If you asked me to tell a story from my last dozen years, you would most-likely hear an account of a meal. Come to think of it, even my childhood tales of note make references to tasty, garden repasts, flamboyant cooking demonstrations, and the occasional imaginary tea party. I have memories of warm bread with orange marmalade, canteloupe and honeydew melon cut in waffly cubes, cold liver choked down with a blanket of mashed potatoes, and warm butterscotch pudding dripping from my chin, after tipping back a slender parfait glass for the very last drops. Don't we all?
My sister-in-law loves to tell the story of preparing her first Thanksgiving dinner. Married to my brother for just a few years, she invited my mother to Mississippi to teach her about turkeys. Now the story of the entire trip is quite fascinating, though extremely irrelevant at this time. I will abridge my thoughts noting that my sister-in-law did not learn about turkeys that Thanksgiving. I locked her out of the kitchen with trickery, half-truths and my innocent, missing-teeth smile. I was seven.
Sorry Mom.Fast-forward. After two, hopelessly long years at college (nary a kitchen), I decided to go to culinary school. Brilliant. And after two, fantastically pithy years in culinary school I went to Belgium. Bienfaisante. And a year after that I eloped. *sighs. This mad tryst (lasting short of a minute) was just long enough for my big dreams to be overtaken by feelings of regret and failing health. I was living on mashed potatoes and scotch. Oh yeah, and cigarettes and chocolate milk (eluded to in my last post). Thankfully
that lasted only a few months, as the divorce diet soon took over. My unique divorce diet: Coffee and antibiotics. Oh yeah... and cigarettes. Then I joined a gym.
I have a love-hate relationship with exercise. I am not your typical endorphin junkie. Actually, I've come to find out that all of my "heavy breathing" was causing
this and
even this. I don't learn about this until much later. So, not knowing the triggers of my hives, I continued on the widely accepted path of antibiotics. After speaking with my doctor about food allergies, I decided to start eliminating foods I thought might be the problem. I started with dairy. Almost immediately my puffiness was gone. Between giving up all that fat and exercising like a crazy-person, I achieved a body to be proud of. And was I proud. The owner of the gym invited me to work for her part-time, as she thought I would be a great inspiration to many of her clients. This was an ideal release. (I was still working in a restaurant with my ex e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y.)
Time passed (six or seven months) and I left my job. Yes of course it was difficult to work with my ex, but it was even harder to leave that amazing restaurant. Still, I needed to find a job with health insurance and I needed to file a restraining order against my ex. You do the math. I took a job with a fine, corporate hotel and all seemed well. I traded in the part-time fitness job for another job cooking on my days off for an attorney at his private retreat. Life was turning around. I found a great roommate to help with my mortgage. She put gladness in my heart every single day. It was nice to have someone to cook for--so I cooked. Mostly we would have Thai food. It was easy to cook, economical and tasty. That was, until my face swelled. You see, I had started getting headaches but I blamed the agony of divorce. I started getting a sort of rash of hives on my face and torso but I blamed the long hours in a hot kitchen. At work, I started noticing the hives shortly after my lunch breaks. I was eating salads and sandwiches in the cafeteria, watching for any dairy. In fact, I became so frightened by the hives that I ate only peanut butter sandwiches on enriched white bread, which contained no dairy and was surely safe. And then it dawned on me.
Thai food at home--with peanuts... Peanut butter sandwiches... Oh no. It was over lunch at a local pub that
it happened. I was with a friend and we ordered Reuben sandwiches (no cheese, of course) and fries. My face started swelling, my throat itching. I popped two Benadryl and found my answer. This restaurant uses (proudly) peanut oil.
All of my other allergies happened like this. Over time I would start consuming something on a regular basis, as I had dairy and peanuts. Wheat, melon, bananas, corn... And then, without warning, I'd have to give something up. It became difficult to work in a restaurant. I was always breaking out in hives. On several occasions my abdomen swelled so much that I had to cut off my elastic waisted pants to go to the restroom. My boss at the hotel kept telling me to "do something about it". So I quit.
This was about the time I began to fall in love with my beautiful husband of now. He help me find the strength to plod on. This was also about the time that I started seeing changes in my personality and freakish changes in my body.
~I was easily angered-- a curmudgeon, really. I even left the man I loved, in a fit of rage, feeling burned and betrayed. And because of my struggle, it took me nearly a year to find my way back into his loving and wonderfully forgiving arms.
~I was falling, a lot. I fell down the stairs twice (first unconscious and concussed, then broken and dislocated). I lost my balance walking the dog. And a simple, twenty-minute walk would make every joint in my body hurt.
~I vomited. I started having such extreme headaches and dizzy spells, causing me to vomit. I vomited violently after one or two drinks. I vomited uncontrollably after eating almost anything. I would cry and then vomit.
~I forgot things. I burned a pot to the stove--melted it, really, when I forgot I was making lunch. Occasionally I forgot to meet friends for lunch or dinner. I forgot why I entered a room (nearly every time).
~I felt defeated. I cried all the time. I cried when the dog spilled his water, when I forgot to record the Gilmore Girls, I cried because I was hungry and afraid to eat.
This lasted three years. I moved three times, I cared for my fiance after a drunk driver put him in the hospital with a collapsed lung (twice), punctured spleen, broken ribs..., I broke my back (falling), I planned a wedding and I started googling stuff. Stuff like: "headache stomachache allergy", "joint pain food allergy", "bloating anger hives". Nothing. I shouldn't say nothing. Just nothing that stood out to me. Chronic Fatigue, IBS, Fibromyalgia, Crohn's... Then, two weeks before my wedding, my fiance and I walked into a candy shop, to order favors for our reception. We wanted some specialty items, so the clerk sent us to speak with the owner. My husband explained what he wanted, as these were favors for the men at our reception. He concluded his request with our standard phrase, "and please, no peanuts, she's very allergic". The owner of the shop got up from her chair and came right over to me. She looked me over, touched my arm and asked,
"Do you have a lot of allergies, dear?" I nodded.
"Oh honey, and do you get terrible headaches and stomachaches?" I nodded.
"And how is your mood?" My fiance chimes in with,
"She is always so sick and so sad and we don't know what to do!" I looked at him crossly, and nodded.
"Please, honey, I think you have Candida. This nearly killed me. I know what you are going through, and it is just terrible. Please, dear, go and find a book about it. Honey, you will be okay."Weird.
After the wedding I went back to my googling. I found three books. I also found blogs and stories about people (mostly women) who had been diagnosed with the Candida stuff... and Holistic doctors and doctors of Oriental medicine treat this stuff... and guess what? With a strict diet, acupucture, daily purpose and meditation and
her healing hands... less than a year later...
there is no more crying over spilt almond milk. What I haven't mentioned during this, my lengthy history, is prayer. During my divorce I stopped going to church. I was angry and embarrassed and I forgot how to pray. That isn't to say that my entire family wasn't praying for me. But I was not praying for myself. I allowed myself to feel abandoned and clobbered. Finally, after leaving and almost loosing my greatest love, I decided I must find a way back into a church. I was looking for forgiveness and grace. I was looking for answers and peace. I wanted my life back. So I found a church within walking distance and began to attend worship. I think the Pastor knew that I suffering, though in silence. It was as though he knew I couldn't pray for myself. I shared very little with him. I know he prayed vigorously for me. His words were easy to understand. During his sermons he shared testimony of his journey with his very own moments of mistrust (and moments of faith) and these stories eventually gave me hope and strength to pick myself up and be active, again, in my own life. I spent such a short time at this church, yet it was a time filled with enormous spiritual growth and healing. After the rain comes the sun.
My fiance and I moved several time-zones away from my family and friends. I found a church before we found a house. I prayed for my far-away family. I prayed for my injured husband and for the fugitive who hit him, wanted for an additional crime. I prayed for those dying needlessly in the Middle East. I prayed for the homeless women and children I was feeding daily at a local shelter. I prayed for our marriage vows. I spoke, at length, with my new Pastor, trying to accept my failings (specifically, my previous marriage). I needed to believe that an abusive adulterer was not what God had in store for me. She explained that I should take comfort in the knowledge that God forgives me. She reminded me of God's grace. And it was only then that I began to pray for myself... days before walking into that candy shop. days before walking down the isle. And I prayed and I pray.
(more about the photo
here)
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