Daisy May Cooper

Daisy May Cooper

The birth of my daughter, Pip, in 2018 was hell. I ended up giving birth by emergency C-section under general anaesthetic and the doctors and midwives saved my life. I was eternally grateful for this, but not as grateful as I was when a lovely nurse helped me to have my first poo after surgery.

Constipation is a pain in the arse (literally), but I have never known anything like this. I was recovering from the surgery in hospital and it was now the fifth day of no poo. I lay in the bed, colon full of compacted shite that actually felt like it was fermenting inside me. Awful poisonous farts would escape and smell like the toxic gas from a mummified corpse; they freed up a little space but still no relief.

My family and friends came to visit and to coo over the new baby, but I didn’t care – I smiled and nodded when they said how beautiful she was, but it was all a mask. All I could think about was my arsehole giving birth to the two-metre-long anaconda snake of a shit I had inside me. Now that would be beautiful.

I was tormented; the sixth day passed, then the seventh. It was agony. I forgot what it was to be human. I had taken such a simple bodily function for granted – what I would give to have a dump. It was so bad that I even considered phoning up the Samaritans and telling them of my plight. I would have given my life savings for the cure. Rocking back and forth, standing up, bending right over so I could touch my toes – nothing helped.

I was too scared to eat anything – all I could think of was the seven-day-old Greggs tuna baguette still up in there. Childbirth had been hell, but this was worse – this was purgatory.

On the eighth day, a nurse entered the room to do a routine check-up and give me my meds. As she spoke to me I could feel a hot fat lump in my throat and the tears began to roll.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t had a poo for eight days,’ I bawled.

‘Oh my goodness, you should have said so, I’ll fetch you some liquid laxatives.’

She returned with the laxatives and, after half an hour, I made my way to the toilet. It was the greatest shit I’ve ever done in my life. That angel in blue had saved me, and I cried on the toilet in gratitude.

After I came out of the bathroom, I lay in my bed and enjoyed cuddling my daughter for the first time, gazing into her eyes. My god, she really was beautiful.

My husband entered the hospital room with a Costa coffee and a Take a Break magazine that he wafted in front of his nose as he retched.

‘Jesus Christ, you finally went then,’ he snorted.

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