I just had a Tums for the first time since chemotherapy three years ago. I'm pretty sure the bottle was the one my daughter left here that year, telling me, here, keep my car supply. My stomach refuses to give up this funk over those antibiotics. This is every bit as bad as when I learned I couldn't take naproxen, for the exact same reaction. I've barely eaten anything over the last week.
Although I admit, while it's uncomfortable and leaves me light-headed, I kind of want to see whether this forced reduction in calories takes off any of my pandemic chonk. Most of my clothes got pretty tight over the last year. It would be nice to have a little space to move in them. I am a long ways from having the noticeable weight loss my mom has had. I saw it for the first time when she was here last year, but it was really something when she sent me a picture showing how spring is coming to her property. Maybe I ought to dig out those skinny clothes I was hanging on to for luck, and send them to her instead. I hadn't seen a pair of jeggings hang that loose since... well, since yesterday when I tried to put a pair of 24 month jeggings on Valerie after a bath. (All I could hear in my head was Jeff Foxworthy's voice saying, "Like a frog in Sans-a-belt pants.")
I thought I was going to be okay to eat tonight. I threw in a frozen pizza (the GF ones from Costco are my go-to), and thought surely if I go somewhat plain on toppings, it will be fine. I needed something easy before driving Mr S-P to the airport (he's actually flying out to help a friend move--get you a friend like him!) All the way to DIA and back, my stomach told me in no uncertain terms that I made a grievous error. I wish eating was simpler for me. I could use a couple bland meals of things like Cream of Wheat, but no. I'd rather not eat at all than go through that hell. I know I'm probably most of the way through this gauntlet of dyspepsia, but those last few hits are gonna be hard.
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