The Miracle of Hunger
I started having this epiphany the week before last. It was a slow one. It started when one morning my mom, who I’ve already mentioned is rather sick and having trouble gaining weight, woke up hungry. This is rare. But first I have to go back a few days.
We discovered that an ideal breakfast for her (and anyone, really) is a bowl of noodles with fish. For ease and because she likes the texture, we started with a brick of instant ramen noodles. Throw the packet of chemicals away. Instead, starting with two cups of water, we added a large spoonfull of dark soy, a large spoonful of light soy, a large spoonful of Japanese soup base (which is itself totally redundant since it’s mostly soy and fish stock, but somehow it tastes better) (I’m sure it’s the MSG, you can all settle down) and a big pinch of sugar. When that got boiling, we added a half of the ramen brick and about six 1-inch hunks of raw fish. We like to get the black cod and salmon ends and pieces from Uwajimaya in Seattle, because they are cheap, yes, but also because they are fatty fatty fatty. Delicious! The fish and the noodles then simmer down for at least five minutes, until the soup has a visible layer of fish oil bubbling on top and the noodles are soft. Top with sliced green onion.
The first morning my mom actually polished off an entire bowl — which is about 75% more food than she can usually eat in a sitting — she looked at me in alarm and said “That was amazing.” The second morning, the same thing. The third morning when I came downstairs she was already puttering around to get the noodles ready, chanting and possibly threatening: “I’m hungry! I’m hungry!”
And still I didn’t have the epiphany, but the seed was there.
It wasn’t until I was sitting in the airport thinking about pooping (true!) that it finally slugged me: we mistakenly refer to successful body functions as “normal.” Perhaps it’s to keep sane, but we don’t seem to comprehend on a daily basis that we’re barely, frantically and awkwardly skipping ahead of catastrophic physical failure. We hardly, if ever, think of the most basic of our functions: wow, that was a success.
Now, I don’t believe in being grateful for things that are random, like health, but I do believe in taking pleasure from them. The next time I felt myself getting hungry was on the plane, and it was with deliberate pleasure that I opened a bag of my favorite snacks and slowly consumed them, feeling the satiating rush like it was a glass of good sipping whiskey. How magical. How wonderful. How much like drugs, and yet, all I am doing is answering a request my body sends me a half a dozen times a day.
A few days ago, I was walking home from the library and I was overwhelmed with the desire for a salad. You may not know that I can’t eat salads; I have Crohn’s disease and my body handles raw vegetables like most people handle crushed glass. It’s a great sadness in my life, but when I feel bad about it I remind myself that I can still eat bread. Not to get all Pollyanna on you, but damn, if I couldn’t eat wheat, I’d be very nearly out of reasons to live. Anyway, I decided that I was going to eat a salad come hell or high water, “high water” being explosive, agonizing diarrhea and black-out intense muscle cramps.
I crafted my dream salad: mixed baby greens, chopped basil and cilantro, shredded carrots, peas, corn, and microgreens. The only reason there wasn’t avocado was because I forgot to get one. I made some simple vinaigrette and went at it. I made plans to stay home the next day so I could writhe on the bathroom floor in peace.
But I felt fine.
Not being one to take things graciously, last night I decided to eat another salad. Again, I waited. Usually it takes between 1 and 12 hours for my digestive system to send me the FUCK YOU LADY care package, and still nothing. I feel normal. Good, even. I have no explanation for this¹, but I will tell you something: those were some motherfucking satisfying salads and in no small part because wow, that was a success.
¹ Mike immediately hissed “It’s the vitamins!” but I don’t think four days of vitamins suddenly cured my Crohn’s disease. I wish it did, but I’m not that fresh off the turnip wagon. The amazing part here is that my body said in no uncertain terms: SALAD. NOW. WE PROMISE WE’LL BE GOOD. I just now realized I think of my body as a plural.
Man! This is kind of what happened to me with that taco salad I wrote to you about, when I asked you if you could eat lettuce.
I had not craved a salad in a very long time, and then one night, I just wanted one so badly, and I let myself have it, just to see what would happen. Nothing. Nothing happened.
I have even eaten a few sandwiches piled with vegetables that I normally wouldn’t consider. I have even eaten corn, and popped corn, recently. I try not to overdue it, for the chance that my luck runs out, and I end up getting sick for a week, but it’s been amazing.
I just figured it was because I had been slowly increasing the fiber in my diet since January. Before January, for about a year, I hardly had fiber at all. If I ate something like oatmeal, I would feel really sick, and I figured it was bad for me. I have just learned that when you consume very little fiber, and then you add some in, it will be uncomfortable until your body gets used to it.
Now, I can eat a lot of cereals and oatmeal and vegetables that used to cause me a lot of pain.
Anyway, it does seem totally random to crave a salad, eat one, and then not get sick. Congratulations!
That salad is a thing of beauty.
I still can’t figure out what makes my crohn’s go nuts. Sometimes I’m fine,sometimes I’m not.
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