"THE ADVENTURES OF HENRIETTA JAMES"

Excerpt from "Poop, it's Just a Four Letter Word"

Every day I wait. Yes, it is a waiting game. Who is going to win? It would be nice if it was me today. Then I would feel better, finally. And everyone could stop worrying.

I could stop worrying.

It’s so simple. It should be at least. It’s why we have a digestive track. To digest. But yet mine prefers to be more a decoration than a useful tool.

Was it something I said? Did I do something wrong? Was I not nice or thoughtful enough? Did I not spend enough time with you? Do you want me to communicate more? Express my emotions? Cuddle and watch movies?

What do you want?! I wish you would tell me. I wish I could understand. I wish I knew why.

Of course I don’t know the when either. That might help.

There was an incident three years ago. A stint of non number two happening. Though looking back I can’t remember actually, you know, pooping. Does anyone though? Is it something that stands out?

I remember Dad sitting in the bathroom for an hour every morning.

I would desperately rap on the door with little hands. My pipsqueak voice yelling out “How long Dad? I really have to tinkle.”

“Go outside!” He’d bark. He didn’t like to be interrupted.

And I didn’t pee outside. What if a snake bites my butt?

Eventually the door would open and the noxious smell would fill the air, cling to the walls and quickly push us all outside.

I would still be holding my little bladder too.

Derek, my brother, was proud of the smell, not only of Dad’s but of his own. It was a competition. Who could stink up the house more?

I never played.

Is it because I was shy about my excrement or because I had no excrement to show and therefore no smell to be proud of? When did I stop digesting? How did it happen? I mean because I must’ve digested at some point? Right?! Otherwise I believe I would’ve noticed all the vomiting earlier in my life. I’m just saying.

It sounds stupid to you I’m sure. How can poo or not poo run your life, your thoughts, your every action? It sounds over dramatic actually. But you don’t know. You don’t know the pain and embarrassment. Above all you don’t know the fear that comes with not knowing what the heck is wrong with you. And something is wrong. Everyone has made a point of telling me that.

But no doctor can definitively define my ailment nor give me treatment if there even is any. I’ve been told I have cancer, aids, parasites, gall stones, kidney failure, eating disorders, depression, hypochondria and liver disease.

I hate doctors and doctors hate me.

I have been silent for far too long; hiding myself from the world for fear of judgment. I am not normal. This cannot be normal! But this is my normal and I open my doors to you.

Please make yourself comfortable because it’s about to get awkward.