I love discovering words or phrases or even inventing words of phrases in order to simplify communication. I find it particularly important when talking about invisible disabilities, even more so when it’s a “taboo” topic that people already avoid talking about.
This is why I created the Splat system. This is why I name cantankerous parts and systems of my body.
My latest phrase is inspired by my irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), and it is “loo desert.” It came out of my brain knowing what a food desert is, which is a geographical area with limited or no access to plentiful or nutritious food, such as an urban area that has only fast food and convenience stores within walking distance. (The intersection of poverty and nutrition is an entirely different issue, and I encourage you to look it up.)
For me, a loo desert is an area with limited access to public restrooms.
Having IBS-D, which when it’s flaring up means I need frequent if not constant access to a bathroom, can maroon me in my home. Then for simple, local trips, I have a mantra of bathroom checkpoints in my mind. It’s always there. There are two checkpoints between my house and the nearest grocery store. One is a park with a bathroom, and the other is a gas station. On my worst days, those checkpoints are too far apart.
Getting to Mom’s house, depending on the time of day, is bowling alley / gas station / Wendy’s / hotel / grocery store and then a fifteen-minute long loo desert before the next checkpoint. Some days, fifteen minutes is too long, and I’m forced to cancel visits.
I share for a few reasons. One is to spread awareness of digestive disorders and how isolating they can be, because often, our best bet is to just stay home. Vacations can be impossible. Time in the office can be awkward. And note how often social occasions revolve around food or drink, so we not only miss adventure, but we miss human connection. If you have a loved one who seems to be isolating themselves, whether due to a digestive disorder or any other reason (mental health conditions and neurodivergence come to mind), see if they’d like you to visit them. See if they need anything (like toilet paper!).
I also share to express how hard this can be on our mental health. It’s hard to miss out on things. It’s also pretty terrible in the moments we travel. I’ve had some pretty intense panic, that I won’t be able to find a bathroom when I need it. I’ve had some extremely uncomfortable close calls. And I’ve had trauma from these moments. I also get just angry that I have to live my life marking checkpoints and navigating around loo deserts.
And I want to declare a wish. Beyond the wish of just actually feeling better, I wish for better access to bathrooms! Businesses without “no public restrooms” signs or “out of order” bathrooms. Easy-to-find restrooms in small towns and along smaller highways. Decades ago, when I was on a comedy tour out west and doing some side adventuring on days off, I was driving one of those Rocky Mountain roads where you barely see any evidence of civilization for hours, but somehow, in the middle of nowhere, was a portable toilet with a hilarious “got poop?” stenciled onto it.
Even better was New Zealand, where it seemed every single town, no matter how tiny, had a public restroom somewhere, and it was well marked. They weren’t all glamorous. They might have a rudimentary chain holding the toilet paper and may be missing a wall, but they existed and made driving the country fabulously comfortable. We need more of that in the United States.
