After a week of convalescence, I have a confession to make: I'm a terrible, terrible patient.
When I'm not forgetting to take my medication, I'm misplacing it. When I'm not chafing against the doctors restrictions, I'm neglecting them. I know I should be more careful, pay closer attention and take things slowly. I know the limitations are intended for my good. I know that, in the end, my compromised convalescence hurts only me. But the truth is that recovery is always so terribly inconvenient.
I didn't always feel this way. In fact, when I was little I actually enjoyed being home sick. I suppose I should clarify: it wasn't the being sick part I enjoyed - that made me as miserable as anyone else - I simply relished being home.
Growing up in a family of seven people, our house was always busy and bustling. On most days, I wouldn't have traded our full and happy home for anything, but on occasion it was nice to be home alone, just me and my mum - even if that solitude came at the price of a few hours on the sickbed. Liquid Jello was her secret weapon in the fight against sickness, and that, coupled with customary sickbed screenings of The Princess Bride, usually had me feeling better in no time.
I didn't make any liquid Jello this past week, but I did have a different (and somewhat inexplicable) craving - beer bread! I'd made a loaf when we were visiting Matt's parents last month and I guess I'd been subconsciously craving it ever since.
Unfortunately, there were two strikes against my choice, it being both solid and made with alcohol. I tried to convince Matt that, with 28 teeth still in my mouth, I could easily gum a piece of fresh bread. He wasn't so sure and, in any case, didn't think I should be mixing painkillers with alcohol, even in bread form (he's sensible like that).
Eventually I had to agree, but that didn't mean I was dissuaded. For the next five days, I thought about beer bread. Nonstop.
I thought about beer bread while I sucked down glasses of milk. I thought about beer bread while I gummed bowls of watery applesauce. I thought about beer bread while I spooned down bowls of pudding.
And then, as soon as I got the all-clear from my dentist this week, I made some.
And boy, was it delicious. Definitely just what the doctor ordered.
When I'm not forgetting to take my medication, I'm misplacing it. When I'm not chafing against the doctors restrictions, I'm neglecting them. I know I should be more careful, pay closer attention and take things slowly. I know the limitations are intended for my good. I know that, in the end, my compromised convalescence hurts only me. But the truth is that recovery is always so terribly inconvenient.
I didn't always feel this way. In fact, when I was little I actually enjoyed being home sick. I suppose I should clarify: it wasn't the being sick part I enjoyed - that made me as miserable as anyone else - I simply relished being home.
![]() |
| Cheesy loaf with all-purpose flour |
Growing up in a family of seven people, our house was always busy and bustling. On most days, I wouldn't have traded our full and happy home for anything, but on occasion it was nice to be home alone, just me and my mum - even if that solitude came at the price of a few hours on the sickbed. Liquid Jello was her secret weapon in the fight against sickness, and that, coupled with customary sickbed screenings of The Princess Bride, usually had me feeling better in no time.
I didn't make any liquid Jello this past week, but I did have a different (and somewhat inexplicable) craving - beer bread! I'd made a loaf when we were visiting Matt's parents last month and I guess I'd been subconsciously craving it ever since.
![]() |
| Mixed whole wheat and white cheesy loaf |
Unfortunately, there were two strikes against my choice, it being both solid and made with alcohol. I tried to convince Matt that, with 28 teeth still in my mouth, I could easily gum a piece of fresh bread. He wasn't so sure and, in any case, didn't think I should be mixing painkillers with alcohol, even in bread form (he's sensible like that).
Eventually I had to agree, but that didn't mean I was dissuaded. For the next five days, I thought about beer bread. Nonstop.
I thought about beer bread while I sucked down glasses of milk. I thought about beer bread while I gummed bowls of watery applesauce. I thought about beer bread while I spooned down bowls of pudding.
And then, as soon as I got the all-clear from my dentist this week, I made some.
And boy, was it delicious. Definitely just what the doctor ordered.

















































