All posts tagged suffering
All posts tagged suffering
Mashed Squash with Vicodin
Roast the squash. Mash the squash. Serve with Vicodin. Go to sleep.
The procedure happened yesterday morning. Sadie was right, it could’ve been a lot worse (which is not to say it was pleasant). I’d never experienced Novocaine before, and it turns out Novocaine makes your heart speed up and your breath shorten, which in my world signals a panic attack, an asthma attack or both — so I began panicking and gesturing at the corner of the room, a signal for “get my inhaler out of my bag” that was completely lost on the nurse and the doctor.
Anyhow, aside from the blood and hurting and a comedy of errors involving local drugstores being out of the prescription painkillers I needed, all’s well and after a few hours of sleep I was able to eat some soft, cooled-down hot cereal with a heaping spoonful of nutritional yeast for lunch and a delicious smoothie for supper (recipe: a cup or so of almond milk, a couple tablespoons ground chia seeds, a dash of vanilla extract and a glug of maple syrup; blend well; let stand in the fridge for 10 minutes to thicken).
Eating is definitely more hassle than pleasure right now — I have thick, awkward clay blobs stuck to the roof of my mouth and my lower gum to protect the stitches, and the aforementioned painkillers make me feel marvelous but also queasy. Still, I love smoothies and puddings and homemade frozen custard-y concoctions, so I figured the next few days would be an excuse to indulge in them, until last night when I got ready for bed and read the label on the prescription anti-bacterial mouthwash I have to use for the next week.
The bottle has as much text as Dr. Bronner’s liquid soap. “What to expect when using chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse,” it began. A long warning about tooth discoloration (??) followed, a cautionary note about “generalized allergic reactions” (?!) and then this:
Chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse may taste bitter to some patients and can affect how foods and beverages taste. This will become less noticeable in most cases with continued use of chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse. After treatment with chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse has ended, taste perception will be normal.
Do not rinse with water immediately after rinsing with chlorhexidine gluconate oral rinse as this will increase the bitter aftertaste.
I rinsed with the stuff, which does indeed taste wretched, and went to bed. Five hours later I woke up, thirsty, and stumbled into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. The water tasted strange, as if it had been heated in a steel container. This morning I made myself a cup of coffee, let it cool to lukewarm per the doctor’s orders, and took a careful sip. Ahh, sour metallic tang… we meet again.
It could be a long week.
On Friday morning a friendly German man is going to slice out a section of the roof of my mouth and sew it to a portion of my lower gum. “Eet ees not un uncommon pro-see-dyure,” he told me when we met last month. “Very seemple.”
There is a certain logic to it: the lower portion of my mouth needs more tissue, the upper portion of my mouth has tissue to spare. I appreciate the efficiency. Tissue is neither created nor destroyed, merely relocated. The real question is, what will I eat?
“You vill need to eat soft things, bland things only,” the German man said. “You vill be een pain, so, for ut least sev-er-al days. Nutting crunchy, nutting chewy, nutting spicy. Soft und bland.”
“Soft and bland,” I repeated.
“Yes,” he said. “Like feesh und spaghetti.”
Fish and spaghetti! I was so amused by this suggestion that I forgot to ask for detailed instructions (what kind of fish, and is it served on top of or alongside the spaghetti, or are they served separately at different meals?). After ruminating for several days I decided that a) yes, the fish is served with the spaghetti, all mashed up together, b) it’s probably a flaky fish like haddock or cod or possibly herring, and c) this is a traditional German post-op meal. If you know otherwise, don’t bother emailing me — the only thing keeping me from having a pre-surgery panic attack is the mental image of rosy-cheeked German children sitting in bed eating steaming bowls of mashed haddock and spaghetti.
The other thing I’ve been doing, in these last few days before the dreaded appointment, is eating as many hard, crunchy foods as I can — to wit, water chestnuts, whole raw carrots, grated raw beets, solid chunks of 90% dark chocolate, raw almonds, raw whole apples, a chicken leg (which is not crunchy per se but definitely tooth-engaging). I have also stocked up on hippie smoothie ingredients (almond milk, blueberries, kale, chia seeds, maple syrup), and I realized just now that there is a bag of brown rice pasta and a couple tins of sardines in the pantry so aside from the anxiety and general sense of not wanting this to happen, I am well-prepared. And actually, re: that last bit, they did give me a half-dozen Valium, to be served as needed the night before and then the day of the procedure. Bon appetit!
Things I can stand to choke down:
Things that are just horrible-tasting, and therefore out of my diet until this is over:
Because all unfortunate situations are better when they seem like adventures, I’ve been nibbling at everything in the fridge and pantry, just to see what tastes worst. Tonight I will find out what happens when I eat an egg! Stay tuned!
Whoa. So this explains the horrible bitter taste I’ve had in my mouth for the past two days. I hardly ever encounter pine nuts, but while I was out of town this weekend I ordered a salad that came covered in them, and I was hungry, so I ate them.
The symptoms began late Monday night, and until Google saved me I was convinced I had something terrible, like a hernia, GERD, tooth decay, a burgeoning fetus, or a fridge full of suddenly-rotten or pesticide-covered food.
But no, it’s just pine mouth, which is still pretty terrible in that everything I eat or drink (including coffee) tastes bitter and leaves a sour metallic tang on my tongue. This could last for over a week, according to the internet, which ought to know.
(I am moving culinary items from here to here; this is from December 2008, but worth revisiting as the flu season descends.)
You will need:
Instructions:
