Due to food allergies, I have digestive difficulties a vat of Pepto Bismol can’t fix. A life condition that’s…inconvenient, to say the least, but my love of travel makes it downright treacherous.

I’ve learned to cope. I keep clean underwear in my glove compartment.

Driving down the New York State Thruway I feel the first symptom. My eyeballs itch. I take the next exit and pull into 7/11 gas station, the only sign of civilization. Scurrying inside, I find no bathrooms. I ask the clerk.

She replies, “We don’t have one, we have trouble with that.”

Flabbergasted, I hurry to the van grumbling under my breath. “Well, I have trouble with not having a bathroom.”

My symptoms are merely at Defcon 5. I don’t panic and continue on down the Thruway.

Symptoms progress and I feel my heart racing. Defcon 4 in record speed. Oh…this is going to be a bad one.

Worse, I’ve seen no signs for an exit or rest stop. Flying down the freeway at 80mph in an effort to reach the next exit in time, I spot a port-a-potty in a construction zone. I consider stomping on the brakes, but think better of it after a quick look in the rear view mirror.

I imagine the headlines, “Twenty car pile-up today on the N. Y. Thruway caused by woman who couldn’t contain herself.” My overactive imagination sees them prying me out of my van with the Jaws of Life and calling a HazMat team to clean up the spill. I only hope I’m unconscious so I can avoid the embarrassment.

The sounds from my belly bring me back to reality and threaten to drown out the radio. Defcon 3.

Panic sets in and I’m clenching my cheeks so hard I fear I may suck up the car seat. Defcon 2

She’s going to blow!

I head for the berm. There’s no choice now. Defcon 1.

I sprint for the tree line, my roll of emergency toilet paper flapping in the wind.

This is not the first time I’ve had to do this.

I leap over a fallen log like a gazelle. Relief floods over me. Soon I’ll be able to evacuate the toxins tearing up my insides.

Unfortunately, I do not land with the grace of the aforementioned gazelle. My foot finds a groundhog hole and screws itself in. Down I go like a sack of wet cement.

Crap!