rSlash - r/Offmychest My Own Constipation Almost Killed Me

Episode Date: June 6, 2026

0:00 Intro 0:09 Poo 7:59 Kind 11:56 Negligence 14:16 Exposed Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Plus 10% savings on print and exclusive wireless offers. One less thing on your plate. Actually, a lot less. Visit staples.ca. Slash Preferred. That was easy. Welcome to R slash off my chest. where OP experiences life-altering constipation.

Our next Reddit post is from your low-key-down bad. About a year ago, I met this guy on hinge. We hit it off immediately, and he was genuinely the sweetest guy ever. We had a lot in common, and on our first date, he cooked me traditional food that I told him I grew up eating. This man spent eight hours making broth for noodle soup, and there's honestly nothing sexier than a man who can cook. After two bottles of wine and great conversation, One thing led to another, and I ended up staying over. We both agreed that we wanted to see each other again soon. We'd only been talking for around one to two months and had only met once before this. So the second date comes around. Since I lived out of town and it was kind of long distance, I planned on staying a few days. That morning, though, I had the worst stomach pain imaginable. I also realized that I hadn't had a proper bowel movement in like four to five days. Weirdly, that's not that unusual for me.

Anyway, we spent the whole day together having a great time. Then nighttime comes. We're cuddling in bed watching a movie when suddenly I start cold sweating and feeling nauseous. Immediately, I think, there is absolutely no way that I'm about to take a massive dump in this tiny apartment while this gorgeous man is lying two meters away. But it keeps getting worse. Eventually, he notices that I look pale and asks if I'm okay. He tells me not to be shy if I need the bathroom. He was being very sweet about it, so eventually I give in,

but I make him put on AirPods first. I sit on the toilet fighting for my life. Nothing, absolutely nothing. It genuinely felt like a concrete brick was lodged in my rectum. I convinced myself maybe it just needs to marinate a little, and I go back to bed hoping I can sneak off later during the night. 10 minutes later, I'm literally seeing stars. At this point, he realizes something is seriously wrong. And I finally admit that I think I'm severely constipated and feel like I might pass out.

It's midnight, everything's closed, but he finds a 24-7 pharmacy on the other end of town and offers to go get something. Before he leaves, we actually call the emergency room for advice, because I'm convinced something inside me is about to rupture. I'm half crying while trying to explain to the nurse that I haven't pooped in days, and now I feel like I'm dying. The nurse calmly tells us that it's probably severe constipation. She recommends trying over-the-counter remedies first, and says to come in if I start vomiting or if the pain gets unbearable. He comes back after biking to the other end of town with fiber packets.

Looking back, probably not the best move. Attempt number one, fiber powder mixed into a giant glass of water. As you can imagine, nothing happens. We briefly consider calling an ambulance before deciding I should just sleep it off. The next day, he goes to work while I spend the entire day fighting demons in his apartment. When he comes home that night, he had stopped by the pharmacy again and asked the employee for the strongest thing they have. Attempt number two, the suppositories.

At this point, I'm standing there questioning every life choice that led me here. I barely know this man, and now I'm considering sticking me. medicine up my butt in his bathroom. Then he goes, do you want me to help you put it in? Smiling. I wish I was joking. Now, listen, under normal circumstances, I would never agree to this, but my digestive tract was moments away from exploding and my dignity had already left my body hours ago. So I say, yes. This man puts on a glove and inserts the suppository for me. And then, nothing happens. Are you kidding me? At this point, point, I'm emotionally broken. That's when he remembers the final medication, the last resort.

Attempt number three, the enema. We opened the box and pull out what can only be described as a medieval torture device, an enormous tube attached to a bottle filled with stool softening liquid. Not a tiny little medical bottle either. This thing looked huge to me in that moment. Like someone had taken a full-size sports strength bottle, attached a hose to it, and decided Yeah, this belongs inside a human being. Unenema. I stare at it in complete horror while this poor man continues trying to comfort me through one of the worst memories of my life. Then, somehow, it gets even more absurd.

He sets up a whole little station on the bathroom floor, a towel, a blanket, a pillow, and a scented candle for vibes, I guess. Like we're preparing for a spa day instead of a medical emergency. I lie down. He inserts the tube and starts pumping what feels like an entire family-sized coke bottle into my butt. Then he reads the instructions. Apparently, I'm supposed to hold it for 30 minutes. 30 minutes? 10 minutes in, I'm sweating.

15 minutes in, I'm fighting for my life. And during all this, he's sitting there holding one of my hands while timing me on his phone like a supportive midwife. I keep yelling. I can't hold it any longer. And he keeps going, Just two more minutes, you can do it. And he's been saying that for the past 25 minutes. Finally, the timer goes off.

I shove him out of the bathroom, slam the door shut, and sit down in the toilet. What happened next can only be described as Niagara Falls. The relief was so intense, I genuinely. think I ascended spiritually for a moment. After what felt like an eternity spin inside that bathroom, I finally gathered the courage to leave the bathroom and face him again. I was fully convinced

this would be the last time we ever saw each other. Instead, I walk out and he's just lying there, smiling at me. You good again? He says with a smile. Anyways, we've now been together for about a year, and somehow this story became one of our funniest memories together. So yeah, Nothing tests a new relationship quite like severe constipation. I wholeheartedly agree with this conclusion. People think that true love is holding hands on the beach, on an island in the Maldives, you know, enjoying the best that life has to offer. But it's super, super easy to be happy and loving during those moments.

It's when, you know, you're struggling to find the money to pay the bills and you're stressed and the baby hasn't been sleeping well for the past month, so you're running on like two hours of sleep and you're just exhausted but you still love each other that's true love you guys sticking a tube up someone's butt and holding their hand while they fight off

the world's worst constipation that's true love also I have a similar story to be clear this did not happen to me this is going to sound like one of those stories where I say oh this happens to a friend but you know it's actually about me but honest to God this is a friend story

who shared it on Discord because it was funny My friend was extremely constipated, and after sitting on the toilet for like hours, nothing was coming out. He said, if it wasn't coming out to me, I was going and after it. So his solution was to stick a finger up his butt and basically break the constipated poo into smaller, more manageable chunks, and then poop out a little bit and then go back in for round two, beat up the to the constipated poo into smaller, heard some more, and then eventually he broke it up enough that he was able to squirt it all out. Our next Reddit post is from Fluff Buffer. My dad died years ago, and I think that he was a great dad overall, but I thought that he was also a bit of a selfish guy. He never really took care of

himself. He ate all sorts of junk, smoked a bunch, and liked to drink. For most of my life, it wasn't outright disruptive. He'd just get really drunk at weddings and be out there dancing like a majestic walrus until 2 a.m. All the aunties loved it. Me, not so much, since dragging his drunk butt home was never fun. And my mom could never handle it alone, while my sister was usually equally messed up or worse. But again, most days he didn't really drink and was always very full of joy and fun to be around, and always tried to show me and my sister a good time. He was always the first person to make my wife feel like she was part of the family, basically immediately accepting her as his daughter and including her in all plans. When my own kids are old enough and start bringing partners

around, I only hope that I can make them feel accepted like that. The point being, my dad liked to drink, but mostly did it socially. I did remember, though, that when I was 10 or 11, his drinking actually got really bad, and he'd sometimes be too drunk to drive my best friend at the time home when she came to visit, forcing her to sleepover in my sister's room. I didn't really mind it at the time since sleepovers were fun, and we just go to school together the next day, but I was kind of embarrassed and annoyed. But eventually he got over it, as I recall. So when I was actually old enough to call him out on stuff, it was no longer an issue. And me and that friend weren't really close anymore. We went to different high school, so it didn't matter anyway. I ran into that old friend of mine

a few days ago, and we struck up a conversation. She asked about my parents, and I told her that they both died over the last few years. She took it really hard, almost too hard, honestly, and I asked her about it. Then she told me that my parents basically saved her life. What happened was that back when my dad was an alcoholic, my friend's parents were going through a really bad divorce, and her father basically left her and her mom with nothing. They could barely afford food. My parents wanted to help, since my mom and her mom were friends. But her, her father, mom refused charity, so instead, my parents just came up with this really weird scheme. Basically, whenever my friend was over, which was often those days, my dad would, quote, drank too much

and couldn't drive, so my friend had to stay over, which meant that my friend got free dinner, breakfast, and then lunch for school. And then my mom would go, oh no, I cook too much food, and volunteer to pick us up from school before shoving some Tupperware filled with food into my friend's arm when she dropped her off at home. It was only a few weeks many years ago until her mom got back on her feet, and my friend only put the pieces together years later through her mom. But I just never realized my parents did that for her, and I thought that my dad just had a drinking problem for a while. I could have spent my entire life just not knowing this happened, and we don't really have a lot of family left, so no one would ever know. I obviously told my wife, my sister, and friends,

but it's still not a lot of people. We don't have a lot of people left to tell. So I wanted to make this post to tell someone else about this cool thing that my parents did many years ago, because I really missed them. And hearing this story made me really happy, knowing they mattered to other people as well, that I didn't even know that they just did stuff like that and never bragged about it or asked for credit.

I just feel it deserves to be told, that it deserves to be appreciated somehow. Opie's parents are incredibly kind. What I like so much about it is that the husband and wife were both aligned in it. They had this routine where the dad fakes being drunk and the mom makes too much food. So they're both just genuinely really sweet people. Our next Reddit posts is from Grand Noise. A few years ago, my wife and I took our son to Hong Kong for a holiday.

He was seven at the time and I had pretty bad asthma. He always carried a rescue inhaler with him. The inhalers have those little counters on top that show how many people. puffs are left. Right before the trip, his current inhaler hit zero. My wife bought a new one and left it on the kitchen counter. She told me to pack it while I was sorting out our son's bags. I remember grabbing an inhaler off the counter and throwing it in the backpack without really paying attention. We spent a few days in mainland Hong Kong and then took a ferry out to one of the islands for the day. The air quality was awful and it was humid as hell. While we were walking around, my son started wheezing

and then had a proper asthma attack. I opened the backpack to get the inhaler and instantly realized what I'd done. I'd packed the old one. I still remember seeing the little zero on top and feeling my stomach completely drop out. I genuinely thought in that moment that I might have killed my kid

because I couldn't do one simple thing properly. My wife was freaking out. My son could barely breathe. And I just handed it to him without saying anything because what else was I supposed to do? He took a couple of puffs, and somehow it actually worked. I don't know if there was still a tiny bit left in it, or if it just helped calm him down enough to slow his breathing,

but he stabilized enough for us to get back on the ferry. The entire trip back, I felt like I was going to throw up. All I could think was that if things got worse out on the water, it would be entirely my fault. We took him to a hospital as soon as we got back to the mainland. He ended up being completely fine. I made sure that we got another inhaler immediately while we were there. My wife still has no idea.

She thinks I packed the new one and that everything worked out the way that it was supposed to. I still think about it all the time, especially whenever I see one of those inhaler counters near empty. I've told literally no one. I felt like it was time to confess it to at least someone. I wonder if it's the situation kind of like the gas gauge on the car, where the needle goes actually way past zero. It's more of a warning like, hey, you need to get gas now

rather than you're actually out and you're going to be stuck on the side of the road. Our next Reddit post is from North Bomas. I accidentally got half of my office investigated, and now people there legit hate me. I work in IT at a mid-sized company. A couple of months ago, leadership started freaking out because sales numbers randomly exploded out of nowhere. Like, people who could barely use Excel,

suddenly became top performers every month. My boss asked me to help pull login and device logs because they thought somebody was gaming commissions or sharing accounts or something. At first, everything looked normal. Then I noticed multiple employee accounts getting access from the exact same overseas IP almost every night around like 2 to 4 a.m.

I kept digging because, honestly, I thought that we got hacked. Nope. Turns out, one of the senior sales guys had this whole setup where his cousin overseas was basically doing people's jobs for them overnight, answering emails, updating notes, following up with leads, scheduling callbacks, all that stuff. Apparently, multiple people were paying into it. The worst part was realizing that one of the accounts involved belonged to my direct manager. I documented everything and sent it up, because what else was I supposed to do at that point? Within like two days, HR started pulling people into closed-door meetings.

One dude got walked out carrying a cardboard box before lunch, and that entire vibe at work got weird. Now people barely talk to me. Somebody left a sticky note on my monitor that literally just said, rat. And the awkward part is I still have to help these same people with password resets and laptop issues, while they stare at me like I ruined their lives. I honestly never meant to blow the whole thing up. I thought that I was investigating a security issue. The confusing thing to me is, why didn't the company immediately hire the overseas cousin?

I mean, yeah, it's a security issue. But the second you hire the cousin, it's no longer a security issue. That was R slash off my chest. And if you like this content, be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new Reddit podcast episodes every single day. Hey, y'all's Kelly Clarkson with Wayfair. Ever order furniture online and wonder what if? Like, what if it doesn't hold up? That sofa was four days old.

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