I was in the local toy store with my 3-year old granddaughter recently.
Let me actually paint a slightly more detailed picture…
One Saturday morning about 6 weeks ago I was in the local Waldorf school-inspired toy store in my town. Surrounded by perfect handmade dolls, wooden pull toys, organic cotton baby clothes, and slightly serious patrons and employees, I suddenly hear my granddaughter call out quite loudly (as in LOUDLY) from the book section about 15 feet away,
“Biba, I tooted.” And then lots of giggles.
Now I wasn’t the only one who heard her shout out her delight over her bodily noises. She probably wasn’t the only one to hear her toot, for that matter. In the very proper toy store nobody else giggled.
Except for me. I suddenly remembered learning the word fart in 1st grade and saying it over and over with my best friend in the back seat of my mom’s car, laughing so hard we probably could have peed our pants, and my mom telling us she wasn’t going to take us to the Donnie Osmond concert we were on our way to at Madison Square Garden if we didn’t stop. We didn’t. She took us anyway…And yes, I am that old, that I once loved Donnie Osmond – he was adorable – when I was in first grade.
Having gas as an adult is not usually a laughing matter. Especially to women. Yet this is what women face when they have irritable bowel syndrome. Then there’s the bloating. I have patients who have shown me pictures of themselves or come into my office looking 7 months pregnant – when they are not pregnant at all. They feel embarrassed when someone asks them when they’re due (note, never ask a woman when she’s due unless you know for SURE that she’s pregnant!). And it’s painful to be distended, not to mention the discomfort of constipation and the horrors of unpredictable loose stools.
Many of my patients have been told by their doctors that they just have to live with it.
But that’s not true!!!
Ever been in a situation like this?
It’s dark and it’s late. You’re coming out of a club in the city heading back to your car, which is parked on a poorly lit side street. About 50 yards from your car door, you notice a man crossing the street toward you. Nobody is on the street.
Your heart is racing, and your muscles tighten. You are on red alert. Should you run? Prepare to fight? Your keys are already in your hand – you could use them to defend yourself. Your fingers clench so tightly around the keys that you feel them digging into your palm. You recognize this feeling. It’s terror.
Now closer to you, you hear the man’s footsteps stop and from the corner of your eye you catch…