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.

Gratefully Fed

July 30, 2011

This heatwave morning, I wrestled my arms through the backpack's shoulder straps (with a monograph book enclosed in the compartment, water bottle affixed). I then walked (approximately three-quarters of a mile at a non-exercise pace) to the neighborhood's (traveling) farmer's market. Amongst the small crowd, I was able to purchase some heirloom tomatoes, corn, and peaches. I sauntered a short distance to the park, sat down at a cafe table, drank the water, read a chapter, and ate the seemingly innocuous apeche fruit amongst a gathering of festive folk.

Once back home, I had a lunch-snack consisting of two locally manufactured turkey hotdogs, which were accompanied with horseradish mustard, triangular chips, and an iced tea drink. Having read a couple of magazine articles, I then filled the laundry machine, and then washed dishes while I waited for the freshly ground coffee to percolate.

For evening dinner, I prepared:

• A Heirloom Tomato (olive oil)

• Steak Skirt (sea salt)

• Corn on the Cob (butter)

• Brown Rice

As I watched the televised broadcast news, I was grateful that I did not need to be stamped for approval, and that the distance I traversed coupled with the meal(s) consumed were not part of a warlords' travail laden with diminished provisions--grateful that the Somali plunder has yet to go global.

Redeeming Qualities: Sources of Frustration

July 3 - 18, 2011

"I am your mother! I gave you life, and I can take your life away," my Maw reminded me ever since I understood the words she exclaimed. Fortunately, for her, I was a precocious child, and I understood exactly what her initial introduction and first impression meant.

"I will always be your mother no matter how old you are," she declared even before I could articulate my siren sobs into wordy wails, which is acceptable when you are forty-five days old, but not when you are forty-five years old.

However, my mother stayed with me dutifully in my hospital room as I ranted about overcrowded refrigerator space, and how I had not allotted enough space for her foodstuff, about how I had planned meals for the next couple weeks so that she could focus on overseeing my recuperation once home.

I incessantly droned on, complaining that she had not called me in advance, when she said she would--touch base before leaving to pick me up and take me home, so that I could coordinate with my nurse the publication of my discharge papers.

"My status just changed. The shift just changed. The new nurse is going to have to review all of her cases. I am last, in priority, on the list!!! Now we are going to have to wait several hours while the critical-care patients are attended to. We are going to rack up parking fees. [I WANNA GO HOME, MOMMY! WAAH!!!]"

Maw waived away the concerned hospital staff as she tried not to make sense of her post-surgery, traumatized son's ill behavior. She considered whether or not (or how) she was going to sustain my life. For I was to be released under her care.

"Once I get you home, you are going to get your rest," Maw threatened from her pursed lips.

Alerted, I knew that I was not going to receive the private prenatal care I regressively desired, but would receive the public toddler discipline tactics she could deftly inflict: bicker banter provocative punishment.

"You're not doing what the doctor [intern] said," my Maw tattled.

"You're not doing what the doctor [primary-specialist] said you should be doing, what you said you agreed to do, going to do--as I said before what I needed you to do the last time you said 'OK' to, but did not do, but you promised you would do to get done, that you are complaining about now like you did then, ditty-doo," I scolded incoherently after taking my post-op 'use care when using machines' [or engaging in complex thinking] medication.

"This is not my problem. I am your mother," she said in mantra, intoning infallibility.

Infantile tantrums and maternal tsk tsks were in abundance for the first couple of days in our familial captivity. The two of us recognized and acknowledged the burdensomeness of our emotional breakdowns and the possibility of obtaining satisfaction. Since I was past the critical stages regarding home healthcare assistance, what was of importance now was getting to my follow-up doctor appointments. Maw had some upcoming appointments as well. We coordinated our calendars (aka scheduled conflicts) to determine when she would need to be here with me for consecutive days.

With time spent dining on culinary musing repeaters (and Maw drinking her power protein powder fruit smoothies), we set aside an evening to partake of Continental To-Go from the Orient (aka Chinese Takeout) for dinner.

We ordered menu items that were familiar to us, menu items that she and I have eaten for over thirty-eight years:

• Shrimp Roll
• Egg Roll Pork
• Shrimp Egg Foo Young
• Moo Shu Pork
• Barbecued Spare Ribs
• Fried Noodles
• Duck Sauce
• Pepper Oil
• Fortune Cookies

Continental To-Go from the Orient

The only disappointment was that there were no almond cookies available. I forgot to request hot mustard. Nevertheless, that night, Maw and I were fully sated--with leftovers for lunch the next day.

Acclimation: Try Try Again

As I progressed towards my second pituitary tumor resection, my physicians had some concerns about the amount of stress that could be potentially placed upon my heart, while under anesthesia during the surgery. For I was not as fit as an astronaut--if I had ever been. Although not a requirement for the operation, they were not certain as to how my body would withstand being in suspended animation for several hours. A stress test was ordered.

The goal of the stress test was to get my heart rate up to one hundred and fifty beats per minute, then take an electrocardiogram reading. The reading, coupled with an ECHO, was reviewed by my Cardiologist, who would give the "go ahead." Prior to his approval, a good indicator, for me, was that I did not hock up a lung during the test, nor did I hurl my lunch, which I ate forty-five minutes later: must be control over the reflux nerves!

The surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, June 29, 2011. The Cardiologist confirmed that my heart had enough stamina to handle the operation. So, on Tuesday evening, before midnight, I prepared and devoured Sprouting Beef:

Sprouting Beef

• Boiled
  • Brussels Sprouts
  • Garlic (minced)
  • Egg Noodles
  • Water (filtered)
    
• Pan-fried
  • Cubed Chuck (bite-sized)
  • Coriander Seeds (ground)
  • Jerk Spice
  • Olive Oil
  • Boiled Broth
  • Arrowroot

Sprouting Beef

Post-operation, I was monitored for a couple of days in the Intensive Care Unit.  Having no resounding complications, I was transferred to the Acclimation Ward.

Acclimation Ward

The goal was to rehabilitate the normal do-it-yourself (DIY) home healthcare tasks, and to take note of the severe post-op symptoms: the warning signs of adrenal insufficiency. The DIY for me to focus upon was bathing.

Contemplating DIY Bathing

A day later, I was back home. I quickly re-acclimated myself with the kitchen: utensils and all.

Subtle Tureen and Cute Ladle Soup

• Wasabi Paste
• Garlic (minced)
• Pickled Ginger (minced)
• Chicken Stock
• Veggie Noodle Strings
• Corn Niblets
• Shrimp (frozen)

As I ate, I watched TV. Soon after, I was upstairs drawing a bath and bathing, during which I caught-up on my podcasts (and while flushing my nose and cleaning the tub). I put on some shorts and t-shirt, then was at the coffee table reading the literature given to me by my Endocrinologist. I checked my email, washed the dishes, and acquired an appetite for a roast beef sandwich with swiss, spicy-mustard, mayonnaise, thick tomato slice on wheat--cheese-powdered chips on the side.

Appetite acclimated, I hungered for sleep and the morn--Once Home Breakfast:

Once Home Breakfast

• D'Anjou Pear (peeled, cored, poached)
• Filtered Water
• Lemon Squeeze
• Brown Sugar
• Butter



• Sun Dried Tomato (minced)
• Turkey Bacon (chopped)
• Creme de Coconut
• Heavy Cream



• Flounder Fillets (smothered)



• Croissants (petite)
• Pear (halves)
• Kokos Relish (spread)
• Dried Herb Spine (mint)
• Eggs (sunny-side, pointed)

Once Home Breakfast