Originally written: July 21, 2015
Today, for the first time, I understand why the doctors keep asking about my mental health. I can understand where depression could fester. This food thing really has me down. It’s one thing to do a crash diet--it’s one thing to cut things out here and there. It’s another thing to say I can commit to this for the rest of my life. Some of these diets are extreme—so extreme, especially in terms of eating virtually no fat… .
It’s our anniversary and Brian and I go to a local vineyard for dinner. He’s so sweet—I know he planned this based on everything that’s been going on, mostly because he never plans anything. No one has ever accused him of being Mr. Romantic!
But tonight, he comes home with roses—he even tried calling four times to have them waiting on the table, but it just didn’t work out.
The meal begins with a reminder that I can no longer order the wine I like—red now—not white. Then I’m really not supposed to eat the appetizer, order a salad I never would have before and an entrée which the waiter critiques as such: “Excuse me if I’m overstepping, Miss, but may I recommend a much better, tastier meal than that, which has quite a bit more flavor? That is one of our blandest dishes….” It took everything in me not to laugh out loud and say, “Are you kidding me??? Who in their right mind would order this if they didn’t have to!” But I smiled and explained it was simply for health reasons. “Please make sure they don’t use any butter and hold the cheese!”
Whose idea was this diet anyway?
And I don’t even know, really. The doctors say there is no direct link between MS and nutrition and yet everywhere else I turn, someone tells me that there is. The problem is that I am on information overload, and I just want something to work! I just keep thinking, What if this really is the trick? What if this will cure me? If I don’t at least try it… . Everyone has an idea on how to tackle MS nutritionally. I have about five or six different approaches being thrown at me, and I’m trying to pull it all together. I feel like if I don’t stick to it more stringently at the beginning, I’ll never stick to anything at all, so I’m trying so hard to be good. I decide tonight that I’ll allow myself to have a small dessert—this banana and Nutella concoction (at least it has fruit in it!).
Brian and I sit with our desserts and we actually talk. Something I feel like we don’t get to do often anymore. I am so thankful for him. I think back to a few nights ago, him standing in our kitchen, both hands raised as if he’s waxing a car (on and off—like in the movie). His arms moving in circles, he says to me, “You and me—we are operating in different universes lately.”
I look at him and smirk. He’s always described us so well. His favorite description is the two of us as an EKG line. He says his life looks just slightly wavy—not too high and not too low—whereas mine is up and down with huge peaks and valleys. I think of those arms moving in circular motions, and I know it’s me that is in another universe—it’s me that’s biting his head off. I’m thankful for this time now, that I can lean over and touch his hand—that we can walk out in the parking lot, and I can yell at him with a smile (for once) for tapping his hand on my backside.
And as we drive home in the car, the orange residue of the sun peels itself away from the earth and the blue/black of dusk descends upon us. We hum together in the silence of the car: “Worship His holy name…sing like never before, oh my soul…” It is such a sweet time with my husband and the Lord—the little details of life that are so easy to overlook. The fireflies pepper the lawns with light, and I am reminded that Jesus is the light of the world and I must guard against the darkness…