2002-01-29 - 11:26 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?", Carole King.

Okay, I've had it. Today I'm going to talk about belly troubles.

This is a TOO MUCH INFORMATION entry.

No graphic discussion of the technical aspects, but I'm going to be brutally honest about how belly troubles rule my life, and will probably make reference to "green pills", otherwise known as "Immodium" or its generic knockoff, which have an affectionate nickname in our household that is also TMI.

The name "Immodium", or the term "IBS" should tell you everything you need to know about the TMI in this entry. Make sure you know what they are before you decide to read it. As I said, no graphic descriptions ("belly rumblings" and a gross nickname for "green pills" is as bad as it gets).

But if the mere thought of a person having the troubles that necessitate the use of "Immodium" cause an extreme negative reaction in you, you might want to skip it.

Goddammit, you know what? I can't be the only person in the world who suffers from this. I mean, Immodium exists! It sells! People make money off it! They made a commercial with an astronaut making a last-second request for the stuff! C'mon!

So, a couple Sundays ago I got all dressed up and made up for my shopping trip to Safeway. Put on some funky boots I got from a neighbor cleaning out her closet and off I went.

Midway down the meat aisle, my belly starts rumbling. Uh-oh, I thought. Well, maybe it'll go away.

Two aisles over, I realize it's not going away. So I abandon my cart, and start walking across the store to the door that leads to the back. And I'm wearing these stupid boots that, as I realized halfway across the parking lot, I can't walk in properly. And once I get to the back door, I have to cross halfway back the way I came to get to the spot where the employee restroom is, praying I don't run into any employee who wants to know what I think I'm doing. I don't have time for nitpicky conversation. I try to look confident, like I belong there, which is hard when you're in a damn hurry to get to the restroom.

Fortunately, I didn't encounter anyone, and nobody tried to get in while I was in there (there's one toilet and sink in one room, so it was all mine). Whew. Ten minutes later I felt better, floofed my hair a bit, and headed back out to the store.

This story ends happily because there was a restroom. I dealt with the problem, and moved on. All's well that ends well. Merely a little bump in my day.

However, this sort of thing becomes a NIGHTMARE when it's hard to get to a bathroom. I have not yet had to pull over by the side of the road, but it was close once, and in that case I would've been better off if I had.

As I've mentioned before, belly troubles are triggered by nervousness or excitment or a combination of both. I had belly troubles at my ten-year reunion. I get belly troubles when I have a lunch-plus-meeting downtown (just one or the other is small enough to handle, apparently, but not both). I get belly troubles when I fly. Imagine what it's like when I fall in love and I'm scared and excited 24 hours a day. When I first got together with Poindexter everybody thought I was bulimic. Not at all, but I did spend a lot of time on the can.

The key here is that I'm doing something out-of-the ordinary, and Homebody Evelynne gets a little nervous about it. Not nervous enough for me to even notice I'm nervous, sometimes, but nervous enough for my digestive system to overreact.

Frankly, this makes me damn mad sometimes. At the grocery store, I was stomping around cussing to myself for a while after the crisis passed. It pisses me off that I'm brave enough mentally to fly to Florida during the worst anxiety episode of my life, feeling like complete and utter shit and terrified the whole time, but my goddamn belly won't stop being such a wuss.

Another thing about me is, I don't like taking medicine unless absolutely necessary. If I went to the doctor and was told, say, I had diabetes and had to take pills, I'd ask if I could try lifestyle changes first. I would resign myself to a lifetime without sugar and simple carbohydrates rather than take pills.

But when it comes to these belly troubles, when the alternative is to feel that horrible familiar rumble when, say, I'm on the Metro or my plane is taking off, well, just, FUCK it. I don't need that. Even if I were going to be fine otherwise, the worry in the back of my mind will trigger the troubles. So I just have to take a freaking green pill. Or as we like to call them, courtesy of Poindexter's sister, "butt plugs".

The good thing is, at least those pills don't have any noticeable side effects. Except to sometimes cause another belly attack 12 hours later, but at least there's a certain amount of predictability to that. Usually by that time, I'm someplace safe.

But I swear, it's the stupidest thing to spend my life worrying about whether I'm going to be near a bathroom. Dammit. I have many, many horrible memories of belly attacks. Once in an airport just before boarding, with Poindexter freaking out that we'd miss the plane. The last two times I went up to our Maryland office for a meeting and lunch. The time we had to pick up Justin at the airport the day before my wedding (after that, I popped green pills 'til the wedding was over, and it was okay because I wasn't eating anyway).

My ex-boyfriend didn't understand that it was just a major but momentary inconvenience. He said, "You're always sick." My parents don't get it either, because they have bellies of iron. My mom can't even understand the concept. Poindexter, at least, understands what's happening and doesn't give me any shit about it.

Ha. No pun intended.

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