- Posted on
Let’s talk piss and shit. No frills. No sugar. Just the raw, soggy truth of what it’s like when your body declares independence from basic toilet protocols.
Bladder Hell: The Yellow Frontline Ah yes, the dreaded leak that moment you realise your trousers are no longer allies but soaking, complicit traitors. I was in my 40s when my bladder started acting like a temperamental toddler on a diet of Red Bull and rage. First it was the "can't pee" problem standing there like a statue, nothing but the occasional drip as if my urethra had stage fright.
Then came the grand reversal: involuntary leaks. And by "leaks," I mean a full-scale Niagara event, unprovoked and unapologetic. I tried everything. No drinks after 5pm. Strategic peeing. Mental negotiation. Nada. Still I’d wake up in a puddle like some pissy version of The Little Mermaid.
Doctors? Oh please. Gaslit for 40 years. "Well, you're getting older." "Try pelvic floor exercises." Mate, my pelvic floor is about as stable as a jelly trampoline.
But here's the kicker: you learn humility. You either cry about it or laugh darkly while rattling down the road in your three-wheeled piss trolley of doom, trailing a golden hue and existential dread.
The Brown Files: Tales from the Other End If the bladder doesn’t get you, your bowels surely will. MS gives you the delightful choice between constipation so hard it requires an exorcism, or the soft, sticky sneak attack that turns underwear into a crime scene.
Let’s break it down:
Numb arsehole? Check.
Dead rectal nerves? Of course.
Surprise poo party mid Tesco visit? You bet.
Walking like a guilty toddler trying to hide it? Standard.
Doctors again? "Try laxatives!" Yeah, thanks. Nothing like chemical napalm to turn your ring into the gates of Mordor. You want a real solution?
💡 Hydration. 💡 Diet. 💡 And a bloody bum washer.
That’s right. Stop sandpapering your crack with cheap loo roll. Install a bum washer attachment. Use aloe wipes, keep essential oils to hand, and for the love of whatever gods you follow, always carry spare underwear.
Because nothing screams confidence like shitting yourself in public and power walking with a face like you've seen God and he was laughing.
“The views in this post are based on my personal
experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”
“By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
By storm and silence, I survive.”
@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk