On the Matter of Bowels.

One positive aspect that has characterised the past eight days is that I’ve learned an awful lot about things medical and the body in general. For example…

Two days after my operation a nurse approached and asked:

‘Are you passing wind?’

‘What?’

‘Are you passing wind?’

‘You mean, like, the flatulent sort?’

‘Yes.’

It seemed a very odd enquiry to a person of my sensibilities and the reply required an indignant frown.

‘No.’

‘Oh,’ said the nurse, and then she walked away.

The question was repeated over the next two days until I just had to ask:

‘Look, what is this obsession you seem to have with farting?’

And then she explained. It appears that major abdominal surgery (in my case six hours under the knife followed by four in the recovery room) causes the bowel to go into shock and remain in stasis for several days. The release of gas is apparently the first sign that Mr B is waking up and beginning to function again, and that, I was informed, is most important if the patient is to be released back into the world of mortal man. So when a little of the unmentionable did arrive, I was actually quite pleased.

But, you know, the body beneath the skin is really quite a disgusting place and the bowel is the greatest exemplar of that. I don’t do bowels. I don’t talk about bowels. I like to pretend they don’t exist. I don’t really want to know anything at all about the creatures. But it appears that sometimes you just have to, so now I do.