I was AWOL last Saturday, for which I apologize heartily. My husband was in the hospital again, this time for a scheduled surgery. He spent six days recuperating, and I brought him home last Saturday afternoon. He’s recovering nicely.
So, I spent week before last doing nothing but sitting around a hospital room, punctuated by going down to the cafeteria at regular intervals and eating like a horse. The reason I spent so much of that week eating was not that I was particularly hungry, or certainly not that the hospital menu was so delicious and healthful. In fact, I ate more fatty, salty, sugary food that week than I do in two months at home. But did I care? No, I did not, because I needed comfort, dammit.
Since we’ve been home, I’ve been desperately trying to make up for all my unhealthful eating, as well as cooking as nutritiously as possible for Don’s sake. But I ponder why I, who am so health-foodie as a rule, allowed myself to collapse so completely last week. I can’t blame it entirely on stress. I’ve endured several periods of worse stress than this over the past year, and not gone so far off the rails.
I wonder if it doesn’t have to do with how long this has been going on. One can only be strong for so long, apparently. I read once that will-power is a finite commodity, and that if you use up your supply of will on one area of your life, you have much less to spare for others. For example, it’s very difficult to quit smoking and go on a diet at the same time.
So, there’s no use to rue my temporary weakness. In fact, sometimes I think back on those doughnuts with great fondness. But the heady days of French fries and cake are over - at least until the next crisis.