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Let’s Outdo Big Eyes with Big Mouths: Why I Won’t Stop Talking About IBD

Life is really complicated. And the older I get, the more complicated it becomes. I guess the universe evens things out by allowing me to give a few less f*$*s. Because if I was traversing the same route I was in my teenage years and early twenties, my brain would have blown a gasket by now. Funny how that works.… Read more →

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Thank you, Mr. Trump, For Making America Great Again

Clearly, our country is divided. We can feel it, hear it… hell, we can even see it in stark red and blue colors on the electoral college map. But the place that I sense the deepest divide is not racial in orientation. It isn’t geographical. And it isn’t rooted in sex or gender. It’s generational. And nowhere can that be seen more clearly… Read more →

Our little girl at 15 weeks gestation

The End of a Pregnancy Is Never How Trump Described: But It Can Look Like This

My vote is with Hillary Clinton. For so many reasons, but if I had to sum it into one word, it would be this: humanity. And last night, for perhaps the first time in this debate series, I saw Hillary go somewhere that I hadn’t seen her go. When the issue of women’s rights arose, something happened to her. Her… Read more →

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I Have Been Cured of IBD

I saw the nurse leave the room for a moment, just as I knew something was wrong. “Help!” I wanted to cry out, but my voice had been taken from me. I started to bang on the chair, hopeful that one of the other patients sitting for their chemotherapy treatment would notice. Thankfully, they did. Within moments the drug being… Read more →

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Surgery Number Nine Tomorrow: Am I a Cat?

Cats supposedly have nine lives. There’s also been a lot of talk about magic potions that are numbered nine, and the Ancient Greeks must have had good reason for choosing nine muses. Tomorrow, I will walk into the OR, assume a crucifix-like position, and drift off to sleep to endure surgery number nine. I’m hoping the number will serve me… Read more →

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Does November’s Ballot Mimic the State of Motherhood?

Last night, the Democratic Party officially nominated a woman who does not know how to keep her mouth shut. She embodies so many qualities that I hope my daughter does not come to possess (read: impishness, for one), but Hillary’s outspokenness is hardly one of them. Au contraire, mon amie! Hillary’s voice represents a collective one, and the tenor of… Read more →

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A First Step in My Contribution to #BLM: Teaching My Daughter to See Race

I can remember the first time it happened. It was the beginning of the school year and I was in second grade. A little girl with dark skin took up the desk next to me, but I had never seen her before. It quickly became apparent to me that she did not speak English. I was intrigued. I went home… Read more →

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I Can’t Relate to You: An Infertility Story

  I have a daughter. She’s three and she’s perfect. Her ridiculous sense of humor makes it impossible to not have a smile plastered to your face when she’s around, and her bouncy red curls can keep my gaze immured for hours on end. She was born at 37 weeks, with scores of 9 on both Apgar’s. She was conceived… Read more →

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It’s the Age of “I Don’t Give a F**k”

I’ve come to classify my life as largely phased into two halves, and I think you may be able to relate. Maybe Jesus was able to revamp our entire calendar, but all of us are able to reach a personal point of epiphany in our own lives that is perhaps even more influential than the BC/AC dichotomy- it’s what I’ve… Read more →

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My Illness Defines Me (and why that makes me happier than you)

My illness defines me. But it wasn’t always that way. What I didn’t realize on April 16, 2002, the day I was diagnosed with a severe form of Inflammatory Bowel Disease, was that I was not only forced into a quite unwelcome BFF relationship with my illness, but that I would literally need to relearn every instinct, every emotion and… Read more →

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