How Long?

I am eight and my stomach hurts, hurts, hurts. I am getting fevers. I remember 105 like a crazy dream. Dr. Shaver is mean and asks me questions. My sisters are at home and I don't know the right answers. He's getting angry. "When was your last bowel movement?" he snaps. I am bewildered. I don't know what this is. I wish my big sister was here. "Bowel movement," he repeats. I am clearly bewildered. "BM!" he yells. "CaCa, Poo-poo, Doo-Doo! Poop! How long?"
Now I understand what we are talking about but I still don't have an answer. I didn't know you were supposed to measure it or even notice it.

Dr. Shaver is angrier. "How long?" he demands. "Once a day, a week, a month! How long?" I don't know so I guess the right answer. "One month," I say, hoping I chose the right answer so he will stop being mad.  He is more mad and leaves the room.
They corrected my crooked urethra at Children's Hospital. The hospital doctor is nicer but he still asks questions: "Why didn't you tell us it hurt when you peed?" he asks. I don't know. I don't know. Maybe no one ever asked.