This piece contains references to childhood illness and hospitalization.
I lost my stomach before I was born. The area where it should be is filled with blood, skin and bodily fluid I don't have the medical knowledge to understand. Something in me makes sure that space is always full, whether that is an emotional or physical satiety. My immune system used to stage many coups in the past because of this. I was perpetually in the hospital; the doctors couldn't even go on their breaks because they had to help me get my strength back. It was an endless cycle where they never knew peace.
I lost my stomach before I was born. My oesophagus connected to my intestine directly, and I could never hold much food in before it came out in one direction or the other. Seeing other kids was a suffocating experience. They were people I had met in the hospital too, they should have come in and out daily as well. But they didn't. Their body worked exactly how it was supposed to once they were discharged from the hospital. They could treat their cold at home, without their whole system being shut down. One time, I was hospitalized for 80 days because my immune system recognized my stomach cavity as a threat. Jealousy was the perpetual infection my body had no strength to fight.
I lost my stomach before I was born, no, I had a stomach at some point. My oesophagus didn't come magically attached to my intestine; the cavity was filled with something until the point where it wasn't. I had a stomach once, when I was an infant, I had one. It took such good care of me, all my bodily functions worked as they should. Then one day, I magically lost him—I wonder where he went. Some of the doctors tried to get me to forget I had a stomach once, maybe they thought it would hurt less if I forgot, and every time I remembered, my stomach cavity would ache and gnaw like it was chastising me for devaluing its existence. But I knew. I knew I used to have a stomach.
I lost my stomach before I was born but I remember all it has done for me. I remember the terrifying days where the doctors were grasping onto anything to fix my ailing health, the days where I was on the brink of death and the other kids were doing nothing to calm me down or console me, only eyeing my toys like a tiger eyeing a deer. My stomach kept the food I ate down, helping me regain my strength. And even if he is no longer with me, I'm still grateful for everything my stomach has done for me, and know that the only reason I can still live and play is because of him.