The doctors told me I had colitis when I was 13. Shortly before I was hospitalized, I had started to lose the color in my lips.
The blood had retreated from my mouth like from the flesh of a corpse until only embalming gray remained. I wasn’t able to walk a full block without stopping, a little hand holding me up against the wall, to catch my breath.
Anemia, but when the crowd of nurses and doctors holding clipboards huddled around my hospital bed, they made it clear that was just a symptom of the disease — literally.
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