That was the day the floodgates opened: the October morning in 2022 that I couldn’t hold it down anymore. I’d been up all night sweating my academic future, sweating the New York Yankees’ future; trying to sweat anything but my algebra exam, which was scheduled for second period the next morning. All but unslept, I staggered up at 6 a.m … and the ropes in my stomach backflipped. Bolting to the bathroom, I barfed so hard that my eyeballs ached from the pressure. I was loud enough that I woke my sisters down the hall. “Eww, Jack, stop it — you’re gross!” they yelled. “I’m gonna go tell Mom!”

But Mom already knew, because I’d woken her, too. Loping down the hall, she found me on my knees, spitting yellow bile into the bowl. She asked if I’d caught a bug and needed to go to urgent care. I pla

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