POTTY MOUTH:

Welcome to My World!

So, I’m sitting on the can right now holding my phone, praying no teacher walks in. I am in the faculty bathroom, which is much cleaner and smells better than the student bathroom, and using it is one of the few perks of my condition. Why am I writing this from here? I’ll set the scene: twenty minutes ago, I was in AP English working on an essay about my struggles with severe U.C. when, ironically, my stomach seized, my eyes went wide, and I started to sweat. I knew this feeling…..this wasn’t going to end well.

If you are here, you already know that U.C. is Ulcerative Colitis- a lifelong disease I was diagnosed with early in my junior year of high school. Nothing like an autoimmune condition during the most important academic year of your life to cause stress, which, annoyingly, makes the symptoms worse. But that’s not this story. This, from where I sit, is a story of overcoming limits, of discovering resilience, and mostly of discovering the power of laughter. But minutes ago, I was a 17 year-old kid racing down a school hallway, hoping and praying to get to the bathroom in time.

But none of this matters right now, because my stomach is killing me and I am desperately hoping that these iPhone essay notes are enough so I don’t waste my entire English class in this bathroom. Today marks six days back from the hospital where I spent another week doing the same thing I’m doing now… on the toilet, hunched over in pain, praying things don’t get worse. A recent flare left me malnourished after losing forty pounds in two months, dehydrated and severely anemic, requiring two blood transfusions. I was so anemic that I was told many adults in my situation would have died.

Being that close to death gave me a true appreciation of life and taught me even more about pushing through pain. It also showed me the healing power of comedy. I played my entire Varsity tennis season during the worst of my illness making jokes with my coach and my teammates (and later, my parents and my doctors/nurses) about everything coming out of all ends of my body, just to rise above my own embarrassment and make everyone laugh.

Yes, I am still in the teacher’s bathroom writing an essay- but I’m happy. I’m alive. I’m able to sit here and wait, knowing this pain will pass. And I’ll laugh while re-telling this story to my friends, parents, and teachers. Even a fluorescently-lit, yellow-walled stall is beautiful to me now.