Things are hectic right now.  But I will try to squeeze in a few words and comment on your posts as soon as I can.  
I went to visit my mother yesterday at the nursing home.  It was about 11 a.m. and all the little old ladies and a few men (the women outnumber the men significantly) were lined along the hallways waiting for the cafeteria to open so they could eat.  
As I walked through them, several spoke to me and I cordially returned their "hello" but kept walking.  They will detain you and ramble on forever if you are too friendly, which is sad.
However, there was one little lady who made me smile and want to laugh aloud because she sounded just like my mother.
As I walked by, she remarked,  "Honey, I'm so constipated I just can't get anything to come out but a little dribble." 
Now, I think she may have been confusing her bodily functions; nonetheless, for years I got daily reports from my mom on her "pooping" experience of the day.  (She lived with me for five years before she had to go to the nursing home).
If this is a little more information than you really needed, believe me, it was for me also.  Mother insisted on giving me daily updates on the situation of her bowels.
If she missed a day, that was a major catastrophe that could signal anything from cancer to hemorrhoids.   Out came the laxative.  Then I had to listen to a detailed report on her diarrhea for the next two days.
I can't tell you how many times I reminded her that I  did not give her daily updates on my bowel functions; and that I really did not need nor care to hear about hers.
"If you HAD the problems with your bowels that I have, you would care," she would retort and go right on with the daily excrement reports, which she delivered with all the enthusiasm of a rookie lawyer presenting his first argument before the bar. 
It became and still is a continuing joke in our family that when one has problems to call Gram!  She loves to trade old bowel stories!!