I miss coffee. Dear Lord, I miss coffee. I miss how it smells, I miss the bitterness, I even miss the colour it turns when you put milk in it. I also miss tea and pizza and ravioli and spicy udon and sushi and every other food I cannot eat. Because in the span of a month and a half, I’ve been reduced to eating congee and vermicelli noodles with no sauce. In the span of a month and a half, my body has idiotically decided that it hates any and all food that tastes like anything and prefers that I suffer from persistent nausea and occasional vomiting.
This is me complaining. This is me complaining very very loudly. It isn’t enough that I’m born with some ridiculous allergy that makes it impossible to eat nearly every fruit and vegetable raw. It isn’t enough that I’m Chinese but I can’t eat oyster sauce, a large part of almost every single delicious Chinese dish you have ever consumed. It isn’t enough that I am lactose intolerant and that every single year when Spring comes around, I take an allergy pill twice a day just so I can breathe. No. Now my stomach can’t handle food. And nobody knows why.
I have been to more doctor’s appointments and through more procedures in the last month and a half than in the last 4 years of my life. I am 22 years old with a family physician, a dermatologist, an allergist, and a freaking cardiologist. And tonight, I managed to throw up everything that I ate today. I couldn’t hold down a simple pasta with tomato sauce. So I take a pill every morning that doesn’t seem to help. And I undergo sedation and have a tube shoved down my throat for nothing. And I complain. Because I just want a freaking meat lover’s pizza and cheesy garlic bread and big ol’ cup of Earl Grey.