The choice is as easy as preferring winning the lottery over stubbing my toe. Unless they are needed for a medical procedure, I no longer touch laxatives.
Early in my days as a constipated IBS girlie I tried each major class of laxative once, each time winding up in a sickening vasovagal episode, sometimes without any result, and once with a dignity-removing result…15 hours later…in Grand Central Station…in my dryclean-only work trousers. (Insult to injury, it was overflow diarrhea, so after a brief but besmirching tsunami I was still painfully constipated.)
Even “gentle” senna tea sent me through the roof with tearing cramps, nausea, and a cold sweat during which I worked hard to remain conscious.
I’d received a few suppositories as a much younger child that never worked, to the point that for a while I legitimately didn’t understand what suppositories were intended for.
Enemas of course solve the problem quickly and often very pleasantly, and one every couple of weeks can sometimes prevent it entirely. They can also be a sexy, intimate bond between those in the know. If forced to turn into an extreme minimalist, I’d keep my enema can over most of my other worldly possessions.