The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Bellyacher

Not even past the morning yet and I'm ready to head back to bed.

This gall bladder situation is not one of my favourites. Certainly, no health issue is fun, unless you're given to spontaneous orgasms or lose weight inexplicably when you eat chocolate, but this one is tampering with my favourite things: cheese, butter, milk, chocolate and just about anything that makes living worthwhile. I am left today with a belly of unfavourable weather, churning and burning, ready to erupt. I have taken to reading the accounts of other sufferers online and have come to see that the problem is common, but also, personal. Everyone seems to be reactive to different things, unable to digest foods that others have no trouble with. For me, the jury is still out as to what the major culprit is, but I'm leaning toward anything which tastes good. Last night, I had soup (very little fat), spinach salad, a quarter of a tuna fish sandwich and for dessert, I went for yogourt. Around three hours later I knew something I'd eaten had been a mistake, and I'm leaning toward the yogourt. My sleep was erratic after that, and M., who seems to be hinting at wanting sex lately, went to bed early, annoyed with me because I was on the phone talking with my sister during which should have been our 'Dexter' hour. I couldn't care less, though. I'm uncomfortable, and I'm never understanding when I feel like this.

She said the funeral was more celebratory than solemn, which is a good thing, I suppose. Gary was loved, his family is too, and they've been raised with a strict, Catholic belief in life ever after. K. said it was odd to come across a photo of Gary and a little girl and realize that the girl was actually her, thirty years ago. She didn't know what to say, didn't know what words would hurt the least, so she smiled 'like an idiot' whenever anyone looked at her. Isn't it odd how death leaves the survivors feeling guilty and wordless?

I'm anxious, too. Feeling sick, not knowing how the discomfort will move around or which symptoms I'll be left with has a way of making me too nervous to function. I stay in the house, I think of reasons to stay in my bathrobe. I do not have a survivor's spirit today. What I want is to sleep, to dream away the bad feelings and wake to the tolerable. M. won't have it, I'm sure, though I'm not sure I care what he thinks at the moment. He can parent on his own today. He can be the one who takes care of it all. The nervousness, though, has me wondering if my symptoms are only in part the fault of my bellyaching gall bladder. It could be that my nerves are waging their own war on my body, a civil clash between biology and psyche, each vying for domination.

I saw a report on television this morning about how ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease is an affliction which is twice as likely to hit war veterans than other citizens. M. and I mused aloud as to why this might be. Though the physician talking about it said it is thought to be environmental, I didn't buy that. Wars are fought in all different climates, terrains etc., so it doesn't seem likely that it's something the weather or the rocks bring on. No, I said, it must have something to do with repetitive, intense stress. I think most things have roots in that, but imagine the stress of being in a situation involving death and destruction for months at a time. Perhaps it warps something mechanically inside the brain, changing the chemistry of it, bringing on irreversible damage. It's true, I'm not a doctor, and I'm not much for science, but the fact that this disease is so prevalent in former soldiers makes me wonder. Like I said, I feel like a lot of disease would be slowed and eradicated if only we treated the mind first.

My problem, I think, is that I'm too aware of my issues. I read about them, think about them, all the time. I have effectively let myself become a possession of them, even if my conscious mind does what it can to deflect it. Somehow, there is a surrender in me, and I don't like it. When I latch onto a sky blue patch of peace, I do not feel the ravages of pain or sadness. I feel a hunger, for sex and food, like I could roll around naked for days and eat plate upon plate of grilled steak and potatoes. I love that feeling, that animalistic need because it overpowers the weaker impulses. I want that today. I want to taste flesh and know it will give me more life. The salt on it, the grooves on it, the heat of it.

~sigh~

That's it, no more yogourt.