My Gut Reaction to IBS

Jumper cables, flares, and a bag of Lay’s potato chips ÔÇô the three most important items to carry in your car in case of emergency. Well, if you have IBS, that is.

I learned this little lesson the hard way a few years back.

My old boss has always been my mentor, and I try to make a pilgrimage to Pittsburgh every year to visit with him at my old law firm and show him appreciation for all the advice he has given me over the years.

But visiting him has not always been easy. Last time I checked, you can’t drive an aircraft carrier up the Monongahela River, so as a Navy family, we have never had the pleasure of being stationed anywhere near Pittsburgh. So, I tried to visit my old boss during my yearly trip to Pennsylvania to see my mother.

Trip, travel, vacation –no matter what you call it, to someone with IBS it means one thing: digestive dysfunction. But having had irritable bowel syndrome for many years, I was always sure to pack the chemical enhancements I might need in case of total lockdown. And this particular year was no exception.

That morning I awoke early at my mother’s house to prepare for the one-hour drive to Pittsburgh. We were on day six of our stay at Mom’s, and despite the inevitable overeating that one does on vacation, my stubborn digestive tract was maintaining its position. Hovering with no landing on the flight plan.

On day three, I tried the “gentle” pharmaceuticals I had packed for the trip, but nothing happened. On day four, I made a desperate trip to the local drug store and purchased something that was guaranteed to “cleanse the colon” with just one dose. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip.

On day five, I decided that I’d better not take anything else because I was going to Pittsburgh the next day, and I really didn’t want “the magic” to happen in the public bathroom at a Sheetz Quick Shopper along Route 286.

My mother and I packed the kids in the car along with some snacks, drinks and a few toys for the ride. An hour later, we were in downtown Pittsburgh, making our way to the Carnegie science museum where I would drop Mom and the kids while I went to visit my old boss.

After a curbside good-bye and plans to meet in two hours, I drove off to negotiate the old one-way streets of the North Side where my boss had recently moved his office. I was early, so I meandered slowly on my way, getting to know this refurbished part of my favorite city. Brick row houses, old trolley stops, ornate bridges, Heinz field, trendy restaurants and shops. I breathed a sigh, thinking of what my life might have been if I’d been able to keep my job there.

Gurgle. Fizz. Ping. Suddenly, I realized that this was the first time I’d been alone in six days. I was relaxed and comfortable. My bowels were too.

After six long days, my nether regions declared a truce and decided to let go of the stronghold they had on my intestines. At first, I looked at my watch, calculated how much time before my meeting with my boss, and then set about looking for a place that might have a restroom. I turned down several one-way streets, but could find nothing ÔÇô no gas station, no open restaurant, nothing.

Another couple turns, and I realized that I was lost. I got nervous. The gurgling got louder, and a sick feverish feeling indicated that my body was taking control of itself and there was nothing I could do to stop it. My mind raced as I gripped the steering wheel harder and harder. “Why can’t I find a gas station?”

Panicked, I started looking for anything that could serve as “dumping grounds.” An abandoned lot, a set of tall shrubs, a pile of bricks. But all I could see around me were trendy apartment buildings and row houses with yuppies milling around everywhere.

Desperate, I pulled into one of the parking lots in front of a chic apartment house and slammed the car into park. I scanned the area, but could not even see one substantial shrub or tree that could serve as cover. Everything was a scrawny new planting without enough foliage to cover even my knees.

As another wave of feverish nausea hit me, I used every muscle I had to fight it, fresh beads of sweat breaking out on my brow. Just then, I saw it. The half-empty bag of Lay’s potato chips sitting on the passenger’s seat. I grabbed the bag and ripped off the plastic clip on the rolled top. I hesitated just a moment ÔÇô they are such tasty morsels after all ÔÇô and then dumped the contents of the bag onto the passenger’s seat.

I remembered the canister of Armor All dashboard wipes I had in the glove box, and my plan was complete. I threw my long wool coat over my lap, and keeping a straight face for the yuppies walking by, I did it. Like Houdini, I somehow managed to relieve myself into a carefully positioned Lay’s Potato Chip bag, use the car wipes for the necessary clean up job, and nonchalantly throw the inconspicuous-looking bag away into a nearby trash can without anyone suspecting anything.

Proud of my creativity and resourcefulness, I continued on to my meeting with the boss. It was good to see him, and despite the mild burn I was experiencing from the car wipes, everything went very well.

Later, I pulled up to the curb near the science museum, where my mother and the kids were waiting. “How’d it go?” my mother asked. “Great, but we might need to stop at Sheetz to pick up another bag of Lay’s.”