Yesterday was a Bad Day. Luckily, today has been better, or I’d be too grouchy to be writing this.
Yesterday started out OK. In my new life that seems to revolve around feedings, breakfast and lunch went OK, not great, but acceptably. Then somewhere in the afternoon things went off track.
I made the mistake of following Kimberly and her father into the neighborhood gourmet supermarket. In hindsight, that was pretty dumb. Before I even get in the door, I have to walk past a display of big juicy strawberries that I can’t eat. Then, just inside the door, some nice, green artichokes that I can’t eat. Now I’m in the produce section, with all the fruits and vegetables that I can’t eat. I’m beginning to get uncomfortable, so I walk rapidly ahead. I go to see if they have some non-stick bandages I could use for my arm. They don’t, but I get a breather. I decide to catch up to Kimberly and her dad, which means walking past the coffee beans, to make lattes I can’t drink, into the meat aisle, full of lovely-looking cuts I can’t eat.
You get the idea. After a little more of this, I find Kimberly and tell her I’ll meet them outside, and go stand around in the parking lot, not being tortured.
Then, when dinner went haywire, it just made things worse. Luckily, I didn’t end up puking.
So you can probably guess why I woke up in a bad mood this morning. (I suppose the dream about sleeping in a cold sleeping bag on hard, cold ground near a crime scene with the police lights flashing might have helped.) I’m really, really tired of trying, and failing, to get my sustenance through a rubber tube poking out of my belly.
This is a new chapter in the Hero’s Journey, one they failed to include in the color brochure. OK, I’ve gone into hell, slain the demon, stumbled home again wounded but victorious, but what’s with this ‘can’t eat for months afterward’ bit? Even in all the stories where the handsome, wounded outsider is nursed back to health by the young woman of the tribe, he’s usually able to go from water to broth to food in a couple paragraphs or so. Two months and still not able to drink? You gotta be kidding me. You can’t imagine how much of daily life involves eating and drinking.
It sucks. Big time.
The good news is this: today I had three meals, and various liquids via the tube, and everything went smoothly. I’ve decided to not push my luck with a fourth meal. I did manage to put away a couple crackers safely, one mini-Milano cookie with a modicum of coughing as cookie-juice kept trying to go down my windpipe, and one extremely small taste of chicken, well-masticated and very carefully swallowed.
(By the way, have I told you about how my jaw cramps when I try to chew, or yawn? My, THAT’S enjoyable. Oh, and if you’re waiting for the results of the milkshake experiment? Failure.)
Anyway, with today’s dietary ‘success’, I’m actually feeling better physically than I have all week. Calories and a quiet GI tract: who knew it could be this much fun? As I write, I’m hooked up to some more fluids (ginger ale to be precise), hoping to deal with a slight feeling of dehydration. But, despite my physical condition, I’m, shall we say, ‘in a bad mood’.
And what’s the point of a blog, if you can’t share that with all your friends? :-/