My Apologies

To the few who read my blog religiously every day... my apologies for not fulfilling my contract yesterday.
Fridays I take Anthony to gymnastics. This week was also my son, Jesse's birthday. Friday evening after gymnastics I was to stop in at a house and have a slice of celebratory cake with the family (and extended family). Custom says that it is bad luck not to take an offering of such. To say no to a piece of birthday cake (no matter how small or large the slice) is akin to standing in line to be blessed by the pope, only to be at the head of the line and say "You know, I think I'm OK for now, maybe next week" Well, let me tell you, next week won't come, that is how superstitious I am. If it is custom... just do it. Reminds me of a story my dad told me about his early days in the Navy. This was during the Suez Canal troubles, (in the middle eastern part of the world). The Mediterranean area has many different ideas on eating. There is bounty from the sea as well as bounty from the land. Greek salad jumps to mind whenever I heard the word Mediterranean. Hmmmm, feta cheese comes from goats (sometimes sheep too) and when a goat is "done" (if you catch my drift) the animal is thrown in a pot, or stuck on a spit or roasted in a pit. Nothing goes to waste on the animal, everything is eaten. My father was a pretty brave man when it came to nuclear warheads, gun ships even living with my mother (she could be a bit of a tempest). However, when it came to food, especially meat, he was faint hearted. He loved his Sunday roast beef dinners with Yorkie pudding, loved his beef and bisto with mash, loved toad in the hole (his specialty) but somehow the sight of a whole goat head peering out at him from under the tomatoes and bay leaves was just not something that he thought that he could do. But, custom is custom and he did not want to insult his host and hostess, so he clenched the table with one hand and his fork with the other and ate with a formidable gusto that had never been witnessed at this Greek table. Not that my father enjoyed what he ate, but he said that he just had to do it quick before he thought too much about what he was about to eat. I think the word Ouzo was in the story a couple of times to. So you might wonder where I am going with this story and how it ties into birthday cake. Well, almost a year ago now I had a gastric bypass, the results have been amazing (to me) yet have left some side effects which can be disastrous. While your stomach is the smart one in the body, your brain continues to say "Oh, go ahead, one little piece won't hurt... go on...you know you want too" So since your brain rules the neurological functions like lifting the fork to your mouth, you decide to have a sliver of dastardly delight. Well, this cake was a manifestation of heaven on earth. Never have I experienced such a melodious melding of butter, cream,sugar, chocolate all in one tiny bite. Sex doesn't even come close to how this morsel of celebratory custom can make you feel. As Mrs. Brown would say "It's like getting ten numbers on the bingo card". Only thing is after the brain has gotten its way, it is off the hook and the rest of your endocrine system has to deal with the toxic shock of "getting a piece". There is a syndrome called "dumping syndrome" which is a major to do with gastric bypass patients. The symptoms range from mild to severe and can last any where from half an hour to hours on end. I have been very careful (not to the point of being a saint, I must admit) to stick to what I know is OK for me to eat. If the brain is begging for a hit of sugar, then I will seek out the lowest level of sugar available while still getting some ( 6 grams seems to be the magic number) This cake last night was probably in the 6 gram mark... but with a 0 after the 6... yeah about 60 grams for a sliver. Read here: holy crap. Now, the word dumping syndrome would make you think: dumping... hmmm. probably involves sitting on a white throne for several hours begging god to take you quickly 'cause if you "dump" any more the paramedics will only find a shadow of your former self and you will be inside out sitting on the john. Not necessarily the case, most of the time for me (thank god) it is a matter of extreme shakes, the feeling of being hot and cold at the same time, clammy skin and an overwhelming desire(and need) to puke out everything down to my toes. Thing with gastric bypass is that when you do vomit, it tastes the same coming out as it did going in. Your upset that you're puking, but you're going "wow, that really was great cake". No bile in your new stomach so you don't get that horrible bitter taste, and it comes back out the same tract that it went in, so nothing through the nose. I know, lots of info, but I really want you to know what kept me from my writing promise of 2010. The good news is I feel much better this morning, the effects of the cake did not last more than a couple of hours, and I will never again listen to the grey mass that thinks it rules my stomach, in my internal world the stomach is queen, or as Rumpole of the Bailey would say "She who must be obeyed!"
So there be it, I am happy that I ate cake for my son, happy that I didn't have to be scraped up off the bathroom floor and happy that it is a new day.
Cheers, (and don't pass the cake)
Cat x