A delicate matter of the innards

Have you noticed how often the medical profession need to examine your body's waste products (I am trying to be delicate here) to help them determine the state of your health. I have no problem with this, providing I'm given due warning of what is needed, so that I can provide it in good time and commodiously, if that's the word I am looking for.

When I last saw my Turkish doctor, a fine and handsome fellow in whom I have total trust, he asked me about my bowel movements. The medication I am on at the moment plays strange tricks with my innards, so I wasn't quite sure how to answer his question. His English is pretty good, but occasionally startling. When I tried to answer his question descriptively, he said “You mean, you shit like a goat”, and wrote that, or something similar, on his notepad.

You know, in a way, that was most refreshing, it made a change from all that Greek-derived polysyllabic mumbo-jumbo with which the medicos try to bamboozle us. It might be called timpanites or meteorism in the books, but for me and the good doctor Ahmed, it's shitting like a goat. 
I'll let you know when I'm better.