Pre-Story🔗

Let's pick up the story from Real Deal Burger

... Not only for the juicy hemoglobin, also for the hemoglobin hemoglobin. More on that later.

What do I meant by "hemoglobin hemoglobin"? Hemoglobin is a certain protein in red blood cells that binds oxygen. It's measured in most of the blood panel tests as an index of how much oxygen your blood carries. Though it's scientifically not correct to call the bloody red blood hemoglobin, as hemoglobin is a protein in the red cells in the blood not the blood itself. Given its key role in fulfilling blood's functionality, hopefully the use of synecdoche (hemoglobin <-> blood) here is well understood. Believe it or not, the quickest way to boost hemoglobin level is to eat the juicy hemoglobin. You may ask, wait, but why?

Back to the story, I was originally scheduled for a surgery that involves minor incisions. On the day of my birthday after more exams, I was informed the plan had changed. Not the it-wont-hurt-much teeny tiny pinholes but the oh-its-gonna-hurt whopping 10cm cut. What a message to receive on my birthday. Feels like the kind of mischievous prank fate would play on you. Actually, the whole experience of going to the hospital on my birthday has been, for the lack of better word, bitter sweet.

...: Date of birth?

YY: August 9th, today

...: Aww, happy birthday! Aww, I'm sorry you have to do xxx on your birthday

YY: (bitter smile) It's fine...

The week after my birthday before surgery has been in the subliminal gloom of worry and fidget. Interestingly, I find the experience closest to what I felt prior to the 800m exam in P.E. class back in high school. I used to suck at running. There are two exams for 800m per semester, midterm and final. Every time has been a huge struggle for me, super out of breath during the run and super nausea after the run. So normally a week prior to the exam, the mental stress started to build up. It's like a gloom in the background of the mood, not raining cats and dogs but blocking sunshine from any way. It's like a needle close to the spine, once relaxing too much it pinches you back to the tense posture. The intimidation haunts you in the subconscious that before it's done there is always a knot in the back of your mind.

Here is the long answer to "More on that later". The Real Deal Burger is not only to cheer me up through its engaging creation. More practically, the nutritional value of "hemoglobin hemoglobin" is a defensive measure for the upcoming blood loss. Like many other small sweet things I did that week, even though the gloom cannot be swept away, at least I could brighten the sunshine a bit, to feel the warmth emotionally and physically.

Main-Story🔗

Over the past few days, I've experienced some emotional moments centered around the key words "comfort food". For the better delivery of the story, let me first talk about what "comfort food" really means.

To me, and probably to most of you, comfort food is associated with high caloric, overly indulging, once-in-a-while cheat meals. There is nothing comfort in the food itself. It's the hedonism in pursuit of sugar and fat that brings the temporary surge of dopamine being called or miscalled comfort. It's nothing but a marketing gimmick for the better sale of hedonistic food. To spell it out, it should actually be called "stress eating in exchange for comfort". Unfortunately, the benign name "comfort food" is used instead to trick the defenseless minds into giving up self-control and surrendering to delusional comfort.

To proceed, let's first wash all the greasy associations off the name "comfort food". Allow me to use my story to return you its true meaning.

Despite the week long mental stress prior to the S-day, the surgery itself is actually the easiest part, as I don't feel a thing or remember a thing. By the time I woke up, it was all done. No unbearable pain or bloody wound as imagined in the nightmare. Under the drowsiness and numbness, it was just a slight discomfort to say the most. After being reassured by A that doctor said I did well, I had a not-that-bitter smile. I always chuckle at the line "he/she did well" from the doctor. It's probably the only instance you'd be appraised at something when you need to do absolutely nothing. Feeling relaxed with A by my side for the rest of the visiting hour, it seems like I've gone through the hardest part. Little did I know the hardest part has yet to come.

Dinner came soon after visiting hour. I was in no appetite despite the hunger signal occasionally penetrating through the surgical mumble jumble tummy. After being presented the everything-screaming-good-for-you tray, warm wheaty bun, lean grilled chicken, fresh crisp lettuce and tomato, light clean soup, brightly red strawberry... My body almost instinctively reached out for the cleanest fuel. My taste buds were still muffled. My tummy was still jumbled. But I could feel the food was good. It's like the most lively green vine reaching out to you through mist and fog. You don't see anything beyond the baby leaf. But you want to touch it. Like the finger boop from E.T.

After dinner discomfort started to intensify with the bowel movement from digestion and dissipation of anesthesia. It was distracting to say the least. The discomfort soon escalated to an unsettling level that prompted me to insist on getting off bed and walking. For the record, it is specifically instructed by the doctor, albeit counterintuitive, that I should get some baby moves even on the same day of surgery if possible. Although the condition probably precludes whatever unpleasantness I was feeling then. Nonetheless, I dragged all the tubes and ventured out to the hallway anyway. At first it was surprisingly normal. I couldn't help but think "it's a small step for me, one giant leap for re... Uh-Oh...".

Suddenly I felt so dizzy as if the world was spinning around me. Bursting stars, crisscross wakes... Before I knew, my hands tightened to fists firmly grabbing the IV post, desperately gasping for air, heart pounding so hard that it silenced all other sound, yet still not enough. Imagine running so above the threshold that you run out of breath, but x times worse. I don't even have the estimate of x since I haven't been so surreally helpless. At the end, I was wheeled back and all plugged in. Nothing serious yet everything unbearable. It is the moment that I can do nothing to distract myself but wait for the time to pass. I looked at the clock. Nine o'clock. Then I looked around the room. And looked at the clock again. Nine o'clock.

It was a painstakingly long night. What's tough is not the pain, but the seemingly perpetual discomfort. It's the grim prospect of being shackled in an endless time prison, where there is nothing you can do to break free. But just like any tough thing, you grind, endure, and repeat. Eventually it will be over. It's not pretty. It's rough. But that's just how it is.

Morning in the hospital starts early. Just past seven, nurse came in calling my name. Behind the curtain I watched her moving in thought it's another pill time. Turns out it's breakfast time. I was given a neatly organized tray with hot stuff in sealed stoneware and fresh stuff in a transparent container. They are the stuff I picked yesterday. Suddenly yesterday feels like a long time ago. Even though I remember what I ordered, it still feels anticipating when unlid every bowl and plate.

A sip of the hot black coffee. Just like the first sip every morning. A bite on the enticingly red strawberry so sweet that makes me smile. Now it comes to the main breakfast affair.

Carefully unlid the bowl. Steam rises from the hearty oatmeal. Cupping the bowl with both hands, it feels as if the warmth from the oatmeal has healing power that soothes my strained body. I got a heaping spoon and let it slide down my throat. It is so gentle that not only does it cause no discomfort, somehow it even eases up the bruised tummy. Suddenly a relief wave originates from stomach and travels everywhere, temporarily freeing me of all stress.

I then unlid the stoneware enclosing the plate. On it stacks two triangle cut whole wheat bread slices. It's so cutely comic that it reminds me of those scenes where a glamorous silver platter dome is uncovered and what's underneath is completely the opposite of glamorous. The two slices of bread peacefully lie on their king size bed, emanating residual heat from the toasting. I secretly felt celebrating as it's exactly the kind of toasting I like, barely any color, just for drying out the surface. I grabbed one and nibbled off the triangle tip. It's probably the most unassuming bread you can think of. Sliced off from standard square loaf and then halved. Pressed thin after toasting. No butter, no grease. Just a tinge of wheaty aroma. The absolute minimalist of toast. Somehow it's just perfect! Crispy surface, soft inside, hearty wheaty flavor, bran flake texture, that's it. I savor the purity of bread and let the beauty of simplicity sink in.

The plain oatmeal and bread did some real magic. They are like the cleanest and most efficient fuel that powers up your appetite and mood. That's the true comfort food for both body and soul. I then stirred in applesauce in oatmeal, topped with strawberries. I also had a hard boiled egg after oatmeal and toast. Surprisingly, it doesn't taste as plain as I remembered. I liked it.

Later in the afternoon, I got discharged. Free of IVs and tubes, Lu-cutest (just like Locutus, maybe less creepy, and much cuter) is out of the collective and going home. I was still very much wounded. But I also got to know the magical healing power of the real comfort food. In the following days, A and I have been harvesting those magic to expedite the recovery.

If my dear reader you have taken the time to follow me till here, I hope you find tidbits of enlightenment in my story. To me, any kind of suffering, or a less agonizing word, unwanted struggling, always opens up a window to show me something pristine that I'd otherwise overlook. One treasure I find this time is the appreciation of simple nourishing food. We are habitually overdosed with indulgence that our taste can no longer be satiated by good old plain things. Only by removing the noisy artificial light and being left with nothing but pitch dark sky do the stars get to shine the absolute beauty of true natural light. The struggling post-op time sets me up in a dark sky to admire the plain nourishing food, aka comfort food. Hopefully I managed to pass some of this precious appreciation to you. Think back when was the last time you felt excited about a bowl of oatmeal, or a piece of toast, or a hard boiled egg. Try to embrace them by heart next time. You will be surprised how good they are.

Just to show some of the comfort food we made in the past days during my recovery. Eating has been an effort, as digestion inevitably triggers unwanted bowel movement near the surgical area. Appetite has been low due to pain and discomfort. Still, with these hearty comfort foods, I feel better meal by meal, day by day.

My Comfort Food🔗

• rice is my chicken noodle soup

veggie chicken, broccolini, sauerkraut, egg	turning leftover into porridge	Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old

• big wheaty loaf from A factory

Crusty the bread (not Krusty the clown, but can we steal the headline? " It's not just good. It's good enough!")

Instead of calling cheese platter, I'd prefer bread platter, you don't need the presumptuous presentation and selection. Just heaping bread, butter, and maybe an excellent cheese out of surprise, are more than enough to feed any soul

bread and butter	L'Impero Pecorino Pear, phenomenal, so fruity, a treasure find	heirloom tomato and nibble of cheese for the dairy-restricted me

Tartine? Toast? Whatever it's fancily called, I prefer bread with x. Three ingredients or less. Less is more.

heirloom tomato, mayo, S&P	blueberry, goat cheese, honey

• misc

Other tummy-friendly, nutrition-packed, recovery-boosting breakfast / lunch I've been having these days. And I will be having more even after recovery!

very cooked rolled oats, coconut milk, super creamy, very gentle on bowel	plain yogurt, peach, granola, not the instagramable parfait, all jumbled together, but nothing gets any better than this!	batter made of very high ratio of banana and egg, dairy-free, used coconut milk instead

Post-Story🔗

It's a long post. I hope you get inspired and find your comfort food or more precisely the appreciation of it. It comforts your body and soul whenever and wherever you need.