I think that S.Rube will be eating well for a while again. For as least as long as her memory will serve her.
She spent over 8 horrendous hours last night trying to poop. This involved sitting on the toilet rocking, shaking, sweating, moaning, crying and shrieking once or more an hour. We tried two suppositories, which didn't help. We tried a nice warm bath. We tried drinking water. And going for a walk. We tried stomach massage. And pumping her legs.
She promised, in her pain, that she would eat differently and drink more water.
This wasn't an isolated incident for us. She seems to form hard baseball-like fecal matter, with no real likely way out.
Finally, at 2:30 this morning, she pooped.
But only after the aid of my siliconed finger.
By that time, desperate to stop my sweet baby's pain (which had long before become my own), I was prepared to dig to fucking China to get that thing out. Fortunately, I didn't have to.
At times, I likened our experience to me helping her deliver a baby. The noises coming from her were identical, as was the content of her words: 'Get it out' 'NOW' 'It's stuck.' 'It hurts.' 'GET IT OUT'. The only thing missing was that she wasn't swearing at me or telling me to rot in hell.
I sure hope THAT experience isn't just me and S.Rube in a bathroom crouched over a toilet and ready with my lubed-up finger.