Some Days Are Whoppers

I have been blessed with several people in my life who never said "I told you so." My Aunt Harriet and my friend Mary Jo never said this straight out to me.  They knew I had food sensitivities about twenty years before I came to the realization that I had food sensitivities.  Many years ago, my friend Noreen asked me, "Why would you have white bread in your freezer?"  Back then, I did not even understand the question.

Food sensitivities are complicated. They are different from food allergies - think nuts and difficulty breathing. They are different from food intolerances - think milk lactose and bathroom challenges. Food sensitivities stem from a plethora of reasons. Symptoms are varied, even delayed several days after eating something culpable.   My understanding is that 95% of humans have food sensitivities to varying degrees. When I consider this statistic, I do not feel so alone.

When I am feeling disciplined and emotionally healthy, I restrict my diet.  I feel great - less achy, less foggy, and more energetic.  Two mantras that help me a great deal are

"My body is a temple." (Bible)

and

"Let food be your medicine and let medicine be your food."  (Hippocrates)

The very first time I restricted my diet, it was hard for me to believe I would never eat a Burger King Whopper again.  I am not sure why a Whopper. I was not addicted to Whoppers, probably had one several times a year.  I think they must represent for me the ultimate in something that is so good and so bad all wrapped up with a side of fries and a Coke.

Over fourteen years ago, Jay and I experienced something that was so good and so bad all wrapped up together. We felt overwhelming joy while witnessing unimaginable loss. Both at the same time. This is the reality of adoption.

As we settled at home the first evening with our beautiful baby daughter, I made plans for our dinner.  I told Jay, "I'm going to Burger King. You want a Whopper?"  Jay said something like, "Whoa."  It had been a long time since either of us had asked the other this question.

As I drove to the local Burger King, I realized that it had been impossible for us to prepare.  We had known that the day after our daughter was born would be the best day of our lives juxtaposed with the worst day of our birth mother's life. Somehow knowing this and living this were not the same.

I gave my order at the drive thru menu board.  "Two Whopper meals with Cokes, please."  The young man taking my order asked, "Do you want onion rings with that?"

I guess I lost it just then. It hit me, like a sucker punch, "My God, does everything have to be this difficult?" And in a measured voice I asked, "Did I say I wanted onion rings?"

I did not know until months later that Burger King changed its meal options to fries or onion rings. The man taking my order was asking a simple question. He just did not know what he was up against: a new mom, experiencing joy and loss, knowing the joy would never completely ease the pain of loss for any of us, ever.

Now over fourteen years later, I still think of that drive thru moment. When things in life seem hard, perhaps much harder than they need to be, I ask under my breath, "Did I say I wanted onion rings?"