This is the story of my first encounter with solid food
after having tonsil surgery nine days prior:
During the afternoon on Friday, my mom and I had gone to the
chiropractor in hopes of finally getting my back to behave and quit causing me
a massive amount of pain. For those of
you who don’t know, In addition to my back causing me a world of hurt for the
past week, I was also trying to reconcile the fact that I had been to hell and
back over the course of the past nine days while recovering from a tonsillectomy,
which pretty much made the consumption of food practically impossible. It also just so happened that on this
particular day, I was starting to cut back on my pain medication, trying to do
without, testing the waters, seeing how little I could manage…you know. So shall we re-cap, just so we’re clear? I, Candace Mann, who gets cranky on a regular day when I’m just a little
hungry, was going on nine days of practically no food, hadn’t had an
un-interrupted nights sleep in over eight days, and was subjecting myself to
more pain than necessary. Let’s just say
that I wasn’t doing my best mentally.
We ended our trip to the chiropractor yielding unsuccessful
results. He didn’t know what was wrong
with my back and suggested I come back in the morning so he could try
again. Oh the morning, I thought, yeah
that means waking up at 7:50 AM…sure. Totally
fine. Especially since I’ve gotten so
much rest lately. No big deal. But I’d probably end up going anyway. Back in the car my mom explained “I need to go
to the store, to pick up a few things.
Would you rather me take you home before I do?” Bless that woman. I told her that I would rather go home
because it was past four, I was overdue to take my pain meds again, and I was
hurting. She said that was fine and then
started talking about what we might have for dinner. For the past week when the topic of dinner
has come up, my stomach has happily cheered and shouted “include me! Include
me!” I’ve had to forcefully tell it to shut up multiple times, and as usual, at
the mention of dinner, it started to chime in.
Trying to ignore it I calmly asked what she was thinking and she
responded, “I was thinking about maybe picking up some five dollar pizzas, and
if you think you’re willing to try I can get you some bread sticks.” “Ok, yeah, I don’t know if it will work but
I’ll try.” She didn’t have to try very hard to convince me. My stomach was wildly celebrating the
news.
We soon arrived at home where she dropped me off, did a
quick laundry switch, grabbed her list, and headed back out the door. Oh and she was in the middle of coming down
with a cold. Wonder Woman people. While I was at home I crashed on the couch,
lying there in a pain/medicine induced stupor until my beautiful boyfriend
showed up to cuddle with me and rub my shoulders, and tell me that he thinks
I’m pretty and that my breath smells. He
is a keeper. After over an hour and
still no return from my mom I started to become impatient. I kept thinking, she said “I’ll be right back” what is taking so long? Finally
my dad walked into the room and announced that she was home. He wrangled up the boys to help unload the
car and within a few minutes they shuffled back in, boys carrying grocery bags,
and my mom carrying pizzas and…and…yes, bread sticks.
I gulped, this was it.
The moment I had been waiting for.
She set the pizzas down on the counter, picked up the bag of bread sticks
and headed my way. Now let me set this
up for you the way I saw it. Things were
in slow motion and my mom was suddenly back lit…glowing like an angel as she
slowly and gracefully glided over to me.
There was a heavenly noise coming from somewhere on the right, and my
mom, in all her glory, had never looked so beautiful. Let’s be real, I always think my mom is beautiful, but in this moment, she might
have been an angel. Back to real time,
she was now standing in front of me with the glorious bread sticks. “I got the ones that seemed a little
under-done, the softer ones, so try these and see if you can eat them.” Ok, you angelic woman, you. She can be very persuasive, especially while
holding bread sticks. She set them down
in front of me and went back to the counter to grab herself some pizza. Nice of her to give me a moment alone with my
bread sticks, Little Caesars had never smelled so incredible before this
moment. In the midst of my opening the
bag, my throat being the rude throat that she is, started to chime in. She sounded a whole lot like Jeanie in
Aladdin when he is explaining that there are some “uh, provisos, some
quid-pro-quos.” She said to me “Um,
Candace, excuse me, but I really don’t think this is a good idea. I’m seriously questioning your judgment at
this time.” I equally rudely told my throat to SHUT UP! And that I WAS GOING
TO EAT THESE NO MATTER WHAT YOU THINK! So DEAL!
Slowly, carefully, I pulled a golden brown, soft, doughy,
bread stick from the bag and moved it toward my mouth. All the while my throat screaming in the
background, but I didn’t care, I was done listening to it. I took a bite, and oh, did it taste good,
no. Better than good. It tasted like a little piece of heaven. I began to chew, and while yes, it was
uncomfortable, a little painful even, I kept on, I tried to make it to twenty
chews, but gave up after two and took a huge swallow. And just like that, magically, it went
down. I did it. It had been painful and felt rather
weird. But I had done it! And oh, was I
going to do it again. What ensued
afterward was, I’ll admit, not my finest moments. I imagine that from an outsiders point of
view I probably looked as if I hadn’t eaten in nine years rather than nine
days, but hey, I was hungry and I was not worried about how glamorous I looked
while scarfing down my bread sticks on ma couch.
When I got to my third, three thoughts simultaneously crossed my
mind. 1.
I might actually eat this whole
bag. 2. Goodbye bikini body, it’s been
nice to see you for the past five days or so.
3. Colin is about to look over in my direction,
see me stuffing my face, and change
his mind about the past five years that we’ve been together. This is going to suck. But uh, it may just be worth it. After my third, I somehow exercised incredible
restraint, and I stopped. The boy and I
made it past the crumbs and garlic bits that took up residence on my face, and
I spent the rest of the night laying on the couch in a blissful carb induced
coma. Three bread sticks changed my
entire life. I may never be the same
again.
