My freezer is officially stocked.
Today, I made double batches each of tortilla, naan, and gyro dough, and I made another batch of apple cinnamon muffins. That means I really have all the bread I could use to eat all the food that is cooked, plus options like a chicken bacon taco here or there. Being so stocked, until some tastiness is consumed, I shall not be venturing on the pork and beef recipe learning I targeted for February. So, for the foreseeable future—barring Cookin' with Marie days—I really have no need for food production.
This is the naan dough, the last bit of food production in which I engaged. Doesn't it look ... not yet ready?? But once you cut it into a blob and dust it with flour, it really does roll out and cook up rather well. I very much wanted to eat one, more so for knowing that this batch—my first all-by-myself-naan-with-hybrid flour—is really okay, but I decided to be patient.
I did cook up one of the tortilla dough balls, to test out that weird flour, since I had leftover grilled chicken in the refrigerator. I spread it with herbed cream cheese, added the chopped chicken, and downed it rather easily. I do think tortillas are better with tacos than with cold cheese and meat. I also think flour tortillas are best with plain white flour instead of a mix of wheat and white.
The large mat in the photo is from a set of three sizes of flexible cutting boards that I got eons ago from the Home Shopping Network. Yes, that long ago. I kept it in the cardboard shipping container, really all but forgotten until I moved. When I was packing up the house, I thought about donating it, since I had never used it. However, I decided to toss in on the truck and deal with it later. It has been sitting tucked away behind the refrigerator, and I almost down-sized it during the construction this summer. Boy, am I glad that I did not do so!
If you had told me even just a few months ago I would be doing all of this cooking and eating primarily homemade food (plus Taco Bell and Chick-Fil-A), I would have guffawed so loud and long as to bring on an asthma attack. Well, you can definitely cross "yeast" off of Myrtle's Great and Consuming Fear List. Kneading ... well ... that's another matter all together. My yeast use has not really required all that much skill in the kneading department. I dream of becoming a Sourdoughmaker. SIGH.
Cooking has been a superb coping mechanism.
Sadly, no reducing/organizing/donating or cooking is currently needed in this household.
What will I do now??
I am really struggling with the very likely outcome of having to choose between medications. Really, for me, there is no choice. I will choose sanity over digestion every time. Of course, should the small change in formula be enough to stave off that choice, I still cannot tolerate the full dose of theophylline needful to keep the fainting at bay and remain on the erythromycin. The entire situation is incredibly discouraging and defeating. That's really the rub with Dysautonomia. There is no cure, no treatment. There is only trying to manage symptoms in the individual, never really knowing what, how, or even why treatments work.
The female surgeon did get the cardiologist to see me sooner (the 17th). That was kind of her. So, too, is her concern and her honesty about the situation. She has debated several times if removing my ovaries would help. I wish I could capture her wit when she talks about it. That would either be the best thing possible or the worst. We wouldn't know until she did it. And taking out your ovaries is not something that can be undone. What I like best about her ... even more so than all the encouragement and listening and mercy ... is that she is not bothered by the fact that it is not easy to pinpoint or explain why it is that the low-dose hormones turned off the non-stop bleeding and the Niagara Falls of emotion so quickly and so effectively. She, more than any doctor I have seen, embraces the mysteries of how Dysautonomia affects so much in my body. She was merely joyful that she found a solution that helped so immensely.
After talking about the situation, she asked if she could hug me.
I nodded.
And was not afraid because she genuinely believes me to be immensely brave.
Silly surgeon.
Nice nonetheless.
[I do not believe in aromatherapy.]
In need of a bit of comfort, I gave Amos a bath. Lavender wafting up from a puppy dog is just about the best thing on the planet. I was shaking so much that the dreaded cleaning of the muck about his eyes lasted far, far, far too long where Amos was concerned. However, he has found his own coping mechanism.
Amos spent three hours curled up in my lap beneath the electric blanket. I swear I could hear him giving thanks for Celia and Eric again. Amos now most fervently believes all puppy dogs should have electric blankets in their lives.
You can see that I girded my loins for the evening by clothing myself in GREEN from head to toe.
The female surgeon is also trying to find a solution to a couple other needs, commenting that she wished she could do more. She asked me if I had a wish list. And looked a bit puzzled when I promptly listed the first item I keep on the one I carry around with me: To hear a reminder that I am forgiven each day. She asked what else was on it. I quickly added: Someone to scrub my tub. That made her laugh. I told her that I would add vacuuming to my wish list because I get so shaky and sweaty and am shagged for eons afterwards, but really vacuuming is needed much more often than tub scrubbing is.
- To hear a reminder that I am forgiven each day
- Someone take me to doctor appointments
- Help with the main shopping trip each month
- My tub scrubbed every once in a while
- The Living Word read to me a few times a week
- Someone with whom to talk about/read the Christian Book of Concord
- Magellan Content Manager installed on my MAC
- My Kindle connected to the library so I can borrow ebooks
- Someone to pray an office of prayer once a week
- A writing partner
- A reminder before my baptism anniversary so I don't miss it
- Someone to check that I have paid the non-automatic bills
- Someone to push me about the Botanical Conservatory when the exhibits change
- The too-long curtains upstairs hemmed
- My car washed periodically
I am Yours, Lord. Save me!
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