Topic: Crohn’s disease

Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Spastic Colon. My large intestine needs to see a shrink. It could use some benzos, or at the very least, Haldol. Maybe a stint in the psych ward. Unfortunately, my colon doesn’t have a separate brain and I can’t take it for psychoanalysis. (I probably wouldn’t want to hear the diagnosis anyway.) Fortunately, my brain (addled and atrophied as it may be) has been able to uncover all the wonders and horrors of dealing with and treating Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS).

In 1971, I was born a seemingly healthy, properly-pooping nine-pound baby. But things soon changed. In my terrible twos I was at least easily potty-trained. (You couldn’t get this kid on the toilet fast enough.) I skipped the entire Freudian anal-retentive stage. What was going on? Was it because my mother hadn’t breastfed me? Was it the Ukrainian evil eye from my jealous older siblings? No, proclaimed Dr. Zaber, it’s a sugar allergy. The catch-all digestive diagnosis in those days.

Out went any and all sugar, which only proved to make me a crankier child. Goddamn it, I wanted my candy and I wanted it NOW! More »