The Slop Jar Blues

If I was more computer savvy, I'd create a sound clip to sing you this song:

I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
Yes, I was sittin' on the slop jar,
waitin' for my bowels to move.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)
And if they don't move by Tuesday, I'm gonna have the blues.
(I gotta doo-doo, I gotta doo-doo!)

There are many more lines to this gem, and many more which can be made up as one sings along, as would oft occur when I first heard it, riding the band bus (one time, in band camp...) with the mostly black band during my high school days, but I will spare you, gentle reader, with further assaults.

What brings this song to mind is the state of my bowels. I've felt ill the past four days, being very windy, having severe gas pains, bouts of astoundingly loud and long, almost trumpet like flatulence, and the inability to pass much of anything despite a couple of bowls of raisin bran, a couple of cups of prunes, two stool softeners, six laxative pills, and enough water to fill a toilet bowl several times over. I haven't a clue as to what brought on this bout of dyspepsia, but if it does not abate forthwith, then I feel I have no other recourse than to consult my physician in order to rule out any type of blockage which might result in surgery.

My father used to say that as we age, we become more childlike, particularly absorbed with matters of our elimination. I hope to God this is not true, for it is incredibly annoying, having this topic so much on my mind of late. I'd rather spend my time thinking about more pleasant things like, say, the nagging dull pain in my back which causes me to wonder if I'm developing a kidney stone, or the sharp pain I sometimes get in my knee, which causes me to wonder if I will need knee surgery soon. Logan went to the VA hospital today to have the staples removed from his knee, which he says, feels better in some ways and worse in others, so I look upon possible surgery with some trepidation.

Mostly, though, I would just like to be back to normal, where the course of my digestion ran like the tide, constant, predictable, and without any thought to trying to hold it back or force it to flow. Gad, it's awful to feel so old. Though I guess it beats the alternative. Hey, another day above ground! At least with a grumbling gut, I have no doubts that I'm still alive! (How's that for a silver lining??)