I had a great day with grandsons Joey and Oliver, who were out of school today. We played games and talked and laughed together. I took the boys to lunch at IHOP, at their request, and there I messed up in my choice of a meal.
The boys made their selections off of the menu, as did Greg, who had joined us for lunch. I had a difficult time finding anything suitable on the menu of a restaurant known for its pancakes. The waitress was patiently awaiting my order. I asked whether I could have an egg substitute veggie omelette. The answer was yes, and I could have a side of fresh fruit.
That seemed perfect.
My grandchildren are very aware of my plant based diet and extremely encouraging. Joey and Oliver expressed concern that I was trying an unknown food product. When they asked if I’d be okay, Greg prophetically answered, “She will know in a couple of hours.”
True words. As I was driving my grandsons home after a fun afternoon, I began to feel nauseated. The nausea increased and my stomach began to hurt. After dropping the boys off and chatting with my son, I headed home, in the grips of pain and fighting the urge to throw up.
I don’t throw up, like I don’t cry. I am sure the two are connected. Its been 33 years since I last threw up, a single time during my pregnancy with daughter Adriel. Throwing up would make me feel better, in the same way that shedding tears would be a huge release.
But I can’t. I fight it. I hurt because I can’t.
Tonight I stayed on the mat. By the time I got home, I had made the decision to stop fighting my body, and to stop resisting. I’ll withhold the details, but it wasn’t easy, and it was physically painful. However, I broke my long standing record. I stayed present with myself and refused to try to control what was happening. And now, I am feeling better.
Because I tried something that was more of a food like product, rather than wholesome food, I missed grandson’s Dayan halftime performance of Thriller and Time Warp with the Bulldog Marching Band tonight. It’s a play off game for Carl Junction and with Halloween approaching, Dayan and the band members were in zombie make-up. I’m grateful Elissa recorded the performance.
And I will not be eating egg substitute ever again. To be fair, it might have been the way the omelette was prepared. Butter or margarine might have been the culprit. I won’t be finding out.
Next time, I’ll simply have the bowl of fresh fruit.