Eating is fun and I miss it when I can’t do it. I came to this
conclusion over the past week when I had some sort of weird throat
ailment that made it extremely painful to swallow food or
beverages.
I’ve always known that I love to eat. I also like to snack, to
munch, to gorge, to partake, even to sample. I like to taste and to
chew and to nibble. My speedy metabolism usually lets me eat
breakfast, snacks, lunch, brunch, dinner, late-night cereal, even
Fourthmeal at Taco Bell.
Eating is fun and I miss it when I can’t do it. I came to this conclusion over the past week when I had some sort of weird throat ailment that made it extremely painful to swallow food or beverages.
I’ve always known that I love to eat. I also like to snack, to munch, to gorge, to partake, even to sample. I like to taste and to chew and to nibble. My speedy metabolism usually lets me eat breakfast, snacks, lunch, brunch, dinner, late-night cereal, even Fourthmeal at Taco Bell.
You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone, and this week helped me realize how I took the simple task of eating for granted.
Prior to my illness, when it didn’t hurt to eat, I didn’t think much about what it would be like to not have that ability. It’s innate; it’s natural; it’s satisfying.
I was to the point that I would wince every time I’d swallow – even when I wasn’t eating. The simple pleasure of taking a bite of food was gone. I dreaded eating at the same time that I missed it.
It hurt to yawn or to sneeze, but that happened infrequently. It hurt to cough or to laugh, but that wasn’t constant. It even hurt to talk, so I stayed quiet.
My refrigerator taunted me every time I walked by it.
“Adam … you just went shopping and I’ve got lots of tasty stuff in here. You always say those enchiladas are waaay better the second day.”
The cereal cupboard beckoned me.
“Hey, Breen, we have an expiration date, you know. Do you not like us anymore? Are we not sugary enough for you?”
Even the bottled water dispenser was perplexed.
“Not even a sip? You pay a lot for me and then just leave me sitting in the corner? That’s rude.”
My food-deprived delusions were getting the best of me, but the pain was more powerful than the craving.
The doctor gave me some medicine that has helped a bit, and I’m now getting back to my old self by making up for lost time.
The refrigerator is happy again, as I am working my way through the neglected items. Cereal is part of my diet again-even Grape Nuts, which even with a healthy throat go down as easily as a bowl of tacks.
I will never again take food for granted; the satisfaction of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich; the crunchy tartness of an apple; the cheesy goodness of pizza; even the simple refreshment of a glass of water.
I am like a man released from prison, relishing the simple things once more: a full belly; an empty plate; and a happy refrigerator.
