Body Image Gastrointestinal Problems Mental Health

Body Image Issues

Hey, guys! I haven’t posted in awhile because I’ve been getting lost in other things. I just moved to Asheville (wonderful city) with my boyfriend, so we’ve been unpacking and settling in. I got a job at a spa (so much fun!) which has been occupying a lot of my time.

As I’m sure you all know, I have an ITCH to write that is all-consuming. Instead of writing my blog, I’ve been writing a novel. It’s been such an amazing creative outlet. I find myself daydreaming about my characters all of the time…

Anyway, I missed my blog! Also, I missed all of you, my readers. Who knew that a blog community could be so impactful? Fiction is great and all, but I also yearn to speak the truth, to connect with people. Thank you for coming to my page. 💫🌺🧚🏻‍♀️😌🌸


So, let’s get back into my gastrointestinal saga.

After the first few months of my GI illness, I was functioning. To many, I seemed “better.”

If you’re smiling, walking around, drinking at bars, and holding a job, you’re totally fine, right?

Remember, grief has no face.

Someone may appear to be happy on the outside, when they’re barely hanging on by a thread on the inside. Laughter and smiles can happen during the grieving process, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t dark moments of terror that make you question the importance of waking up in the morning.

For me, during my slow recovery there was a point when I was jump-up-and-down elated.

Then, later, there was total collapse.

Imagine spending twelve weeks in intense agony. Every bite of food I ate, hurt on its way down. When I did eat, the nutrients were not absorbed. I woke up 5 times each night to use the bathroom. As I had diarrhea for the twentieth time that day, I wondered how much of my life would be spent on the toilet. I had to drink two giant jugs of sugar-free electrolyte liquid (no, Gatorade has too many sugars, unfortunately) before I went to bed in order to regain all of the electrolytes that I had lost from diarrhea. That way, I wouldn’t faint on the way to the bathroom. I spent an embarrassing amount of time google imaging pizza and doughnuts. I had literally watched like five videos of people eating pasta at the Cheesecake Factory (that was an all time low. It’s hard to write that because it sounds so strange, unrelatable, and lame…) I had a urine test to check for infection, my blood drawn countless times and multi-day stool tests more than once or twice. I had been to the ER, to my GP a million times (once screaming from pain in a wheelchair,) had taken parasite antibiotics, saw specialists, naturopaths, acupuncturists, and had even tried myofascial release. Also, I had a colonoscopy and endoscopy. No one knew what was wrong.

Sorry to chronicle everything that went wrong, but if I can’t do it in this blog, where can I do it?

Fast forward to twelve weeks later. I felt like life was getting better for me.

I had moved back to Ann Arbor with my sister. I got a fun job at this gelato shop… Everyone in there was so delighted to be there indulging in something sweet, my co-workers were fun, the store-owner and my supervisor rock, It’s just a great business all around. (It’s called Iorio’s if anyone is wondering or happens to be in Ann Arbor. I highly recommend it. My fav is the Salted Carmel or the Peanut Butter gelato😊🍦)

By the way, the weather up north is incredible! It’s not humid and muggy like it is in Cincinnati where I grew up or in Indiana where I went to college. In the midwest, the sweat clings on to you even when you’re not moving, pooling beneath the hair on the neck. I was constantly wiping the beads of sweat that would run down my temples every other minute. In Ann Arbor, I actually wanted to leave the apartment and enjoy the sunshine.

I walked two minutes down the street to Iorio’s, feeling the breeze on my legs and the bright sun on my back. My life-0f-the party sister, Emily, and I had the most fun of our lives tubing down the river with a Yuengling Light in hand (of course), and spent many afternoons walking in the woods or strolling to the river and laying out to tan.

Besides the cool job and lovely weather, my health began to improve. I figured out that I could walk for eight whole minutes before having diarrhea. So, on my river strolls with Emily, I ducked into a coffee shop on the edge of town, and used the porta-potty twice- I was good to go! I did poop my pants twice at Iorio’s and once in Urban Outfitters (Emily had to come save the day. Thank you Emily!) but I was trying to focus on the positives- I wasn’t fainting anymore, I was able to absorb nutrients, I was holding down a job, I was having fun, I was happy. Plus, the GI specialist told me I would be 100% better in six months or so- so August/September. I felt like this whole thing was temporary.

Oh, and I was HOT AS HELL. I was literally skinnier than the girls I used to scroll through on Instagram and think, “I could never look like this.” Well, I looked like that. Having diarrhea twenty times a day will do that…

You know when you see something on the mannaquin and think, “That would never look good on me?” Well, it was like I woke up from a long sleep and poof, I was thin. Everything in the mall looked amazing on my skinny, sickly body.

I had lost twenty-five pounds. Not to mention, in the six months leading up to getting sick, I had lost the twenty-five pounds of weight that I had gained after college from too many nights of Moscow mules and pizzas (so much fun though, no regrets.)

*In the next paragraph, I will share exact weights. This many be triggering for people who have or are currently suffering from an eating disorder. If you have an ED consider skipping next paragraph.

My normal weight is 139. Then I went up to 165 from poor diet or maybe some sort of inflammation issue after my appendix ruptured, not sure. So, after some serious exercise and eating clean for six months, I went down to 145. And then I got sick and dropped to 122 in a matter of weeks.

I hate that weight plays such a huge role in my thought process. When other women bring up weight issues to me, I relate so deeply, yet I also find it trite and downright boring. Isn’t there something else we could be doing or talking about? Literally anything else… We could be changing the world if we weren’t so bogged down in calorie counting and diets.

And yet here I am writing about it. Right now, I feel like I’m being basic, shallow, and image-oriented.

But anyway, Emily and I were the babes ruling Ann Arbor. I had so much fun drinking vodka sodas, dancing around at skanky dance bars, and prancing around Ann Arbor in a tank top and tight jeans.

I look back on this time with such fondness that it brings me to tears as I write this. Sure, you may be reading it and thinking that we were youthful and superficial, but I was fully living in the moment.

The best part about that summer was hanging out with Emily every day and every night. She had just graduated and was studying for the CPA. She would come into Iorio’s and I would give her an espresso and she would study on the table across from me as I scooped the gelato into the cones for customers. Then we would go out and dance until the sun came up (or until the bar closed.) When I moved out, I hugged her and cried. We have had our differences through the years, but our time living together healed a lot of issues.

For the first time in my life, I experienced a freedom from calorie counting. My whole life I counted calories and fretted about overeating (or felt deep, intense shame) but I did not do that when I was sick. Any time I overindulged or ate processed food (very rare since it was so painful) I knew I would just have diarrhea in a matter of minutes.

If you’ve ever counted calories (probably many many female readers) or have felt food guilt, you can only imagine how liberated I felt. When I went out on dates, I didn’t think to myself, “He’s probably looking at my round face.” I just thought, “I have a lot to offer.”

I felt confident and sexy. For the first time, I felt beautiful and in control of my sex appeal. Sometimes I wonder if the world treated me better because I was hot or because I had more confidence. Who knows.

Either way, I felt like I had been let into the VIP room full of “hot” people. When everyone turns their head to look at you when you go into a room, it’s intoxicating. I know people out there get what I mean, though not many people will say the words aloud for fear of being judged.

Yes, you can be a deep person with powerful thoughts and be a victim of the thin-worshipping culture that we live in. It’s okay. I get it. I’m like that too.

You can be a good sister, wife, girlfriend, student, teacher, mom, athlete, dreamer, hard-worker, pet-owner, volunteer, social justice warrior, passionate person, independent woman, lover, rockstar, fill in the blank- and still be imprisoned by our world that is obsessed with fitness, thinness, and beauty.

Let me paint a picture for you, I read a study (this was back in early 2000s so maybe things have changed) that reported that 5-year-old children (boys and girls) feared becoming fat more than they feared their parents dying.

That is a sad, sad conclusion.

Let me tell you, I’ve been fat and had my dad has died… Dad dying is a billion times worse.

Interestingly enough, the year I was 165 pounds, genuinely fat for my heigh (not trying to be deprecating, just stating facts here) was the happiest year in my life (that was my first year in Santa Cruz) apart from my summer in A2.

I often think, “Why? Why was I so happy in SC back in 2016?” I just didn’t really care about what other people thought, my health, or my future. I cared about having fun.

So September rolls around and I was still having diarrhea twelve times per day. I know that’s a lot better than twenty, but I was about to being a graduate program in Boulder.

The program was a flop and I realized counseling was not the career for me. I was absorbing more food and put on ten pounds. Generally good for my health, but a little defeating for my self-esteem. I spent my free-time daydreaming about my carefree life in Santa Cruz and Ann Arbor.

The first time I lived in SC, I indulged in all things sweet and delicious; I gazed at the sun setting over the pacific ocean- the cotton-candy skies and surfers zigging across the waves- and hula hooped at EDM festivals. In A2, I felt beautiful on the inside and out and grew closer with the one person who knows me best in this world- Emily.

While I was in Boulder, something great happening to me- I was falling in love- yet, I was undone with shame. I was not happy with the direction my life was going. When I dropped out of graduate school, I felt like a failure. I still had debilitating stomach pain and had lost all hope that I would ever recover. In fact, I had lost all hope in medical professionals.

What do they know, they’re all full of it, I thought to myself as I closed the curtains and lay in bed in complete darkness where I ate and ate and ate, putting on another 15 pounds- putting me right back to my “normal weight.” This was my weight before I became sick. It went like this for awhile. For months.

Before, I was in pain and what society would call “hot” (or at least, that’s what I believed) and in pain. After gaining all the weight back, I was in pain and unattractive (in my eyes.) Talk about a total bummer. At least back then there was a perk.

Sometimes, in the earlier days of my illness, I wondered if the stomach pain was all worth it because I finally got to experience what it was like to feel beautiful. Then a few moments later I would feel such excruciating pain and remember that nothing, nothing is worth feeling this way.

As for the food I was eating… In A2 I was mixing water and powder (a medical food called InflammX and Inflammacore) but in Boulder I was eating broth, steamed veggies, pureed food, sweet potatoes and jars of baby food. It felt really sad. It had been a year and I wanted solid food so badly.

So, to recap:

  • I dropped out of school and felt like a failure.
  • I was hungry for solid foods.
  • I felt unattractive.
  • I was still in pain.
  • I was living in the past.
  • I was in a state of fear because the doctor told me I should be completely better by now.

I sank into a deep, deep depression- worse than my two month bed-bound depression as a sixteen year-old. I experienced so much suffering, that I just wanted it to end.

I’m not going to go into the emotional agony in this post because it’s just too painful.

Fast forward two and a half years and here I am.

I can tell you that I have completely recovered from my health issues. I have bloating and gas when I eat unhealthy processed foods, but I’m sure many people do. On a very rare occasion I will have extreme stomach pain for about 4 hours when I have accidentally eaten a nut or a legume. Otherwise, I can eat anything I want and I have only one BM per day! No more diarrhea. YAY!

What helped the most? Time.

Though, I do have a few tips and tricks up my sleeve to help that helped ease my suffering, but that’s for a later blog.

But, what about my body image issues that plagued my mind?

I know we all want to hear a success story, but truthfully, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t obsess over food and body image.

When I was living in SC, I accepted the fact that I was bigger. I was actively engaged in the body positivity community. Then, when I felt uncomfortable, I worked hard to eat healthier, workout more, and lost the weight.

But then, when I became so thin due to my illness, my self image changed. I realized how the world treats you when you’re physically attractive – infinitely better.

When I looked in the mirror, I felt so beautiful that I almost felt high.

Since then, for the last two-and-a-half years, I have woken up and sworn to myself, “Today will be the day that I stop eating.” I know that’s ridiculous because we all need fuel and nutrients to survive.

I have wished that I could shackle myself to the wall so I would just stop eating. I have closed my eyes and imagined worms crawling around in my food for twenty minutes before I eat in attempt to make me stop eating, or at least eat less.

I NEVER used to care this much about my self-image before the food poisoning thing. Sure, I felt the occasional food guilt after eating too much dessert, but I was able to laugh it off. I found the humor in my thick thighs. I accepted myself as I was. I loved myself no matter what I looked like. Back then, I didn’t avoid the mirror or feel self-conscious when exposing my body.

Getting that thin messed with me.

I know that many people may say, “Just stop eating sugar,” or “Eat a salad or more veggies,” or “Why can’t you just eat healthier?”

When I was fat and wanted to get back to my normal weight, I was doing it out of love for myself.

Now, I’m at my normal weight and trying to shame myself down to lose the vanity weight.

This obsession with thinness is completely ruling my life. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about food, dieting, or calories.

And I always, always, always eat the doughnut. And I don’t just eat one.

When I see people who I haven’t seen in awhile, I know the first think they’re thinking is, “Dang, she got fat!”

I’ll be honest, it’s been really, really hard.

But, I do have hope. I do believe in myself.

I want to repeat a sentiment from one of my earlier paragraphs….

You’re not a boring, shallow, or anti-feminist when you admit that you’re a little obsessed with the thin ideal.

You’re still a cool and interesting person even though you’re having a food issue.

The world we live in is obsessed with beauty, but you know what’s beautiful in my eyes? Not caring about these messed up beauty standards, following your dreams, working on your passion projects, being creative, and living your life to the fullest.

That’s beauty on the inside and out.

Plus, what one person thinks is unattractive, another person finds attractive. We’re all different!

Beautiful does not equal thin.

We all know that the thin ideal is shallow, lame, and full of women that are literally air-brushed and miserably hungry. Still, we strive for this and shame ourselves on an hourly basis. That’s heartbreaking.

I want to say this as well: next time you’re on a date, don’t think about your flaws. You have A LOT to offer. Some silly number on a scale does not define you. This is me speaking to you with kindness. As I write this, I realize that this is the way I need to speak to myself. (Writing can be so therapeutic and revelatory.)

This is my advice to myself and anyone else going through this:

Speak to yourself like you would speak to a loving friend. Chant your self-love affirmations (I am worthy. I am beautiful. I am enough. I am NOT my weight.) Find a therapist who actually understands eating disorders. Remember that shame doesn’t get anyone anywhere. Nourish your body. Move forward.

It takes time.

I know I always say “I am worthy. I am enough. I am beautiful” and I may seem like the epitome of self-love, but I am having a difficult time healing my relationship with my body, at the moment.

Just because you’re going through this right now, does not mean that it’s going to last forever. If there is anything that this whole health issue has taught me- nothing lasts forever- not even the most excruciating physical or emotional pain.

With love,


Gastrointestinal Problems Mental Health

Food Poisoning (Part 2)

Hey guys. Where we were?

Let’s see, I was livid with the gastroenterologist specialist, staying up at night googling worst case scenarios, drinking soup, reading novels, listening to my stomach make noises that resemble a barnyard animals, watching a lot of Netflix, and spending 50% of my time on the toilet? That sounds about right!

Meanwhile, I was losing so much weight that I was becoming malnourished. A naturopathic doctor gave me some powder that I mixed with water to keep me healthy. They insisted on running all of the tests again. Blood work, urine samples, stool tests, allergies, etc.

At one point I somehow made it to Florida with Mom and Matt. I couldn’t actually go to the beach because I couldn’t predict when the urge for diarrhea would hit me. I remember sobbing one day, as Mom and Matt packed up their beach chairs and headed to the ocean. All alone in the dark corner of my room, I got down on my knees and prayed. I begged for mercy. That was one of those wall-spinning moments that I will never forget. I’ve only ever felt that low a handful of times in my young life. Once was when my father died and once was when I left home when I was seventeen. 

Over the next twelve months, I got 30% better. Instead of having diarrhea 12 times per day and pooping my pants at work, I only had diarrhea 6 times per day. Initially, I felt happy about this progress, but then I adapted and soon felt discouraged once again.

 “So, you’re better?” friends and family asked gleefully. Sure, sure, whatever helps YOU sleep at night. Eventually, they stopped asking. I was both grateful and resentful.

Many doctors had competing views on treatment. Some straight up didn’t believe others. “Those test results aren’t worth the paper in which they were printed on,” one doctor told me about a certain food allergy test. He told me to never bring this paperwork into his office again. Great, I guess I’ll scrap those.  One doctor who was supposedly the most knowledgeable person at the clinic told me to go on the BRAT diet, but then said apples had too much fiber and may cause more diarrhea.

“Oh, and don’t eat toast because it has gluten.”

“So…bananas and rice?” I asked. Was this some sort of sick joke?

“Yeah. But don’t eat too many bananas in one day.”


Friends had all sorts of advice for what to eat and what not to eat. I stopped listening to people’s strange anecdotes after awhile. So-and-so stopped eating this and it really helped her. Maybe you should try to stop eating this or that because it helped ME. I tuned everyone out.

I learned that if you eat a certain food it can take up to three days before you get an adverse symptom. Also, it can take weeks before certain foods leave your system. Apparently, the amount of food you eat matters. When it comes to food issues, it’s pretty complicated!

One doctor advised against the naturopathic route. He said that naturopaths will do a bunch of tests and find something that is wrong, but it won’t have anything to do with the actual problem.

Still, I couldn’t give up, right? It took weeks to hear back from these tests and the results were negligible. Get your thyroid tested. Have you heard of SIBO- Small Intestinal Bacteria Overgrowth? Maybe you have leaky gut. I wasn’t really looking forward to going down those rabbit holes.

I moved to Boulder to start graduate school and needed to find a new doctor. It took weeks before he could see me. He wanted to run all of the same tests because of course, certain tests couldn’t be trusted.

I was put on six or seven supplements that I had to take a few times per day. I had to take some on an empty stomach and some with food. One supplement- that looked like gunky lip balm – made me gag in my mouth every time I took it.

I decided I was finished with doctors for a while. Screw them and their condescending attitude. I’m sick of dealing with the emotional rollercoaster. Maybe this person will be able to help me. Maybe my life will finally get better! No thank you, I’ll just have my diarrhea 6 times per day in peace.

It dawned on me that five medical workers had failed me. This sent me sent me into a tailspin. When medicine and science fails you, your mind goes to a dark, dark place. Is this how it’s going to be forever? Will I have diarrhea on my wedding day? Will I have to pull over as I drive my kids to school and have diarrhea in the gas station? Will I be able to eat at restaurants with my family or will I continue to have to have powder water forever?

I wallowed in despair. Graduate school was sucking which definitely didn’t help things. I couldn’t even go on hikes up the beautiful mountains because the altitude made me scream in pain. My classmates had to counsel me down the mountain. Luckily, we were all aiming to be therapists. Hah!

If it hadn’t been for my boyfriend that I met at a coffee shop in Boulder, I think I would have lost my mind. He was my saving grace, my bit of joy in the sea of despair.

I decided that maybe I should try out a nutritionist. I found one in Boulder that greatly helped me. She immediately told me to stop taking the supplements that were mimicking antibiotics, saying that my gut needed a break. She gave me supplements that would help my mucosa lining. She told me to get a crockpot and eat soup for every meal. Everything I ate needed to be soft. I was eating baby food from a jar at this point, so soup was a welcomed delight. She gave me information on a probiotic enema, castor oil and heat applications, and told me to eat way way slower. All of this helped me heal another 50%.

My boyfriend, Eric, and I bought a crock pot and a giant sand timer and began chopping up our soups each night. I was so grateful to finally feel some relief. Ahhh, it felt so good to be able to go through the day without having diarrhea. I’m so thankful that I have made almost a full recovery. I was overwhelmed with love for my boyfriend that he would eat soup with me at home instead of going out on dates.

Thank you for reading my blog post on my health journey! Chronic pain is not easy. I often grappled with the question of, “Should I give up hope?” I thought back to a time when my dad died. There was no hope that he would come back. I had to accept my new reality and learn ways to cope in his absence. I wondered if reaching an acceptance would help me finally move forward. This way, no one could let me down. I would get my hopes up so high, and then I would have explosive diarrhea yet again. This emotional rollercoaster killed me. Maybe I should give up hope….

Yet, I could not.

I could not accept the limited life I was living.

There is always hope for you. Hope can be healing. Nothing in life is stagnant. Days, weeks, and months of suffering can go by but this does not mean that you’re going to feel this way forever. Eventually, the winter ends, the sun comes out, and the flowers bloom once again. 


Gastrointestinal Problems Mental Health

Food Poisoning (Part 1)

For two years after that hellish appendectomy, I was completely fine, other than my twenty-five pound weight gain. Maybe it had something to do with all of the sugary Moscow Mules and dinners out, but my sneaking suspicion is that it had to do with my body growing more and more inflamed.

But otherwise, things simmered down. I took a probiotic every day, but that was my only supplement. Things pretty uneventful, at least as far as my gastrointestinal life. If you asked me about my relationship, my job, or my plans for the future at the time, you would get an earful of DRAMA.

In January 2018, I got “food poisoning.” I was visiting my then boyfriend and we feasted for days. I’m not sure what exactly did the damage. I had rounds of sugary cocktails. “Keep em’ comin bartender!” We shared a plate of ceviche and pork dumplings one night and rolls of sushi the next. Then there was the night where we gorged on raw oysters, and of course chips and guac. If I didn’t get “food poisoning” (you’ll see why I keep using quotes later) from one of these dishes, I would simultaneously feel my mouth water and experience nausea from the description of this smorgasbord.

The next day, I had diarrhea every hour. I’d never gotten food poisoning, but I figured it would go away in 24 hours. Hey, I’ve had C. diff for a total of eleven days back in the day. I can handle anything!

Unfortunately, this diarrhea day coincided with a breakup and an emotional conversation with my sister. I remember walking along West Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz staring at the gorgeous sunset, crying. I watched a surfer catch an enormous wave before it crashed onto shore. The dazzling pink and plum-colored clouds swirled around the pods of surfers as the bright orange sun slowly nestled down behind the horizon line. Seagulls squawked, the yellow and purple flowers danced in the wind, and tears slid down my cheek as I thought about all the people that I had hurt that day.

Suddenly, I had the urge to poop again. I ran back to the Airbnb praying that I would make it. Thank god, I did. I went to sleep, thinking that this would all be over tomorrow. It didn’t go away the next day, or the next day, or the next. I went to the doctor (Yes!) and they took blood and urine samples. I ended up having to call my ex to help me walk to the bathroom because I was feeling so faint. I felt light-headed, dizzy, and nauseous. I realized that I needed to go home. I booked an expensive flight for the next day.

Thankfully, my ex drove me to the San Francisco airport. We had to stop once at a random gas station because I was exploding with diarrhea. When we got to the airport, I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye or to thank my ex because again, I had to relieve myself. The car stopped and I booked it to the bathroom as soon as possible, not looking back. The flight was awful. I used the bathroom six times. People stared, but I didn’t care. I quietly moaned the whole way. My Mom and Matt met me in Cincinnati with hugs.

We went straight to the emergency room. When I finally saw the doctor he said, “It’s only been six days! You’re fine. You’ll recover soon.” They tested one of my stools for parasites, but found nothing. I could tell by the way he talked to me that he thought I was a hysterical woman who went to the emergency room all of the time.

Not at all, buddy. Not. Even. Close. I felt judged and misunderstood by this guy. I felt like a kid again when an adult would tell you that you were in fact, wrong. No, actually, you don’t know anything. Nope, not even about yourself, your own body. I know it feels like you’re going to die, but you’re fine. I’m right. You’re wrong. End of story.

For a brief moment, a dark fantasy came into my head. I imagined that something was very wrong with me. That way, I could shove it in this medical worker’s face. “Hah! See I told you, you ignorant scumbag. There is something wrong with me!” I quickly and shamefully pushed this wicked and sickening thought out of my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I want to be healthy. I want this to end. I wanted this to end so badly. I sent a silent prayer into the universe, “Please make this pain go away. Please, please…”

My stomach was in knots and making all sorts of weird sounds. It sounded like a dying herd of goats. It felt like someone was wringing out my intestines like a towel. OUCH! I could barely tolerate this pain. It wasn’t as bad as my ruptured appendix “leaking for days,” but it reached a point that was concerningly close to that level a few times an hour.

We left the emergency room and booked an appointment with my PCP (the same one who gave me those c. diff meds!) She told me that I most likely had a parasite. At that point, I was discovering long and white threads in my stools so it made complete sense. She said that a server probably didn’t wash his or her hands after using the bathroom. I had most likely ingested the fecal matter that landed on the food. It didn’t matter that no one else got food poisoning from the food. Since I swallowed the fecal matter, I got sick. If that doesn’t make you throw up in your mouth, nothing will. So, I took the parasite antibiotics. I took a few rounds of it each day for four long and agonizing days.

At the end of this course of antibiotics I felt a whole new level of pain. Let’s say the pain I felt before was like getting stepped on by a horse that weighs half a ton. All you want is for that horse to MOVE! Get off my god**** foot! But it won’t. This post-parasite-antibiotic pain was like getting hit by a bus. I actually screamed in pain at the top of my lungs. I rolled back to my PCP (my mom pushed me in a wheelchair because I couldn’t walk.)

Welp, it’s not a parasite. Who knew what the hell it was. Sorry, thanks for coming. See ya later! Best of luck!

We went to a GI specialist. He told me that I had a 99% chance of having Chron’s or colitis based on my severely inflamed colon. To be sure, we scheduled a colonoscopy and endoscopy for one month down the line. (You have to be off of probiotics and such for a few weeks before.)

So, how did I cope that month? I read like ten books and watched hours and hours…and hours of Netflix. My mom would climb the steps to the attic to give me food, a few asparagus, a hardboiled egg, and soup. Thanks for carrying soup up two flights of stairs, Mom. Yikes! Matt (my mom’s boyfriend) made sure I was drinking two giant jugs of sugar-free electrolyte juice to keep me from fainting.

I stayed up at night googling worst case scenarios. I began following people on Instagram with ostomy bags or who had Lyme’s Disease. I cried, imagining how I would hula hoop with an ostomy bag. “What if this never goes away? What if this is my life now?” My heart thumped loudly beneath my tightened chest. I felt so alone in the world. Friends and family called, hoping for good news. “You’re better by now, right?” NO! I wanted to yell. I know you want this to be over, but it’s not effing over with. I’m in agony. True agony.

I had the colonoscopy and endoscopy. To the doctor’s surprise, he found nothing wrong. Apparently, the inflammation in my colon was gone. It had returned to normal levels. He told me that if I wasn’t better in six months to come back. He gave me some sort of anti-cramping med and said I had post-traumatic IBS.

He basically told my mom and I to beat it, insinuating that I wasn’t that bad. Get over it, move on, don’t be such a cry baby. Haven’t you heard? Life is painful and unfair. He expressed ZERO empathy and was a total you know what. For the next year, I felt so much anger toward him that I would scream his sorry name in my car whenever I drove somewhere as loud as I could. I couldn’t fathom why he would behave in such a nasty way toward me.  Did his mom not teach him any manners? Did he see so many patients each day that he became apathetic as a coping skill to get by?

I had never felt such anger in my life. I imagined trashing his name in my memoir and ruining his career. I listened to angry music with dark lyrics. I shouted at him in my car for weeks, months, a year. Now, the only thing I wish now is that this idiot would stop treating people. You may be good with illness, but you suck with people.

Though I was filled with outrage, vitriol, and anxiety, but I also felt an overwhelming gratitude for my mom and Matt. They showed their love and support every day. I am thankful for our close relationships and the bond we developed during this time. Thank you for making me smile.

Thank you for reading Part 1 of my “food poisoning” blog post. Stay tuned for Part 2!

If you’ve experienced this type of pain, confusion, and disrespect, I am truly sorry for you. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.

Life is full of pain and suffering, but it’s also full of miracles and beauty. It can be hard to find the glimmers of beauty when you’re deep in the bowels of emotional and physical pain.

I see your pain. I see you hurting. You’re not alone.