It was a drizzly Saturday two Januarys ago when, just after noon, I felt a cramp in my lower abdomen. I was standing in line outside a popular food truck and tried to ignore it the best I could. I made my way up to the widow and ordered a bountiful tray of barbecue for a friend and me to share. It was our second stop of the day. After a few bites, I had lost my appetite. Something from our earlier meal was disagreeing with me, and it had caught up to me fast. The porta-potties outside the food truck weren’t going to cut it. We packed up the food, and a wave of intense pain persuaded me to let my friend drive. We…