people might hear: “The French make such good wine!”
Jeff and I live in a house with one bathroom. There are no secrets left. There have been times when one of us has been in the shower and the other has been on the toilet. While the situation is not ideal, it has quickly taught us that bathroom modesty is best left to those with the luxury of more than one bathroom.
I didn’t realize you were still doing the Metformin. I’m sorry it sucks so much. My best friend who also has PCOS took it for a year and had the same horrible problems you are having. She’s 11 weeks pregnant now and I think she would rather deal with the worst pregnancy symptoms than ever take that shit again, even though it worked.
Dude, that lilac thing sounds beautiful. And I think wearing the veil around might create precious wedding-esque memories. Ahhhh, whimsy.
Happy birthday!! I hope that the symptoms leave you long enough that you can enjoy a nice birthday meal :)
Lilacs? that would be interesting. I bought some rose scented Febreeze poop spray last time and that was kind of odd. Rose scented poop doesn’t smell so good.
I too am an IBS sufferer but my problem is just the opposite. I used to wish I had the “runs” more often but after the prep for a recent colonoscopy I decided that is no fun either.
Well. I can honestly say this is the strangest first post I have ever put on someones blog - anyway, hello - I’ll be back.
I would say that I’ve been lurking, but that’s not really the case; I was taking the time to be sure that I read every post I could.
You crack me up, everyone at works hears me snickering and thinks i’ve lost it!
I have PCOS also, diagnosed in 2003, and I’ve been on Met ever since. so, i wanted to throw in the 2 cents worth that I feel I’ve pooped out of it.
1. I have to take it 2 regular intervals, about every 5-6 hours seems to work best for me.
2. I CAN NOT miss pills, @ all, this would be when I have my intestinal woes.
3. Extended release didn’t work for me, cut down on my actual ovulations and not my symptoms. I switched back to regular in May/June, and found our I was pregnant in September; We did have a miscarriage, but that was the first positive test we’d had in 3 years.
Like i said just my input about it.
And never feel alone, I have made that drive wondering if I would make it home or have to clean my car!!
OMG…I typed in “Poop” + “Metformin” because I am so sooo sooooo grossed out and sick about all the pooping I do on this drug (though I do love all the benefits of it)….and I wanted to find SOMEONE else out there who knows what it is like to poo five times a day….
AND I FOUND THE FUNNIEST PERSON EVER!
LOL. LOVE THIS!!!
Erin in Ohio :-)
I have a love hate relationship with metformin. It makes me less hairy and ogre-ish however it makes me poop like a tuba during the 1812 overture. The sudden cramping then the oh god not now… the sprint to the nearest restroom where no one knows your shoes. I am truly frightened that I will blast another exit in my colon. If ther is something out there to help quiet the inner storm I would love to know.