Kevin Smith is Not a Doctor

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: I know the past two posts have been kinda downers, so I figured I would start your Halloween weekend with a funny one. This is a poop story, so if you don’t want to get grossed out, I get it. If you want to laugh like crazy, than by all means, read on.)

Sometimes, as a caregiver, you find yourself in situations that you never imagined you’d ever find yourself in. On this occasion, I found myself in such a situation thanks to filmmaker Kevin Smith. That’s right, Silent Bob.

Before Cheryl came back to us completely, she would have these “moments of lucidity.”

cheryl-happy-glasses

A “moment of lucidity” captured.

You never knew when they were going to happen or for how long they would occur, but all of a sudden she’d just snap out of it and talk to you completely normal like.

It was usually a total surprise when they’d occur and you were never really prepared for them when they did. So, obviously when the conversation below happened, I was taken completely by surprise.

I walk into the bedroom, where Cheryl was laying down watching TV. I was in the middle of getting something out of the closet, when all of a sudden…

 

CHERYL: Babe. You need to fuck me in the ass.

I whipped around, shocked.

ME: Excuse me?!

CHERYL: You need to fuck me in the ass.

ME: Oh, I heard you. Why am I fucking you in the ass?

CHERYL: It’ll help me poop.

ME: What?! Um…I don’t think so.

CHERYL: Yeah. It’s like that movie where the girl says it helps with her poop.

Perplexed, I tried to think of what the hell she was talking about, then all of a sudden…

ME: Are you talking about Zack and Miri Make A Porno?!

(I was mildly impressed that she remembered, not only the movie, but that scene!)

zack-and-miri

CHERYL: Yeah, she needed to poop and then he fucked her in the ass and she pooped.

ME: Yeah, sorry babe, I don’t think it works like that, besides I don’t think Kevin Smith is someone we can rely on for medical advice.

CHERYL: Yes. He is.

ME: Yeah, sorry. I’m not fucking you in the ass to help you poop. How about I take you to the bathroom and you try on your own?

The stroke essentially jacked up her nether regions, meaning she doesn’t really have muscle control. To make matters worse, her poop basically comes out in golf ball sized pellets that are rock hard. Needless to say, it hurts her more often than naught.

On this occasion, she hadn’t gone in some time and was complaining of stomach pains. We tried to give her something but that wasn’t working either.

Once I got her to the bathroom it turned out that Cheryl really was in some legitimate trouble. One of the golf ball sized pellets… how shall I say this… was “stuck on the off rampred-nose-2,” causing a “traffic jam” of epic proportions. If we didn’t move the broken down car, well let’s just say, no one was getting home that night.

So I did something that I never thought I’d ever have to do for another human being. I got a pair of latex gloves and… got in there and, uh… “pushed the car down the ramp.” Once it was off the highway, traffic resumed normally. Thank God I got out of the way before the “other cars” could hit me.

Caregivin’ ain’t easy people.

Sometimes ya gotta ignore medical advice from Silent Bob and move the car yourself.

 

 

 

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