Sick as a Dog

I've been recovering from a damaged esophagus this past week or so. Apparently, it's an unwanted souvenir from Europe (the last few days of the trip were spent throwing up in an Oxford loo and, upon returning, I would still get sick occassionally. And the last time I threw up was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back, severing something vital to wellbeing in my esophagus and sending me down a vortex of throat pain). And let me tell you, it is not fun. I would trade for your common cold, an allergic reaction-even the 24 hr flue. I am not good with pain. Some people are proud of their pain tolerance. I have no problem admitting that mine is a
negative ten.
The most difficult part of it is not being able to eat. So I've maintained my existence on Fortifies, a kind of protein drink for senior citizens (and, by default, I am fighting osteoperosis and memory loss!).
Since there is no joy at mealtimes, I've redirected myself and found purpose and pleasure in shopping (I am still a very effective consumer, damaged esophagus or not).
So far I've purchased:
1. a teal tank top (on sale!)
2. a lace shirt
3. a pair of jeans
4. Glamour magazine (something for my eyes to feast on since my stomach cannot feast on anything)
However, shopping is a temporary fix. As I sat at Starbucks, trying to force myself to drink some tea, I had a bit of a break down.
THIS IS NEVER GOING TO END! I WILL BE LIKE THIS FOREVER! I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO EAT AGAIN!
But today, for the first time, things seem to be getting better. Thank God for time. It, apparently, can heal anything. Even a damaged esophagus.
Autumn