Food is a four-letter word
Sunday, February 7 2010
For her edition of Patients for a Moment, Selena asked: “What are the four letter words you use to describe your life with chronic illness?” I could fill a month’s worth of posts with just the profanities that come to mind—but who would read it?
“Suck” would be the most descriptive. “Pain” is also appropriate. “Poop”—also apt. But the four-letter word that is most problematic, the most central to my disease, the most consequential and challenging of all is this: “food”.
Granted that’s not much of a description, so let me elaborate. I have a “digestive disease”, which means I wouldn’t have any problems if I didn’t have to eat. If my intestines were useless vestigial organs—like knuckle hair—I would be fine. But we haven’t advanced that far: I still have to eat, and what I have to eat is food.
So I have a pretty complicated relationship with food. Most of the time, when I eat the wrong thing I suffer. Sometimes, when I eat anything, I suffer. And sometimes I can’t eat anything at all. I’ve been ‘fed’ through a vein, and I lived for a month on nothing but vanilla Ensure and water. I’ve been anorexic for stretches of time, simply incapable of putting food into my mouth, until I grew weak enough that my survival instinct took over and forced me to eat.
On a day-to-day basis, I’m pretty picky. I can’t eat just to eat; I have to want the specific food I am eating, to be excited about it. It has to be worth taking the risk that it will make me sick, because I never know when I will discover a new food sensitivity. My present list of food sensitivities is long and onerous: uncooked dairy, alcohol, caffeine (including chocolate), soy, hot pepper, mustard, citrus, artificial sweeteners.
It’s not all bad news: apart from that list, I can eat just about anything I want: I don’t have to worry about fatty foods, in particular, because I lost the part of my gut that absorbs fats. I just poop it out—which can sometimes be its own problem, but I still fit into pants I bought in the 1990s.
And then there are the foods I can’t live with out. Ginger: nothing is better for soothing an upset stomach. Chicken and rice soup stops diarrhea like nobody’s business. Herbal tea: just to drink something warm every now and then. Gummi bears: my favorite candy, and oh-so-gentle to my system.
Being more deliberate about my eating has also had some positive consequences. I don’t eat much junk, because I can’t. I learned to cook—I had to—just to make sure I was getting food I liked. And I took up gardening, so that summers at least have an assortment of tasty fruits and veggies—because what supermarkets are selling often tastes like wet paper.
Maybe someday I’ll transcend my need to eat, but until then I’m stuck with food: sometimes I love it, and sometimes it’s a four-letter word.
I’m waiting for the Star Trek life too–advanced medicine to cure us all and food replicators that could make you some tasty things to eat that won’t upset your guts. (Yes, I am a nerd!)
Thanks for your tip about gummi bears. My Mom bought some for me after reading your post and they seem to agree with my IBS stomach. It’s amazing how food can dominate your life even when you can’t eat much of it! Thanks for the great post.