What I avoided in stretch marks during pregnancy, I received instead in the form of pregnancy hemorrhoids—painful, swollen lumps wreaking havoc on my backside. While others proudly flaunt their stretch marks as badges of honor, I’m left with these pesky rectal nuisances. Honestly, I don’t even want to acknowledge my condition right now.
#HemorrhoidsAreHot #RealMomsHaveHemorrhoids #ShoutYourHemorrhoids #AnalFissuresForLife
The discomfort began when I was eight weeks pregnant with my second child. Initially, I was oblivious to what was happening in my nether regions; I thought only older people dealt with hemorrhoids. However, one particularly painful day, I decided to investigate. I rushed to my bathroom, where the only large mirror in the house resides. With my pants down, I bent over, spread my cheeks, and peeked over the side of my thigh.
OMG, WHAT THE FUUUUUUCCCCKKK ARE THOSE?
Lumps and bumps, clustered around my rear end. Hemorrhoids are no joke.
In a panic, I called out to my husband, “Google hemorrhoids! What do I do?!”
“No way, I’m not Googling that,” he replied.
“OMG. Hand me my phone!”
After some frantic research, I discovered that relief could be found in a tube of hemorrhoid cream. But that meant a trip to the grocery store or a local pharmacy—talk about public humiliation. I was still reeling from the embarrassment of buying super-absorbent pads and tampons, but at least I had two decades of periods to normalize that awkwardness.
Honestly, nothing compares to the agony of navigating the anal aisle of the grocery store. There I was, surrounded by enemas, laxatives, and other rectal remedies. The only other shopper? A 90-year-old woman with two gallons of prune juice in her cart.
To add insult to injury, I now had to buy Preparation H and confront the cashier. I clutched the tube in my hand, trying to act casual, scanning for anyone who might ease my embarrassment. I needed a woman cashier. Instead, I got a pimple-faced teenager, of course.
Great, he’ll probably share a laugh with his friends about the woman who bought hemorrhoid cream. I should have grabbed some eggs or milk to blend in, but didn’t.
As I placed the tube on the conveyor belt, I wished I could pass it off as a gift for my grandmother. Just as the tube inched toward the cashier, a handsome firefighter in full gear approached my lane. I couldn’t help but glance back, only to feel my face burning as the cashier asked, “Did you find everything OK today, ma’am?”
I wanted to scream. Just bag it up already and hide the evidence! I shot the cashier a death glare.
“Yeeerrrrhhhhsssssss,” I muttered.
With the bag in hand, I rushed through the automatic doors. Once home, I opened the box only to find I needed wipes first. Oh, bloody hell. Do we even have baby wipes? I rummaged through my kid’s bathroom, settling for some dried-out wipes that I managed to moisten.
As I prepared to apply the cream, I discovered an applicator included. Oh, heck no. I bent down in front of the mirror, using a Q-tip to apply the ointment instead. I diligently used the cream for two weeks, but alas, my hemorrhoids remained. A visit to the doctor confirmed it—yes, I had hemorrhoids. Thanks for that.
My doctor called in a prescription for a stronger cream, and while I was relieved about the prospect of relief, I was also annoyed. Really? I could’ve skipped the awkward grocery store experience and gone straight to the doctor? I’d happily endure a rectal exam over any more public humiliation. Unless, of course, the doctor is hot. Then my backside would be like, “Peace out.”
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In summary, the journey of purchasing hemorrhoid cream is a comical yet mortifying experience that many can relate to but few openly discuss. Between the embarrassment of facing cashiers and the realization that medical help might be a better route, this tale serves as a reminder that sometimes, the most discomforting experiences can lead to unexpected relief.