THE FUSE

This morning, I woke up at 6 a.m. and willingly went to an imaging center to allow them to shove my body into a metal tube and take pictures of all of my organs. The technician became interested in my reason for being there once I disclosed that I was six months postpartum. I explained my months-long journey, which included one endoscopy, two colonoscopies, a CT scan, multiple blood tests, and now an MRI (with insurance still refusing to cover the medication I need to not die), along with the joking warning: You'll be fine if you don't get pregnant.