That IBS Feeling… When I Almost Shat Myself on the Train

jo coates

I think anyone who has IBS can recall that one, or potentially more but we all know my memory is shocking, moment where shit hit the (proverbial) fan. In a bid to break the poo taboo and be super honest, I want to share mine with you to remind you that you’re not the only one.

The way I deal with this memory is humour. This particular flare I have affectionately named “that time I nearly shat myself on the train.”

You ready? Let’s go!

I’d like to pre-empt this story by saying I can’t remember where I had been but it’s likely to either be dinner or drinks after work. I’d managed the first train home and was on my second when the panic started.

My tum had swollen, solid and painful, meaning I’d popped my jean button on my skinnies, giving it a bit more space to breathe. I had the gurgles and that dreaded feeling in the pit of my stomach that my guts were going to drop.

It was a 40 minute train ride to my station on a train which had NO LOOS.


Hence the beads of sweat at the nape of my neck, the pounding of my heart through my chest and ball of panic growing in my stomach.

I remember the train being weirdly empty with me sat doubled over in agony.

I didn’t trust my body and began to have a panic attack.

Tears were streaming down my face and I was desperately calling my husband and mum, seeing if either of them could get to my final station to pick me up.

Panic had it’s grip on me. I couldn’t think of anything else other than getting to a loo and making the urgent release my bowels needed.

No one on the train asked me if I was ok.

Even if they had I’m not sure they’d of understood.

I don’t remember how but surprisingly I managed to hold on for those 40 minutes. As soon at the doors opened I sprinted to the car, desperate to get to the comfort of my bathroom. Both my husband and mum had turned up to get me, both understanding the urgency and the hysteric state I was in.

My husband drove like a man on a mission with me gripping on for dear life, trying to contain that last bit of dignity I had.

We pulled up outside our flat and I ran for dear life, flinging my bag and jacket on the hallway floor before locking myself in the loo.

That feeling of relief, my body finally being able to relax, was a very welcome one. And one I can still recall today. That feeling of your whole body doing a sigh of relief.

I know that in this instance, I was lucky and that others haven’t been so fortunate.

Feeling brave? Share yours below.



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