When I was about ten, I came across a picture book that made me believe in magic. On the back cover it showed a girl and a boy sitting in a closet with the book open and fireworks flying out. I was so excited and I quickly ran to my parents’ walk-in closet and plopped myself on the floor. I peeled back the cover of the book, anticipating fireworks and magic, and to my horror, nothing happened. I flipped through the book, desperate for the magic, but there were no fireworks. And my brief stint in believing in magic was over.
Now that I’m 19, I only have retained a smidgen of belief in magic, and it probably doesn’t even count. And that’s because the only magic I believe in is a magic-bag. It is always a necessary accessory to survive a flare for me. My family has been trained to heat it up for two minutes in the microwave and deliver it back to me in a timely manner. It is my tell-tale sign of active disease.
In the sake of continuous comfort from the heat, I have invested in several magic-bags. Two are long so that I can sling it over me when I’m lying on my side, and one is a big square for sleeping on my back. But beyond the different uses of their sizes, it’s essential to have multiple so that one can be heated while one is on you, hence a non-stop flow of perfect temperature magic-bags.
But on the go, the solution is not as easy. The heat wears out quickly and then you’re lugging an unattractive bag of beans. Fear not, there is a cure! Any of those heat wraps you can buy at the pharmacy to slip under your clothes for back pain - turn them around and voila, heat on your tummy!
Yes, magic-bags have been a savior of mine for the past seven years. Crohn’s can easily disenchant people with it’s unending mission to destroy our bowels; but for me the simple things - like enjoying a warm magic-bag - can make the minute to minute battle more manageable and much easier to deal with.
Whether or not you believe in magic, remember to believe in yourself.