"Don't eat too much Mandy." "Ugh, You wet the bed again!" These were common phrases that my little 6 year old ears heard on a daily bases. Fed up with my habits of puking after meals and constantly wetting the bed at night, my parents decided it was time to go to the doctor. The doctor didn't have a name for it then, but I knew it was something more than just wetting the bed when I felt a grown man's finger go up my rear door.
I recall drinking a large glass of metamucil, eating grape nut cereal, marking every poopy on the calendar, and daily tauntings from my sisters. The doctor did a procedure using a catheter and all was assume well.
I was regular for a short time and heard, "Eww Mandy poop," constantly from my sisters. That is where something so natural became embedded in my head as nothing more than embarrassment.
Time went on and gas, cramping, bloating, and lack of bowel movements became the norm.