Unfortunately, my gastroenterologist is now starting to suspect that my IBS may actually be something more than IBS. I have been dealing with my severe IBS-C for more than 20 years, so this is both not surprising and very frustrating. (Yes, I am only 26. I literally cannot recall a time in my life that I have not been constipated unless I was horribly ill and afflicted with diarrhea instead.) If I was told to name one singular illness that causes me the most negative impact on a daily basis, and that I have to most carefully plan my life around, I would choose my IBS. Yes, above the POTS that makes me so dizzy I can’t think straight, above the fibro that can make a gentle breeze feel like I’m being sand blasted, above the allergies that make my eyes feel like they’re full of sand, and above the asthma that can make me feel like I’m trying to run a marathon on top of Mt. Everest. My IBS literally runs my life and it is relentless.

(Disclaimer: This post is going to talk about poop, just in case you hadn’t figured that one out; you might not want to be eating.)

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