Five months after my transplant I was FUCKED UP. My organs were confused as to what they were supposed to do. My kidneys had become stupid, my lungs decided to collect microscopic organisms, my gallbladder went into hibernation, and my intestines were involved in the most extreme bowel transition ever.

It all started when my hospital made an error, which resulted in a pooping incident never before seen in human history. When it was over, it took an entire day for me to re-hydrate from all the fluid I’d lost to the toilet. After that I decided I wasn’t going to shit again for the rest of my life.

This resolution lasted two weeks, which turns out to be an insanely long time to go without defecating. The next week I had mild, constant abdominal pain on my left side, which I thought was a strained muscle. My doctor ordered me an X-ray and the picture wasn’t pretty. I had a massive collection of excrement.

MASSIVE.

“I have a quarter-mile back-up of shit,” I told people.

Over the next two weeks I ingested every laxative and stool softener ever created, including a couple suppositories. When I shoved the capsule up my ass I closed my eyes, as if that would make any difference. Finally, the medicine pushed the shit through the winding corridors of my bowels—slowly, painfully, grotesquely. It felt like a small eruption took place in my upper bowel and pushed everything nanometers at a time. Over and over and over again. Through the course of frequent and long shit-capades spanning three days, I cleaned house.