LINT

     *CONTENT WARNING*

Omaphalophobia (body horror emphasis on belly buttons)

I’d like to tell you a story. It’s about my strangest fear, and probably the strangest thing that’ s happened to me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had Omphalophobia, or fear of belly buttons. No, I don’t get scared at the pool or whenever I change, most of the time it doesn’t affect me at all. And when it does it’ s more of an unease than scary feeling. Like watching a bad sports injury or looking a little too long at roadkill. It makes me sick to my stomach. I used to pick at my tummy cavity quite a bit when I was little, and there was always one piece of lint that I couldn’t quite get loose. I’d pick at it until it got all red and itchy, and I’d get a scolding from my mother. Eventually I stopped after it started causing me distress.

Sometime in my early teens my abdomen would ache occasionally. I’d only notice it whenever I was lying in bed trying to go to sleep. As I moved through high school it slowly got worse and worse. It would never bother me during the day, but at night it was all I could think about while falling asleep. Some nights were easier than others, at worst I would cup my hands over my umbilical pit to “protect it”. It was around this time that I realized it was an issue, but a quick google search said it was likely caused by past trauma to the area, so I didn’t pay any mind. But I still struggled to fall asleep comfortably.

With nothing to think about other than my above-nether regions, my mind would wander to uneasy thoughts. Shoving toothpicks and sewing needles in and stirring up my insides. Pounding it with a mallet or even taking a power drill to it. I hated thinking these things and still cringe as I write this, but it only made them harder to ignore. Night after night I would lie on my back with my shirt pulled taut over my stomach, my hands on top and more than enough blankets on top. After a while I got in the habit of sleep depriving myself so I could fall asleep as soon as I hit the hay.

It wasn’t until my first relationship was serious enough for sleepovers that my girlfriend pointed out how weird it was. It never occurred to me that it was unusual, but it makes sense in hindsight. A brief visit to the doctor, however, was a dead end. They did some basic tests and told me it was in my head, I just had to think about other things and the pain would go away. It’ s not that I didn’t believe them. It felt different from normal pain or aches, but it’s not like I could just count sheep and ignore my aching abs, no matter how real it was.

Upon closer inspection I realized that there was still a piece of lint sticking through the folds at the bottom. Somehow, I knew that it was the same piece from all those years ago. I’ve picked at it a few times here and there but never could stomach it for more than a minute. But this time I was determined. I bit my tongue and went in with some tweezers.

It wouldn’t budge.

I slowly pulled harder and harder until I could see the bottom getting pulled along with it and immediately became nauseous. Images of my ab gap flipping inside out and spilling my insides like a faucet flashed through my mind I had to stop. My girlfriend volunteered to try but I already knew that would be even worse to bear.

That night while lying in bed that night, I noticed something I hadn’t really paid any mind to before. I could feel my heartbeat through my abs. A sinking feeling washed over me as a thought crossed my mind and I brought a hand up to my neck. Even in the darkness I could feel the color drain from my face as I realized my intuition was right. The heartbeat in my stomach was much faster than the one in my neck – meaning it wasn’t mine.

I woke up the next morning amazed that I was able to fall asleep, and immediately went back to the doctors. They took me more seriously this time and after a few pokes and prods of the physical and verbal variety I was scheduled for a colonoscopy and would stay at the hospital until the procedure the next day. Waiting 24 hours in a hospital bed with nothing to do but watch TV was agonizing. I couldn’t even focus on whatever crappy show was airing. I got a visit from my parents and my girlfriend, but they could only distract me for so long. I took a few walks around the building, but hospitals had always given me the creeps, so I didn’t wander too far.

The procedure started uneventfully. But halfway up the doctor became very quiet very suddenly. I tried to ease the tension with a joke about finding the terrible hospital cookies I had last night but he didn’t say a word. It was done much sooner than I anticipated, and the only thing he said was that I would have to stay for 2 more days. Apparently, I needed surgery done, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else. I was too scared to ask for specifics anyways, they would only fuel my queasy thoughts. I did complain about the wait however, but he wasn’t hearing any of it. I just had to “tough it out.” I was practically at my wits end waiting for the colonoscopy, I didn’t think I could bear being bedridden much longer.

The aching was only getting worse. Like I hadn’t eaten in a week and like I’d just eaten an entire thanksgiving meal at the same time. I remember waking up with clumps of hair in my fists. All I could think about was how they were going to cut open my stomach and remove… something. Scalpels and scissors and needles all shoved in my gut. I don ’t know how I survived for 2 whole days, but I was curled up in a ball for most of it. I asked the nurses for something to ease the pain, and they gave me some painkillers. It helped a bit with the real pain but the pain in my head persisted – and even got worse. All I could think about was being cut open on an operating table, victim of an unconventional cesarean section.

The day of the surgery I got a visit from a nurse. She said that my procedure had to be delayed another day. They were flying in a surgeon, but the flight was cancelled so she couldn’t make it. I didn’t even know if I could make it another day. The pain was constant now, not just when my mind was idle. I became more and more frantic as the day went on, clawing at my torture tunnel with increasing fervor. As the night grew long, I was unable to sleep, the pain keeping me awake.

I couldn’t take it any longer.

I got out of bed and scoured the room for anything useful. I managed to find a ballpoint pen and a pair of small scissors. I got back in bed and started the surgery prematurely. I started with the pen. and worked my way through with the scissors. Fortunately, the painkillers were still in effect, but it still hurt like hell. Stabbing and tearing and snipping my way through my own abdomen was almost cathartic, finally receiving the down payment for all the mental anguish.It was only a minute or so into my MacGyver surgery when the nurses rushed in. They went right for the anesthetic while the orderlies confiscated my tools and restrained me. But before I went under, I saw something I’d never forget. It was black. Gooey, but still leathery at the same time. It made an awful shriek as it was exposed to the open air and started wriggling furiously. It was stuck to the pen, almost like it was grabbing it. The last thing I saw before going under was a nurse doing her best to push it back into my stomach, seemingly to no avail.

I remember waking up a few times after that, but it was too fuzzy to remember anything. Eventually I was free to go, apparently the surgery was a success. Apparently, I’d been out for 5 days. Still in a haze I just got up and went home, not sure where my mind should be. I should’ve apologized for the trouble I caused or asked for details about the surgery. But I didn’t. I just went home and tried to forget. I still have phantom aches from time to time, but nothing like they used to be. Every once in a while, I’ll notice another piece of lint built up in my flesh fissure, and carefully pick it out with bated breath.