Pondering Phantasms: A Repurpose of Passages

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I first encountered the specter when I was a fledgling theorist (in search of a philosophy) at a conference in Central Europe. At the start of my visit, I erred as have a few arrogant foreign early 20th Century archeologists have before mysteriously disappearing from a tomb dig site in Egypt--I angered the spirits. Fortunately for me, I was on a plane the within a week possessing only certified souvenirs: conference swag, städtisch logo t-shirts, and a contemporary perfume bottle for my mother. I noted the encounter in the poem Utterances in the Night.

I had not such another encounter until I was in Tribeca, New York City. I had a "hands-on" experience with a bogeyman. Nascent was I with this otherness. Otherness, for me at the time, was an academic term used to describe the culturally disenfranchised. However, the 'otherness' I was attempting to disambiguate was a physical being in the abstract sense—perhaps more like an alter-ego, something like a conscience anthropomorphised: The Last Night I Dreamt of the Bogeyman (p. 13-14).

Clinically, this type of anthropomorphism could be termed as a hallucination, due to, in my case, a sleep disorder. Was my throat occluded by my tongue, thus blocking airflow to my brain, causing heart palpitations, raising my pulse rate--a seizure perhaps induced by hazardous medication(s): Hags and Nightmares. Sleep Paralysis and the Midnight Terror. The Hidden Shadows.

As I have witnessed when my eyes were wide open, the appearances of the Velvet Shadow were beginning to harass me when I began my diabetes treatment. The diabetes unfortunately was a symptom of a greater ghost provocateur: Cushings Disease. Although curable, the spiking hormonal imbalances allowed me to envision uncanny motion-stop impressions surreally over-voiced expressions: On Being Patient #2: Strike or Spike, part II; On Being Patient #3: Reversion Triggers, part I; On Being Patient #6: A Philosopher's Progress: (dis)Organization; On Being Patient #13: Recuperation: the Recovery of a Keen Being.

A recount on the recall, a revisitation, and a hormonal addendum, I curl up in bed, pondering my “sightings,” thinking funny thoughts--maddening, even as I walk stiffly, not sternly, painfully stout, frank in my steps from the office to the car, back to the castle which I refer to as home, then dinner, later withdrawal--haunted by my writings.

RECALIBRATE: Quelling Agitation (Digestive Disrupt)

Dreadful to get out of bed (off the couch) in the morning--or should I say, full of dread when I get out of bed this (every) morning since.... A sluggish stress across my chest--too heavy. I have a normal blood sugar level and a moderate blood pressure--adequate sleep--yet the solar and coronary plexuses are perplexing, aching my stomach and heart, breaking my sentences of thought.

Should I have returned to feed upon an old chum, a culinary musing, who remains swimmingly delicious, who for some reason turned from pleasantly peptic to atrociously septic, tanking what used to be my flash face, to flush. Now my chum is an estranged mate, a reflux/reflex that I find repulsive while I sleep through the night--a disruptive gurgle as I sleep through the night, and an acidic awakening--cramped in bed. How do I savor the sated moments we had together.

A fret and afraid, I phoned the doctor who was on call, who recommended that I cease my frenzied relationship with my toothsome friend--the shark who was a convivial contact, who was a gnashing flame: chum-luscious lava flowing through my gorge. I was encouraged to heed, to at least find a hum-drum recipe, frothy with placidity--although possibly a venture mercurial in nature, hopefully, now and then, a comfortable bid goodnight.

Nubilous Innocuous To Be Prepared

Lilly Flower

Baby Arugula

Wheat Noodles

Vine Ripe Tomato (thickly sliced)

Tuna Steak (cubed)

Whole Milk Mountain Gorgonzola (melted)

Recuperation: the Recovery of a Keen Being

With the follow-ups that followed, I had several doctor appointments: the otorhinolaryngologist (the logician for the endoscopic adenectomy surgery), my primary care physician, the adrenalectomy surgeon, and my endocrinologist. Prior to the scheduled appointments, on two separate occasions, I was in contact with the physician on-call to find out what I should do about the abdominal discomfort I was suffering. After each physician went over the symptom "causes for emergency" checklist, I was advised to wait to hear back from someone from the adrenalectomy team and from the endocrinologist--and try to wait until the scheduled appointment. I did receive word to pickup a prescription for my stomach, and that I should have some blood work done for the surgeon and endocrinologist to review prior to seeing them.

The appointment with the otorhinolaryngologist was fine; I was healed from the adenectomy--no residual complications. The appointment with my primary care physician was fine as well; he provided me with some advice in health management. The appointment with my adrenalectomy surgeon proved to me that I am not a hypochondriac. After reviewing the lab results and consulting with my endocrinologist, the surgeon had me admitted to the hospital for additional testing and an x-ray of my stomach, which would conclusively determine whether or not my abdominal problems were a complication from the surgery (i.e. infection) or from the regimen of medicines prescribed to replace the hormones once produced by the adrenal glands and to counterbalance the effects (diabetes, osteoporosis, high blood pressure) caused by the toxic levels of cortisol (Cushings Disease).

After a few days in the hospital, the physicians concluded that my body was in cortisol withdrawal and was adjusting to the prescribed medications. Relieved that there were no complications from the surgery, I could focus on recuperation, recovery, and remaining loyal to my endocrinologist's recommendations--she, who reminded me that my brain was/is still "swimming in cortisol," which is being reduced gradually and needs to be closely monitored until the disease abates and hormone levels are normalized. Understood, however, my appetite had not increased, nor had my fulsome taste perception become less sapid.

Perniciousness aside, when I was admitted to the hospital, as I had before, I was asked if I had any religious beliefs that would become a factor regarding my medical treatment options. I claimed that I did not have any doctrine-based concerns. However, since having my adrenal glands removed, the effects on my physiological systems makes this layperson ponder this profundity affecting my psyche--a hypothesis: a glandular soul in conjunction with an ethical one? The futility taxing my natural brain, calling upon a non-existent gland to automate my immune system, now "naturalized," reminding me to take action or else my health would progressively deteriorate automatically. My will is exhausted.

This depression would pass within time, I was informed during my preoperative consult with the surgeon, who indirectly encouraged me to "keep the faith." In respite, I had been able to contrive two recipes. An espresso has invigorated my ability to contemplate the renewal of my vitality.

A Successful Dilemma: A Cut-Out of Alacrity

When I signed the consent form (June 2011) to have the endoscopic transsphenoidal adenectomy (pituitary surgery through the nose), there was a clause stating that my sense of taste might alter for a unspecified period of time. Three months later, I am into my second week of recuperating from a laparoscopic adrenalectomy (surgical incisions located in the abdominal area). I needed to have this surgery because the partially removed pituitary gland continued to be "active" in triggering my adrenal glands to produce toxic levels of cortisol. The consequence from the surgeries on my eating habits, thus far, is that I have a decreased appetite. I am eating, however, not as enthusiastically as I had months ago.

I noticed the change in my sense of taste when I was on the post-andrenalectomy liquid diet, which consisted of broth, fruit-flavored gelatine, pudding, cranberry juice, iced tea, and water. The hospital cafeteria broth was the most alarming when contrasted to my memorable broth, made from fresh chicken stock. My broth should taste better than the water boiled with instant (powder) version. However, the other meal items tasted just as "funny." NOTE: the adrenal surgery was at the same hospital as I had in June for the pituitary. The menu's meal combination had not changed, nor had the vendor of these menu items, provisions that were well within their expiration date. The taste comparison was not the difference between two recipes, but the change in the evaluator's conclusion (due to his altered faculties): my memory of singular item(s) prepared no differently than before.
I did not fuss over the taste matter for fear that the issue might rouse a pedigreed reaction as opposed to a symptomatic classification. If either fear (or both) were provocative, I did not want to delay. I wanted to move bravely onward to solid food as quickly as possible without a hint of this incident. After all, the adenectomy and andrenalectomy were not about the purpose of heightening my ability to fathom seasoning "irregularities." (Follow-up to follow.)

My first solid meal was spinach quiche accompanied by a sausage patty. The breakfast was over-spiced; I did not take a second bite. Fortunately, the biscuit with margarine was bland enough. The decaffeinated tea (lemon) was swigalicious. For lunch, baked turkey sliced with gravy was accompanied by cheese and macaroni. Dinner was a fish fillet with paprika, roasted potatoes in addition. The turkey and fish overpowered my palette. The cheese and macaroni (likewise for the potatoes) was less sickening to the stomach.

My stomach was distended, not in contentment, but in need of relief. The stitches scarring my plumped belly were not a laughable gaseous distraction. A suppository did not make me sit and contemplate, nor did relaxation in the form of a pill soften my faecial expression or assist in the dispense of my airs.

At home ad nauseam for nought! Gladly, I am progressing since being discharged from the hospital. The depletion of hormonal toxins has yet to triumph my taste sense(s); the loss of appetite has yet to tuck into my tummy demure delights. I do find myself with a fully portioned plate, but not heaping. I find myself chewing, chewing more slowly--now in smaller bites. Adjusting for vagary as well!

Clearance Level

For the past two weeks, my concern, the obsession for the latter part of August, has been the consuming of enough dietary fiber--a discomforting, but welcomed distraction from thinking about the upcoming surgery to remove the glands that are producing high levels of cortisol in my body. Coping through constipation, to some extent, is a relief, is better than escaping reality through a blog that is supposed to be autobiographical verbatim, which raises the question, am I actually constipated? I cannot, as of yet to anyone online, provide distended proof! How do I? I would like to maintain my credibility!

Anyhow, this digestive system has blocked my creative flow, putting me behind schedule in posting to the blog. I have been feeding on fibrous foods (grains, vegetables, and pulses) while attempting to cut back on the carbohydrates. The underlying duress, due to the pending surgery, is preoccupying my subconscious attention, disrupting my focus in "subverting the system."

In my endeavor to add more dietary fiber into my meals (bran flakes, corn, butter beans), I was able to research and develop a recipe that I find delicious. [NOTE: seek out a nutritionist.]

Adrenal Casserole
Green Cabbage Leaf [spine removed] -- boiled (filtered water with sea salt)
Salami [sliced wafer thin] -- pan-fried (olive oil) -- goat cheese (dollop)
Wheat Pasta -- twirled stacks -- strands as borders*
Basa Fillet -- braised (olive oil and filtered water) -- oregano sprinkles -- lemon juice drips
White Onion [wilted slivers] -- sauteed (butter and filtered water) -- tomato sauce (balsamic vinegar)

In House Insights

When creating a recipe, I am uncertain as to whether or not I am being influenced solely by cultural ethnocentrism(s), current event(s), personal issue(s), moral dictate(s), fetishistic curiosity(ies), opportunistic happenstance(s), latent discovery(ies)--or by alchemical amalgamation.

Mushy Love

Olive Oil
Chopped Onion
Tomato Medley
    -- grape
    -- heirloom
    -- globe
Lime Juice (fresh)
Beech Mushrooms
Long Hot Pepper (rings)
Couscous
Parsley (air-dried, minced)
Beaufort Cheese (blocks)
Sardines (plain water)

Inept empiricism is helpful. My recipes are subconscious impulsions evolved from fancy--utilized referential cravings.

Tartine Salad with Speckled Eyes

Shredded Chicken (steamed, chilled)
Chives (diced)
Tomato (diced)
Tamarind Sauce
Peanuts

Tiny Cheddar Cheese Wheel (wax removed)
Clementine (peel removed)
Sesame Seed Crispbread

Chocolate Chip Cookies
Coffee

I cannot say that I am a person who is big on food preparation or presentation. I have more of an appetite for taste(s)--less for appetizing treatment(s).

Marmorean Goulash

Pork Ribs
  -- olive oil
  -- sea salt
  [sautéed thoroughly once sauced]

Frijoles Negros (from a can)
  [cooked wet to dry]

Pine Nuts/Garlic (crushed/minced)
  [pan-toasted lightly]
Tomato (diced)
Dried Mint (crumbled)
Coconut Cream (liquid)

Corn Tortilla Cheddar Cheese Melt (microwaved)
Picante Sauce

Iced Tea with Mineral Water

Marmorean Goulash

By exposing my recipe psyche, I celebrate the demographic challenge of maintaining provincial provisions.

Bring Home Birthday

August 6, 2011

To celebrate my niece's ("I'm over a quarter century years old") birthday, she asked if we could gather at Nana's house for a meal. I purchased a half bushel of #1 crabs.

Unfortunately I was beholden to the kitchen gadgets that I had forgotten at home, so I availed myself to the pots and pans that were within reach, at hand.

I had made the baked macaroni and (3) cheese the previous evening. I even remembered to bring the shredded hardened curd to sprinkle over the loaf during the reheat.

Getting the crabs from the basket to the boiling water took some acrobatics, and some hunter-gatherer technique.

Once the crabs were cooked, they were joined on the kitchen table with grandmom's 'falling off the

bone' beef ribs, her 'boulder' potato salad and cold chicken wings, auntie's 'cute' couscous, her mommy's

avocado dip (not pictured) and 'double' baked beans--and cousin's corn.

One chocolate and one lemon cake, accompanied with Neapolitan ice cream--we had for dessert. There were not enough candles for both cakes, so the chocolate was blazed, however both were devoured. Presents were not necessary, a nice to do. I did not. Having cooked over the past twelve hours, I took a snooze--budgeted.

An early evening--there was plenty of epicurean swag for everyone to bring home a plate (or two), bladder baggies for ingestion during the week.