I had avoided medical attention as long as possible, pretending nothing was wrong, self-medicating with alcohol until I eventually couldn't hide it anymore. After my illness forced me to quit both school and my job, I had to come clean with my parents that something was seriously wrong with me, and they brought me home. I went to our family doctor who, sure enough, had no idea what the hell was happening to me.
So, my family doctor referred me to a GI specialist in Pensacola, Florida. From there I went to a hospital in New Orleans, then to another in Birmingham, Alabama, essentially on a national tour of vomit. I've basically had every medical test except for the one to check for black magic curses and for four years, all of them returned a result somewhere between "fuck" and "all."
I've done the "egg test," which involves eating powdered eggs laced with nuclear tracers along with dry toast and water, which is presumably what RoboCop eats when he runs out of baby food. The tracers are tracked through your system to test the rate at which food is passing through it. I've had an endoscopy, which is when they shove a camera down your throat to try to see what the hell is going on down in your insides. It can get down only so far though, so you'll often have to get a colonoscopy (i.e. asshole camera) too, sometimes at the same time.
mix up the tubes." width="275" height="344" class="lazy" data-src="https://s3.crackedcdn.com/phpimages/personalexperience/6/5/2/362652_v1.jpg" />Iakov Filimonov/iStock/Getty Images