That’s it

That’s it. It’s time. I have talked about writing for years now. And it’s time.

When I was about 9 or 10, I had the worst case of chicken pox. My mom called Dr. Buttson (his real name) and he said I must have them INSIDE my stomach. I couldn’t eat. It was awful. My first meal after many days was an Amoroso roll with butter. Still my favorite comfort to this day.

After that, I remember lots of nights on the toilet with a stomach ache. Many doctor visits (Dr. Buttson) later–lactose intolerance. I still blame the chicken pox.

Eventually, they say I “grew out of it”. Drank milk, ate dairy products, but never with the full fledged feeling that it was for real.

Then, in 1999, my nephew Jacob, then 13, came to stay with us for a week. He loved horses and riding and so did I. I took him for a trail ride at a nearby stable. As we got close to the place, my stomach started it’s thing and I spent 20 minutes or more in the outhouse as Jacob waited patiently. Days went by and it got worse. I went to my doctor who sent me to a gastroenterologist. He asked me tons of questions and did bloodwork. “Any chance you are pregnant?” Well, we had just tried…ONCE. Earlier that week. A few days later came the news. I was pregnant and had to come in for a colonoscopy ASAP.

Omg. They were so cold and unfeeling. I was one of hundreds of their patients. Meanwhile, they were my only experience with this and I was a young, newly pregnant woman. “There’s the container” the receptionist said, pointing to weird white bucket like thing. I came home crying to my husband, not feeling well and emotionally spent. He went in the next day and lit that office on fire. To this day, I think its the most obnoxious and sweetest thing he has ever done.

So about 20 years later, here I am. I think I have a lot to say about life. Most of it, through a bathroom stall.