We have hit loggerheads this morning over the “food issue.”
I am trying to give this new diet a chance. And from what I can glean from online sources, I am in the middle of the keto flu, or the paleo pause, or the Atkins antithesis. Whatever it is, my body has not yet learned how to burn fat for energy instead of sugar.
I know this. I just don’t care.
When I tell people I want sugar, they think I want chocolate and soda. That is not what the words in my head mean. I want a piece of toast and a blueberry. I want carbs. I want raisin bran. I want to cry.
I do not want another piece of cheese.
The only thing that got me through a shower was the fear that I will stink when my dear friends from Iowa arrive this afternoon. And when you’re worried about smelling worse than Cedar Rapids, you know you stink. (we love you Quaker Oats!)
My sister has taken to creating inspirational song and dance routines to get me out of the shower, off the toilet, and out of the bathroom (she has this really good one with cheerful fist bumps) but I just can’t bear it anymore. I’m back in bed.
From the bed I can see myself in the full length mirror, and I look like crap. There is no happy way to say this.
So dad is starting the car and we’re on the way to the emergency room. I put on socks and everything. We decide to go to Hospital B.
Okay, I’m not suggesting that you ever get yourself into this situation, and should you find yourself in this situation, don’t say you heard it from me, but…
Let’s say you notice a friggin big lump in your breast and need a pcp and none in your area are taking new patients. Let’s imagine that you need a referral to an oncologist but you’re worried about the growth of your cancer while you go through the process of switching hospitals.
You could – I’m just saying could – go to the ER with a mild complaint like stomach pain or shortness of breath. (in my defense, I really did think the cancer had already spread to my stomach). By the next morning, you will have a new surgeon or oncologist.
Also, all those stomach ultrasounds and MRI tests that take outpatients 3 weeks and a bribe under the table to schedule? Two days max if you’re impatient.
Not that the ER is a great place to spend a Saturday night. There is coughing and crying and most people are probably like me and wondering if it was worth getting out of bed for. The EMTs have dropped off a woman in a purple sundress and one sock and I’m worried about her safety in the wheelchair.
But something about the words “metastatic bone cancer” gets you into triage and an exam room really fast.
My Iowa friends arrive and spend a thrilling night in the ER with me (not the first time we’ve spent our weekend this way, oddly enough).
Eventually, I am checked into a room. The rest of the process is a bit hazy because I still haven’t had any carbs and Dad has managed to follow the diet’s every little clause, like making sure my drip doesn’t have glucose.
I consider sending an SOS to my sugar dealer.