"They asked me. How could you take your clothes off on stage in a strip club full of rowdy men? How could you brazenly show your face in the media, admitting you’re a sex worker? How could you break up with your husband to become a single mother while chronically ill and disabled? How could you share nude photos of your body at your age, with all your scars, no belly button, and an ostomy?"

“I thought I could heal myself and tried my best. But three years into the almost constant infections, I knew I had little choice anymore. I could have a horrible quality of life and die young. Or I could potentially improve my quality of life and see my grandchildren be born and raised. The second option left me with a permanent poop bag.”