why I hate pears

I owe some of you an apology. Well, probably most of you, for some reason or another, but the ones who are getting one today are sinus sufferers. Yup, that’s what I said. See, there are two kinds of people in the world. There are those of you who read that last phrase, with the mention of the sinuses, and thought, “booooring. Poo. I half thought this blog was going somewhere juicy.” And then there are others of you, who have actually had sinus problems, and your precious hearts went out. Having undergone the agony of the throbbing head, the gucky drainage, and the stuffy nose, ears, hair follicles etc, you FEEL for those sinus sufferers.
Unfortunately, until about October, I was one of the former. And yes, if you ever told me your sinuses were bothering you, I confess that the words you were saying were interpreted as something in between, “I stubbed my toe a few weeks ago,” and those sounds that Charlie Brown’s mom makes on the videos. Basically, I ignored you.
Well thanks to the world’s. worst. january. in Charlotte, NC (always fall, never winter), I now get it.
I will tell you how I experienced it, so if you have kept reading this scintillating entry you will get the distinct priviledge of experiencing sinus drainage issues from the standpoint of a hypochondriac. Now if that isn’t an interesting story plot, what is.
Anyhow, at first I thought I was dying of a throat tumor. Yes, I webmd-ed “throat cancer,” “lump in throat,” “hard to swallow,” etc, etc. Yes, I visited the ENT. I inwardly scoffed at (and dismissed) his diagnosis of “sinusitis.” As the weeks turned into months, and we plotted through January slushing through mud puddles one day, sweating the next, and rummaging for gloves by the weekend, let’s just say our sinuses have been through the equivalent of an air-pressure blender. And yes, I turned into one of those people (they’re not all over 50, apparently) weeping and moping about “my poor sinuses.”
Luckily, I have a few listeners more sympathetic than I’ve been. Todd repeatedly reminded me (still reminds me) in periods of fear and trembling that, probably, you don’t have a tumor in your nose, and probably, we don’t have mold growing irrevocably in the foundations of our house, and most likely, it will eventually turn into spring. Most likely.
Also, my mom. She listened, she commiserated, she suggested remedies. And here is where things turned a bit south, in referenced to the pears formerly mentioned. Somehow between the two of us, we determined that there was probably a group of foods tormenting those poor sinuses even more. Call them allergies, if you will (I will; she won’t), call them triggers if you’d rather, but the point became, why don’t you try an elimination diet.
Now if you know me, you know that any sort of “diet” (unless it is some sort of experimental, eat-appetizers-every-three-hours diet), should be suggested timidly, tenantively, and with no expectation of success, as one might approach a wild bear with hopes of a hug. It’s a bad idea. And, truly, this was a most terrible idea, because between the two of us the lines of communication got crossed and through my head-throbbing fever somehow the list of foods I believed I should eat was whittled down to about four. Chicken, bananas, rice. And pears.
While I was sick with a sinus infection. And a headache. Needless to say, we’ve seen more cheerful family moments. I wasted away to a shadow of myself. I exaggerate not. I dreamed about cheese, fantasized about ketchup, drooled over Sam’s breakfast sausage. It was bad. And it was only 72 hours.
At that point, Todd walked in the closet and there occured a conversation that went something like this:
Todd: Why are you sitting on the floor in the closet?
me: I’m praying. I’m asking God if I can have some Papa John’s.
Todd: (chuckling, because he has no idea what it is like to eat a pear for every meal) Well why don’t you come out?
me: This is taking all my strength.
Later, when I had somehow traversed to the living room:
me: You never answered me about the pizza. You’re not helping at all. You aren’t even paying attention. (If this seems harsh, remember, he has had a chili dog for dinner, and I have consumed less calories all day than I usually eat for breakfast.)
Todd: Well, I’m not sure if the pizza is a good idea right now. You’re sick. But I have questioned the timing of this plan.
And that, folks, was somehow the snap back to reality. Today, as I speak to you, I am on day 2 of antibiotics for, wait for it – nod in sympathy – THE SINUS INFECTION. Are you sympathizing??? You should be. Also, I have eaten more foods. Some bread, which tasted like heaven, and a waffle, and, I do admit, a pear. But it’s because I wanted to. Not because I like them, but because I preemptively bought three bags, and I am too frugal not to. But when the bags are done, that’s it. No more pear diet. I can promise you that if I do ever do an elimination diet, I will choose an alternate fruit. And it will be more clearly planned. And it won’t be during, you know, the dreaded S.I. !!!!


3 thoughts on “why I hate pears

  1. Pingback: a budget that finally worked for us (the “crazy budget post”) | Smartter Each Day

  2. Pingback: a budget that finally worked for us (the crazy budget post) | Smartter Each Day

  3. Pingback: How Anxiety & Depression Affect Health - Intentional By Grace

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