We need to talk about poo

You know, back in the day, when women didn't really talk about "that time of the month" and a girl got her first period, and she thought she was dying, because bleeding from a bodily orifice is usually a bad sign? Well, I experienced something very similar.

Unless you're a new parent, no one is talking about poo. For some reason, poo is taboo. No one likes talking about the plumbing, you know? And until recently, it wasn't at the top of my list, either.

Once upon a time, a girl is going about her morning "business" when she notices a red-coloured ooze emanating from the product of her elimination. It wasn't bright red but more of a diluted blood colour with a pinkish hue. Being the hypochondriac that she is, said girl feels absolute dread settle into every bone in her body as she is now convinced of her imminent death by painful and swift acting gut cancer... or something.

She then starts to rationalize, trying desperately to dig herself out of this black hole of despair. Perhaps it's those new "moist wipes" she started using which frankly, only serve to dry out the tender skin of such a sensitive area. That must be it. Dry skin, friction of substance exiting body through tiny, tiny space. The next day, the girl saw an improvement and was quite relieved. By the following day, the situation seemed to have resolved itself. Those damn wipes! So she stopped using them. Problem solved.

Two weeks later, it happens again. Out of the blue, for no apparent reason, and the girl can no longer blame the wipes. "Sweet Mother of God!" the girl tells herself. "I AM dying!" as she imagines her insides slowly seeping out of her derrière, bit by bit, as the cancer liquefies everything in its path. She decides it's time to call the family physician.

A week later, at the doctor's office, the girl prefaces the discussion with "I apologize for the nature of the conversation we're about to have." Luckily, the doctor puts her at ease right away. Apparently, she talks about poo a lot, par for the course in her line of work. This is good, the girl thinks to herself, and she begins to convey her tale of woe.

The doctor asks her if she's been experiencing any other symptoms to which she replies: "no". Actually, the girl feels very well, even better than usual since switching to a low-gluten diet. Hmm. The doctor checks "the area". No signs of trouble.

Then she asks: "Did you eat beets around the time of these strange occurrences?". The girl ponders the question and traces back her steps. "Yes! Yes, I did!". The doctor then informs the girl that beets can turn your poo the colour of, well, beets which is kind of a dark pink, almost reddish colour, which could, perhaps, be mistaken for oh, I don't know, BLOOD.

Relief washes over the girl as the true source of her abnormal poo is revealed. For good measure, the doctor sends the girl for blood tests, which come back completely normal.

The girl then decides to regale a few lucky friends with her shitty tale to which one of them replies: "Oh yeah, that happens. I eat a lot of beets." WTF? This is why it's important to talk about poo.