I realized this morning that I may have come a long way, but I still have work to do, and lot’s of it. The situation that brought on this thought was my husband offering to cook for me. He wanted to bring me breakfast in bed, and said he would like to make me French toast. I’ve had plenty French toast over the past few months, so that wasn’t an issue…Well, actually it was. I often have breakfast at my parents house, with my mom preparing the food. I don’t observe exactly how she makes it…but I know the gist of what goes into the meal. This morning when my husband offered to make French toast, I could see in my mind’s eye, Ed. Ed has been sleeping a lot these past few weeks, but he must be all caught up because this morning I heard his voice loud and clear “He might make it differently than what your mom does…he might use more butter. He might add milk to the egg.” So I asked if I could have peanut butter toast instead. “Do you have jelly?” I asked. Ed was hoping the answer would be no. “I think so. I think I have a few options.” My husband answered. Ed panicked. “Hmmmm…how about peanut butter toast?” I asked. “French”. I groaned. Ed told me I should have peanut butter toast and a banana. That way I got a fruit taken care of for the day. (This is a typical breakfast I was “prescribed” by my dietitian when I first began seeing her. She has given me much more freedom now, so if Ed would shut up I could just explain to him that I could have fruit with my French toast too…). Finally I shut my mouth, and even though Ed was still able to speak a bit through the gag I put on him, I drowned him out by reading a bit while I waited for breakfast. In bed.
What happened after all of that fighting between Ed and I? I ate the French toast. It was delicious. And the only reason I am still thinking about it is because I’m writing this. Otherwise I would have moved on with my day. That is a huge improvement from the symptoms I had before. 6 months ago, I would have obsessed over this meal for ages. Maybe it would only last today, or perhaps the agitation and anxiety would carry over into the next. I would “punish” myself (though I didn’t necessarily call it that…but that is what it was) by restricting at other meals throughout the day.
I am so thankful that I have a husband who fights Ed with my, even if he isn’t privy to the ongoing dialogue. I am also thankful that my husband takes the time to make me breakfast in bed, because it’s “fun” and he knows it’s not something I typically get to do. This guy is the one who got upset when I was in the depths of my battle, and I was giving up. He knew it. And he pleaded with me to get help. At one point he left the room and sat down on the bed in our bedroom. I crept in and apologized, and told him I would take help. But we both knew I didn’t mean it. This is the guy who doesn’t really like vegetables, but knows I am in the adequacy phase of my recovery, and trying to get more fruits and vegetables in, so he bought some little single servings of frozen broccoli and cheese. This is the guy who got regular mayo on my sub sandwich, when I requested lite, and asked me to also get meat on it. He’s the one who bought a muffin from Kwik Star and told me it was my “fun food”, much to my horrified (Ed) delight (me), and then proceeded to ask me throughout the evening if I was “thinking about the muffin” until I laughingly said “should I just eat it?” . Between him, my parents, my sister’s, and my in-laws…I have a great base of support here at home. And I know there are others out there, extended family, friends, and strangers, who are there to give me the accountability I need. I feel so loved, and so blessed.