If you know, you know.
A fistula controls everything. Where you can sit. Whether you can sleep. What you wear. Whether you show up to things or cancel again without explaining why. You start carrying things with you everywhere. You do laundry constantly. You stop making plans you can't get out of quickly. You lose track of how long it's been since any of this felt normal.
And you don't talk about it. Because it's not the kind of thing that fits into a conversation. Because explaining it means describing parts of your body and what they're doing that nobody wants to hear about. So you get quiet about it. And quiet starts to feel like the only option.
Four years of this. Setons, biologics, surgeries. Things that were supposed to work, didn't. The waiting rooms. The recoveries. The way it follows you into every room you walk into even when nobody else can see it.
This hat is two words for everyone who's been in that room. Because...
F*ck Fistulas.
When they're gone, this run is done. No restock, no reissue. Every hat ships with a handwritten note from me.
This is Drop 01. There will be future drops. Different designs, different causes. But this one is this one. Only this.
