It manifested into a diagnosis of “IBS,” then “Interstitial Cystitis.” Over the years I had countless testing performed and always left with no answers. No one could tell me why this was happening, and when I was told by the last doc, “you’ll have to be on meds for the rest of your life,” I found that unacceptable and decided to solve this problem myself. I walked right out of the office leaving his prescription on the table.
Giveaway: The wonderful people at Artisan books are allowing us to give away a few copies of this wonderful cookbook. To enter for your change to win a copy of The Kinfolk Table, tell us in the comments what your perfect fall gathering would be. We’ll choose our favorites! (Last day for entries 10/24.)
One of those firms in particular was my ultimate, but infamous for culturally being “a sweatshop.” I spent years working until 11pm, sometimes 2am, under tremendous pressure on incredible projects. That schedule plus poor eating habits eventually caught up with me. Simply, I got sick.