Post-Chemo Day 3: IBS-C vs. Chemo

A Deep Dive into Digestive Dysfunction (Sink or Swim, Folks)

🚨 PSA: A Necessary Disclaimer Before We Dive In 🚨

Before you proceed, please be advised that this update contains explicit discussions about waste—or, in my case, the concerning lack thereof. If you’re someone who gets squeamish at the mere mention of bodily functions, first of all, must be nice, and second, this might not be for you.

However, if you’ve ever faced an uncooperative digestive system and started questioning the meaning of life while pacing the house—welcome. You’re among friends.  Proceed at your own risk. Or, as I like to call it, A Front Row Seat to the reigning champion of TMI.

💡 Today’s Wins (Because It’s Not All Doom & Gloom!):

✔️ Huge shoutout to my Friday Pilates crew, who always keep things interesting and keep me moving (even if my intestines refuse to).

✔️ Special mention to the crazy duet who noticed that some folks get coffee talk during their sessions and wanted to know why they weren’t getting the same VIP treatment. Consider this my official acknowledgment of your keen observational skills!

✔️ Lots of yummy treats – candy, cookies, chocolate 🍫 from Linda, Meredith, Becky, Margie (basically my personal sugar cartel)

✔️ Fresh French bread from Charlotte 🍞 because she knew carbs were my best shot at battling nausea.

✔️ Marianne 💋—read my blog, caught the lip-picking saga, and swooped in with Blue Lagoon Iceland lip balm like a hydration fairy godmother. Co-MVP for saving my lips from self-destruction.

✔️ Our beloved Jeff, who we lost last year to the absolute asshole of all cancers—pancreatic cancer—still found a way to help. His amazing wife, proving that kindness runs deep, came through with an arsenal of chemo anti-queasy items from his stash—because even in the afterlife, Jeff refuses to let anyone suffer unnecessarily.

✔️ Discovered that Magnesium Citrate, when watered down with ice and sipped slowly, doesn’t taste like a chemical disaster—and bonus, food actually tastes normal afterward! Small victories.

What Fresh Hell is This?

🚽💀Welcome to the latest installment of What Fresh Hell is This? Where we pit two gastrointestinal nightmares against each other in a battle for dominance. In one corner, we have IBS-C, the reigning champion of digestive distress, a condition that has spent years perfecting its ability to turn my intestines into a slow-moving traffic jam. In the other corner, we have chemo, the toxic overlord determined to obliterate everything in its path—including my ability to function like a normal human being. Let’s see how this showdown plays out.

Round 1: The Betrayal of the Bowels Chemo’s supposed to cause diarrhea, right? Wrong. At least not for me. I keep telling the doctors I’m not a textbook case—pretty sure my gut didn’t even read the textbook. Are we on the same page yet? Instead, it teamed up with IBS-C to create the ultimate blockade. Imagine rush hour on the busiest highway, except instead of cars, it’s... well, you get the idea.

Why even mention laxatives, Miralax, or Colace when they’re a no-go for IBS-C? These oncologists may be brilliant at fighting cancer, but they’re not gastroenterologists—so some of their recommendations feel less like medical advice and more like medieval torture methods

Round 2: The False Hope Every now and then, my gut gives me a little hint that something might be happening. A little cramp, a little grumble. A flicker of possibility. And then—nothing. My body is basically a toddler refusing to do what it's told, no matter how much bribery (water, movement, sheer willpower) I throw at it.

Round 3: Magnesium Citrate—The Last Hope Chemo fatigue is real, but you know what’s worse? Getting useless advice from oncologists who don’t understand IBS-C. Sitting on the toilet for hours? Not happening. I follow the rules—I have my Squatty Potty, I know the drill. Enter Magnesium Citrate, the closest thing to a digestive miracle I’m going to get. Sip it cold, chase it with food, and suddenly, I’m not stuck tasting metal all day. Progress is slow, but at this point, I’d gladly roll out the red carpet for chemo diarrhea just to shake things up. But what’s more exhausting? Did I take a wrong turn somewhere and end up starring in my own low-budget horror movie, The Never Ending Constipation Chronicles?

The No-Go Zone: IBS-C, Linzess, and Chemo

After some back-and-forth with Dana-Farber, we finally reached an understanding: when you have IBS-C and take Linzess, the usual digestive 'fixes' become the digestive disasters. So, let's break it down. Imagine trying to unclog a drain, but every recommended tool is the exact thing that would make it worse. That means NO Miralax, NO Colace, NO Prunes and absolutely NO laxatives. These would send me straight to the fetal position on the bathroom floor, and honestly, that’s just not a good look for me.

When Your Gut Rebels: Why IBS-C Doesn’t Play by the Rules

IBS-C isn’t just stubborn—it’s committed to making sure nothing moves. Standard remedies? Forget it. They only make things worse.

Linzess: The Frenemy My Gut Tolerates (Sort Of)

Linzess is supposed to help, but it comes with its own rulebook. No fiber overload, no random laxatives—it’s a delicate balancing act between effectiveness and why does my stomach hate me?

Chemo’s Grand Plan vs. My Stubborn Intestines

Chemo thinks it runs the show, but IBS-C laughs in its face. While most people deal with chemo-induced bathroom sprints, my gut has slammed on the brakes.

Doctor Knows Best…Unless It’s About My Bowels

Oncologists? Brilliant at fighting cancer. Gastroenterologists? Different specialty. So when they confidently suggest laxatives, Miralax, or Colace, I have to gently remind them that I'd rather not reenact a medieval torture session.

The Magnesium Citrate Gamble: High Risk, High Reward

With few options left, we landed on Magnesium Citrate—the closest thing to a digestive Hail Mary. Turns out, if you water it down with ice and sip it slowly, it doesn’t taste like liquid regret. Even better? I can eat real food afterward without a metallic aftertaste. Fudge? Yes. Meat? Absolutely. Sip, chew, repeat—this is my life now. Small wins, people, small wins.

Now, progress is happening—slowly. Not a total victory, but at this point, I’d roll out the red carpet for chemo diarrhea just to shake things up.

Holding Out for a Gut Miracle

Honestly, if chemo wants to bring on the chaos, I’m here for it—because at least it would mean something is happening. But alas, my gut remains an impenetrable fortress, impervious to all forms of persuasion.

So if you see me walking funny, standing awkwardly, or looking like I’m carrying some kind of unresolved tension—just know it’s not emotional baggage. It’s something much, much worse.

Tidbit for my VIPs: If I disappear for a suspiciously long period of time, just know I’m fighting for my life in the bathroom. Light a candle for me. Preferably a strong-scented one. (Sorry Jenn and Chip)

Now for the Question You’ve All Been Waiting For

Alright, I need to hear from you.

TMI Hall of Fame: 

What’s your funniest or most absurd 'digestive system betrayal' moment? You know, the kind where your body just went full mutiny and left you questioning every life choice that led to that moment.

We’re in this together—I just gave you a mouthful (literally and figuratively), so don’t leave me hanging. Let me know I’m not alone in the gastrointestinal trenches.

And hey, if this question doesn’t speak to you (or you’re just too classy to admit it publicly), you can always drop a song, a gif, or just hit me with the classic 💩. Consider it a solidarity turd.