Nobel Poop Prize

Yep, I'm going there. And if the talk of bowel movements grosses you out, I would advice that you close this window and carry about your day. But whilst leaving, think about this question: "Why?" Why does talking about something so natural and so common gross you out? (Yes, everyone poops) When so much of what our body is doing or not doing can be read by just a simple glance backwards before the flush? And while I don't have the luxury of seeing what is leaving my body, I've become so much more in tuned to the feeling that it's almost the same as seeing. Now you may leave.

For those of you still here, I would like to inform you that my sister has awarded me the honorary "Nobel Poop Prize." And in recognition of such a prestige award, I would like to make a speech. *deep breath* and here goes:

"Wow, I'm almost speechless. Almost being the key word. How much time do I have allotted for this? Oh well, just warn me when I'm getting close. 

It all started on the 23rd of December. I fell ill with something that is apparently knocking the entire country down. Don't worry though, it only lasts a week goes away on it's own. Food just didn't have the same effect on my body. I tried to eat but it was released rapidly in a form that no one wants to experience. So I ate less. But having the same sensation of urinating happen around the backside continued. And it was exhausting. Draining my energy with every trip to the hole out back (despite never having to push). But I persevered. Ate what I could, stayed near the back door, and kept my shoes on and tied tight. For what felt like eternity. At times my belly blew up with the first attempted morsel of food. The gaseousness built and in time, I would no longer be able to hold it. My front door remained closed to save the neighbors or maybe even the flower bush just outside my gallery. Over the next week things got better with each passing day. I could eat more and be greeted with less bloating. Trips to the hole, lessened. Morning rushes outside in the bitter air became less urgent. And yesterday, the 6 of January (2 weeks of agony), I had my first, successful, solid bowel movement. *waits for applause to soften* Thank you.

My time's almost up? Okay, let me finish.

I want to thank God first and foremost for bringing me through the smell of the darkness and into the crisp fresh air. To my family for raising me to be fearless when it comes to "the talk." (And no, not that talk). To my grandmother for her fabulous nursing background and bravery in teaching her children and grandchildren how to read "the signs" and how to appropriately share them. If it weren't for all of them, I wouldn't have told my Doña my symptoms and I wouldn't have drank that disgusting bitter tea which saved my intestines and colon. If it weren't for all of them, I wouldn't be standing here today. I'd be sitting on top of a hole, questioning the color but knowing the consistency, and asking out loud to the zinc walls of my surroundings, "Why me?" 

I am honored to receive this award. I am a survivor. And I want to continue sharing my story so more survivors like me will no longer be afraid. Stand up from your hole (when the current stops, of course) and shout, "Enough is enough!" I'll hear you in the echoes and together, we will be solid once again. 

Thank you.