In Bathroom*
When bodily functions go rogue.
From the middle of the black and white checkered floor of my bathroom, rises the “ultimate human-architecture interaction point”, a very standard model of an American Standard toilet.
The flush toilet was invented in the late 16th century, and became widespread after the early 1900s. Even though, similar vitreous china sanitary bowls have been used to collect and remove waste ever since then, there are also premium upgrades available such as Japanese technology wash, dry and seat heat controlled Totos. While many central European countries use the bidet (a secondary ceramic bowl for after-washing), modern, or “a la franga” Turkish toilets have an embedded bidet faucet, which in Iran and some parts of India is in the shape of a moveable shower head placed next to the flush tank. Regardless of nationality, wherever toilet paper is used, there are those who prefer applying it crumpled or folded.
The average human being spends 1.5 years of their life in the bathroom. In the year 2012, I permanently exceeded that number by at least a good 10 percent.
After a sunny Park Slope brunch with girlfriends, when the nature called quite expectedly, I thought it was a good idea to walk a couple of blocks to relieve myself in the comfort of my own home. I came eye to eye with my boyfriend when I entered the apartment. That’s also when the gravity and viscous liquid pressure overcame my peristaltic muscle stamina. My body failed in front of my future husband.
In the following months, constant painful diarrhea became a reality of my life. I moved back to Turkey, because New York was the last place I wanted to get sick without any health insurance. I settled in my mom’s apartment in Istanbul. Her bathroom had big white tiles and a fluffy salmon colored mat on the floor. There was a scenic calendar hanging on the door. I spent many hours scratching those tiles in pain while looking at the deep turquoise waters, which over time changed into golden leaves of fall, and then snowy mountain peaks.
Generally a feeling of comfort and replenishment accompany those who leave the bathroom. In my case, dropped blood pressure caused by lost liquid and exposed pain, wouldn’t allow me to do anything further than a couch dive. I was at home writing my graduate school thesis those days, and my family perceived my laying on the couch as an action of laziness. Doctors didn’t believe me either. “Stress” they said. “All in your head.” Nothing, was able to ascend all the way to my head. All my life was rotating around my bowels. If it was because of stress, stock brokers, politicians or air traffic controllers should be continuously exploding all over their colleagues. In turns, most preferably. Or are they using some sort of stealth diaper technology that we are not yet aware of?
When I mentioned to my doctor that it might be food related, I was accused of being an “internet patient”. With a not-that-micro expression of disgust on his face. Maybe he was deeply worried that all doctors would be replaced by a machine one day. (His worries were pointless, though, no technology could replace that level of grumpiness any time soon.) Nevertheless, he was right at a certain degree, I was spending days and nights researching my symptoms. The pursuit of a diarrhea free life was my second thesis project. Google’s super smart advertisement analytics tool, decided that I was a senior citizen when my search terms started to include more and more words like “colonoscopy”, “gut microbes” and “mash potatoes”.
There are 20 million people in the US diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, without getting any relief. They are told to give up raw salad and consume more whole grains, and are prescribed anti-diarrhea, anti-spasm, anti-depression medicines. Living in constant shame, hiding their suffering. The underlying causes of their digestive problems are not fully investigated and cured.
Thankfully, after several doctors, dozens of tests, endless theories, and a dramatic “Dear Universe, I surrender, give me the answer!” moment, I convinced a gastroenterologist that my problems were triggered by the consumption of certain food types, which got me the golden ticket to the IgG antibody testing. A not-medically-tested-and-approved-yet-very-expensive blood test that takes a current food and drink intolerance snapshot of your body. A slow learning curve, followed by years of strict elimination, lead to a symptomatic cure. However I still don’t know what exactly put my body off of digesting twenty plus food items, mostly the inflammation causing ones. Right now I’m free of dairy, grains and many others to manage my food intolerances. I supplement my diet with probiotics, healthy fats and fibers. I drink weird tasting drinks with beef gelatin, clay or apple cider vinegar to maintain my intestinal lining. I eat tons of lightly cooked green vegetables and instinctively reinforce my stomach acid with some diet coke every once in a while.*
I still get proud when I reach the Dr Oz perfection in shape, color and consistency, and I prefer my paper folded.
*These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. Readers must wash hands before going back to work.
*Inspired by Joan Didion’s “In Bed”
Too Much In the Nothingness
Let’s pause for a second. Stop whatever you’re busy with. The fidget of the hands, the lingering mind. Undo all. Imagine you just joined the tips of your index fingers and time froze. Even stop breathing. But don’t close your eyes. See the world around you and be still in the face of its constant flow.
Okay. Breathe now.
This is a guide to nothingness. An ode to zero. It is about drawers full of new notebooks, shelves full of emptied jars. Stomach of a hungry man, a swimming pool in fall. A glass half empty.
It’s about the space between you and me.
When you’re alone at home and you have nothing to do, what is it that you feel at first? The panic of not knowing the next line on the checklist or the euphoria of a rare abundance of time? Can you actually appreciate the amount of time that you have? Can you hold it while it slips between your fingers?
What do you do for a living, by the way? Do they pay you well? Where do you live? In the city? Two bedroom, deck, washer, dryer? What big achievements do you have? Who did you empower today? What will they write on the tombstone, or on the title of your latest inspirational talk?
Stop.
Rewind.
Take another deep breath. This time feel it fully. Expand the limits of the shape change we call “breathing”. Your diaphragm generously bending itself down towards your abdominals to create a big empty space in the chest. And the atmospheric pressure fills the vacuum with air. Inhale and exhale.
Discover the further extremities as oxygen is carried through the blood. Feel your toes. Are they there? Are your feet on the floor? Or are your legs crossed? Pigeon toed, knocked kneed, manspread wide open? Sorry, I forgot to ask, but you have both of your legs, don’t you?
Carry your attention all the way up to your chair-facing-surfaces. Do you have a large bottom? Are your hips boney? Do you feel the chair under you? Is it hard, is it cushy?
How about the other objects around you? Are they on your lap, on the floor? Is there a table near by or any horizontal surface of some sort? Is there any space on it? Place your hands and wipe the surface. Is it wood or plastic? What’s the texture like? All empty and bare? Or occupied with notes, bags, coats. Anything shaping or limiting you? How are they affecting the way you breathe?
Examine your levels now. How do you use your verticality? Can you draw the shape of your spine? Are you a giraffe today or a snail, for example? A Beagle or a Dachshund? Where is your head, in relation to where your tail is. Are you a bender, tilter or swayer? Think for a moment. What is it that keeping your head up all day long? Is it your skeleton, your muscles or your rebellious intention: “Forget about the gravity, I’ll be upright today.”
Now without changing anything, look at the direction of your torso. Your chest, your ribs, your belly button. Where are you actually facing? Where do you want to go? How do you always know which one is the right direction? What do you do when you don’t know where to go? When the paths you know, in the ways you take them don’t work anymore. When you feel lost, unnecessary, worthless? With your pockets full of unused potential. In a directionless effort, within a flow of crowds. Do you ever walk like tourists on the 5th Avenue?
Are you still with me? Or do you want to check what time it is first? Maybe the next stop is 14th Street Union Square and you have to leave. Are you this busy in general? Walking with quick steps? Skipping stairs?
It’s almost lunch time here. What do you want to eat today? Can you have sugar, dairy, gluten? Are you vegan or pesceterian? What makes you salivate the most?
What is the taste in your mouth? Sour, sweet, metallic? Are all of your teeth there? Any fillings, pulled wisdom teeth? Bring your tongue onto them. Feel the curvature. Cracks, chips, missing bits on the smooth hard surface of the enamel. Clench your jaw once and release. Inhale and exhale deeply again.
There is a round kitchen table, and an old fridge here. Making old fridge noises. What do you hear right now? Buzz, breeze, sneeze… What’s the most dominant one of them all? And what is the weakest? Do you close your eyes to hear it? What other senses can you shut down to hear more? Do we always need a smaller window, a tighter perspective to perceive the subtle?
Bring your fingers to your ears. Lock the sound gate with some gentle pressure of your index fingers. Pull, and push, pull, and push. Hear, no hear. One, zero. One, zero.
Can you remember how your mom sounded like last time you spoke on the phone? Or the last person you had a chat with today? Were they nervous or calm? Do you remember?
Bring your fingers to your nose. Inhale deeply. What do they smell like? Clementines, potting soil, hand cream? Chemicals, dirt, germs. How does the air smell like? Bodies, fears, 30% nylon — 70% Spandex? Inhale and hold your breath. Can you still smell it? Or is an olfactory sense just a friction of material residue in the air? Not sure? Release.
Now stand up wherever you are. Feel those two soles grounding on the floor. On your heels, on your sneakers. Reach up high and spread your fingers. Swing your arms from side to side. Feel the breeze on your elbows. How big of a diameter do you create in the space? What is the shape and color of your aura, do you think? Pause gently. Turn around and see who’s around. Say “hi” with your eyes without saying a word. To your fellow ghosts or human beings. Are they tall, are they skinny, are they tired? Can you see them breathing? Can you sync with their rhythm? With their dream?
Close your eyes. Find the deepest nothingness in the dark room behind your eyelids. Let the hallucinations of flashes, colors, shooting stars pass by first. And then let the desire of doing disappear. Let go of your ability to push, or pull. Let go of all the control. Invite your awareness gently to your breath. Exhale everything. And hold. Stay there. Don’t panic. In that moment when the door of the previous breath is closed, and before the next breath’s door is open, in that dark, tight space. Barely knowing if there will be another breath. Closest you can get to nothingness. Wait as long as you can. This is where we are right now. A purgatory, a waiting room. No place for resting, and no place for fighting either. From the darkness of all unknowing, focus on the very existing of your bare being. Naked and empty. Just before a deep full breathing.
