I’ve always been a guy who loves food. Every Sunday, my wife, Mary, makes a big pot of chili—spicy, meaty, the kind that sticks to your ribs—and my kids and grandkids come over to eat, laugh, and argue about football. But by 2022, those Sundays started to feel like a punishment. Thirty minutes after finishing a bowl of chili, a burning pain would start in my upper stomach—so bad I’d have to lie down on the couch, clutching a heating pad, while everyone else cleaned up.

At first, I blamed it on “too much spice” or “eating too fast.” I cut back on chili, stopped drinking coffee (my morning staple), and even avoided tomato sauce—something I’d loved since I was a kid. But the pain didn’t stop. It got worse. I’d wake up at 2 a.m. with a “gnawing” feeling in my stomach, like I hadn’t eaten in days. I’d keep a bottle of antacids in my truck, my toolbox, even my nightstand—but they only helped for 10 minutes, if that.

By the time Mary dragged me to the doctor, I’d lost 15 pounds. I was tired all the time (the pain kept me up at night), and I’d stopped joining the guys for lunch at the construction site—instead, I’d sit in my truck and eat a plain sandwich, scared anything else would trigger the pain. The first doctor I saw said it was “just heartburn” and prescribed a generic acid reducer. I took it for two months, but nothing changed. I started to think I’d never eat Mary’s chili again—or enjoy a family meal without worrying about the pain that would follow.

The Day I Stopped “Ignoring” and Asked for Real Answers

Mary’s sister, who’s a nurse, told her about Hope Medical’s Digestive Health Institute. “They don’t just hand you pills,” she said. “They find out why your stomach hurts.” I was skeptical—after all, the first doctor had brushed me off—but Mary gave me an ultimatum: “Either you make an appointment, or I’m dragging you there myself.” I agreed, mostly to avoid a fight.

My first visit was with Dr. Sophia Martinez, a gastroenterologist. She didn’t start by asking about my symptoms—she asked about my life. “What’s the hardest part of this for you?” she said. I told her about Sunday chili nights, about missing lunch with the guys, about lying awake at night in pain. Her face softened. “Food should bring joy, not fear,” she said. “Let’s figure out what’s going on.”

She ordered a upper endoscopy (a test where they put a small camera down your throat to look at your stomach) and a H. pylori breath test (to check for the bacteria that causes ulcers). A week later, she called me with the results: I had chronic gastritis (inflammation of the stomach lining) and a mild H. pylori infection. “This isn’t ‘just heartburn,’” she said. “It’s a treatable condition—but we need to address both the infection and the inflammation.”

For the first time in months, I felt a spark of hope. She didn’t make me feel like I was “overreacting” or “complaining too much”—she took my pain seriously.

A Plan That Let Me “Eat Like a Normal Guy” Again

Dr. Martinez’s plan was simple, but it worked. First, she prescribed a 14-day antibiotic regimen to kill the H. pylori bacteria. She warned me the antibiotics might make me nauseous, so she gave me a mild anti-nausea pill to take with them. “No skipping doses,” she said. “Even if you feel better—finish all of them.” I didn’t skip a single one.

Next, she put me on a proton pump inhibitor (PPI) to reduce stomach acid and help my stomach lining heal. She also referred me to a registered dietitian named Carlos, who changed my whole approach to food. Carlos didn’t ban all my favorite foods—he taught me how to “enjoy them wisely.” Instead of cutting out chili entirely, he suggested Mary use less chili powder and add more beans (to soak up some of the acid). Instead of giving up coffee, he told me to drink it with a little milk (to neutralize the acid) and avoid it on an empty stomach.

He also gave me a list of “gentle” foods to eat while my stomach healed—oatmeal for breakfast, grilled chicken for lunch, steamed veggies for dinner—and showed me which foods to avoid temporarily (spicy, fried, citrus). “This isn’t a diet forever,” he said. “It’s a way to give your stomach time to get better.”

Dr. Martinez also asked about my work—construction means early mornings, long days, and sometimes skipping meals. She told me to keep a small cooler in my truck with snacks like yogurt or apple slices. “Eating small, frequent meals keeps your stomach from producing too much acid,” she said. I started eating a yogurt at 10 a.m. and an apple at 2 p.m.—and for the first time in months, I didn’t get that midday “gnawing” pain.

The First Sunday Chili Night Without Pain

After four weeks on the plan, Mary made chili again. I sat down at the table, my hands sweating a little, and took a small bite. It tasted like heaven—spicy, savory, like home. I waited 30 minutes, then an hour… and nothing. No burning, no gnawing, no need for a heating pad. I ate a second bowl—something I hadn’t dared to do in a year—and still felt fine.

That night, after everyone left, Mary and I sat on the couch, and I hugged her. “I feel normal again,” I said. She cried—she’d been just as scared as I was, even if she didn’t show it.

By the two-month mark, I’d gained back the 15 pounds I’d lost. I started joining the guys for lunch again—we even went to a Mexican restaurant, and I had a plate of enchiladas (with extra cheese, just like I used to). I slept through the night for the first time in months, and I didn’t need antacids anymore.

Dr. Martinez did a follow-up endoscopy three months later, and she said my stomach lining was “almost fully healed.” “You can start adding back more of your favorite foods,” she said. “Just take it slow—listen to your body.”

Today: Food Is Joy Again

It’s been a year since I started working with Hope Medical. Every Sunday, I eat two bowls of Mary’s chili (she still uses a little less spice, but it’s just as good). I drink a cup of coffee with milk every morning, and I even have a slice of tomato pie at family barbecues. The guys at work tease me about “eating like a horse again”—and I love it.

Last month, Mary and I took a trip to Italy. We ate pasta with tomato sauce in Rome, pizza in Naples, and gelato every afternoon. I didn’t have a single moment of pain. On our last night, we sat at a little restaurant overlooking the ocean, and I said, “I never thought I’d be able to do this again.” Mary squeezed my hand and said, “That’s why we went to Hope Medical.”

If you’re living with stomach pain—pain that makes you avoid the foods you love, that keeps you up at night, that makes you feel like a shadow of yourself—don’t let a doctor brush you off. Don’t keep popping antacids and hoping it goes away. Teams like Hope Medical will take the time to find the real cause, build a plan that works for your life, and help you get back to the things you love—like a good bowl of chili with your family.

I used to think food was the enemy. Now, it’s a reminder of how far I’ve come. And that’s all thanks to Hope Medical.