Chapter 4: The More Colors That You Eat

Mini Memoir, Chapter 4

«CHAPTER 3: DOES NOT BEAR REPEATING

The more colors that you eat, the further you will go
The more colors that you eat, the stronger you will grow
-The Weepies

More fiber. More fruits. More protein. More probiotics. More veggies. More variety. More water. More supplements. More whole grains. More fish. More lean meat. More exercise. More sleep. Track everything.

Fewer calories. Less sugar. Less alcohol. Less white flour. Fewer fried foods. Fewer preservatives. Fewer processed foods. Less fatty meat. Less exercise. Less sleep. Don't be so obsessed.

Love food. Proceed with caution. Love food. Be very afraid. Food heals. Food kills. Just shut up about it and eat. Just shut up about it and stop eating so much.

Can't you see? It's easy, dummy!

I am a food expert. I’d guess I’ve spent more hours pondering food than many of the world’s best chefs. Been doing it for as long as I can remember. I'd venture to guess most U.S.-raised woman-identifying people can relate.

I'll give you that I may not hold Barefoot Contessa level expertise. As much as I might have fantasized about the perfect meal at my table with good old Ina and friends - ideally, such friends as Alice Waters, Nigella Lawson, Eric Ripert, and Anthony Bourdain (it’s my fantasy; I can have anyone there that I want), it’s probably best for all our sakes that said meal exists only in my dreams.

You see, I may be a food expert, and I do like to cook when my body allows, but Top Chef won't be calling me any time soon. No, the hours I’ve put in to make me an expert have primarily been spent in agony, not in acquiring any actual skills.

Agony over whether I’ve consumed too much. Or perhaps at the wrong time. Or in the wrong way? Wrong place? Agony over whether I've made the wrong choice… for my skin or my hair or my heart or my liver or my butt or my thighs or my brain or my money or my morals.

In the After Times, since I’ve been sick, I have thought about food more than I’d previously imagined possible. I have tinkered with my diet in all of the doctor-recommended, nutritionist-recommended, thin-person-recommended, expert-looking-person-recommended ways possible. I have targeted all of the bad guys - sugar, gluten, alcohol, processed foods, saturated fats, trans fats, my own fat.

Guess what?

I’M STILL SICK!

In 2023, I heard a talk by a doctor who has been deep in the COVID research trenches from the beginning, a doctor I respect deeply (as do many others, including his peers). This doctor presented early findings and hypotheses from his research on Long COVID.

Among those hypotheses was the idea that fat tissue might contribute not only to the ceaseless mental torture of women raised in modern-day Western cultures (my addition to the hypothesis), it may actually serve as a cozy little resting place for the SARS-CoV-2 virus.

You mean those extra rolls on my belly are like some sort of welcome mat for those prickly little fuckers? “Roll on in, buddies! It’s nice and cushy in here!”

So, on a mission to fix the fat and the fatigue, I enlisted the help of everyone's latest obsession, semaglutide. Say whatever you want about the drug and my decision to take it. Just know that I don't have the spoons or the fucks to engage in a debate over either.

Over the past year, I've lost 50 pounds. I'm now at what is officially considered a healthy BMI, whatever that means.

And guess what?

I'M STILL SICK!

Do I feel more comfortable in my not-fat body? Yup. Am I happy to be able to wear cherished clothes again? You bet. Is the world kinder to me and am I suddenly more visible now that there's less of me to be seen? 1000 percent yes, absolutely.

I've been fat and not-fat. I've been sick and not-sick in both bodies. I'll tell you what we all already know: life is WAY easier for not-fat people. But you know why? Because we hate fat people. And we do everything we can to bully them into hating themselves.

Well guess what? KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF.

There's nothing like the constant of one cloak of invisibility (my illness/disability) plus the change of another over time (my fatness) to put to the test whether a single cloak is all that is needed to remain invisible in the world or if one's invisibility is layered/multidimensional.***

And what does this simple field test with an N of 1 reveal? Invisibility DOES have multiple dimensions! You can become more invisible than you already are!

In my case, an attempt to ease my Long COVID symptoms resulted in an unintended complete reversal of fortune in terms of my visibility in the world.

More people notice me these days. As in, I'm literally less likely to get hit by a car when I cross the street. I'm serious. Pedestrian safety has been a real concern in my community of late, and how hard it is to get cars to notice me and stop has noticeably changed since my weight has noticeably changed. And more people hold the door for me now. I get more compliments than I did before including on things that I've always had or done - my glasses, my coat, my notebook, whatever I'm knitting.

And guess what?

I'M STILL SICK!

But you know what I'm not still doing? I am no longer agonizing over food. Because even though I'm still sick, that funny little drug I took to get to that meaningless number on a meaningless chart that has led to more people complimenting my glasses and stopping at crosswalks also turned off all that noise in my head that caused all that agony.

So let's take stock. I'm still sick but we have a few wins of note. Significantly, my doctors and any of you out there who might be doing the same can stop gaslighting yourselves into wondering if my fatness is to blame for my Long COVID. I gave up on that hypothesis a long time ago but what a relief for you! It isn't. It wasn't.

What else? Oh! I'm now less likely to be hit by a car. Fatigue will kick in less quickly because I now have to open fewer doors for myself. And the best one yet: more room in the noggin’ for thoughts of my own design. Food agony, please pack your knives and go!

***Keen observers will note my late age as an additional cloak of invisibility but I've left it out intentionally for the sake of simplicity. Cut this Long COVID brain a break, please. 😃

CHAPTER 5: GOTTA HAVE YOU»