The best laid plans gang aft awry, or whatever the exact
quote is. I had a plan for this autumn, as I’ve had borderline too many
commitments to handle. I had a plot this year in our town's community garden. I was
lucky to get a space in this gold-plated community effort, for once my town decides
to do something, it is all-the-way
luxury class. We have an electronic gate, a sturdy fence, and the township
supplies aged compost and sturdy raised boxes. We’ve had a rather chilly autumn
this year and so it’s been a question for this old person of waiting for the
stillest and warmest day possible to finish up. I’d watched Weather World from
Penn State faithfully; I’d seen an upcoming Monday and Tuesday were going to be
the last hurrah of Indian Summer. Perfect, I thought, as this was the drop dead-week for
clearing up at that garden!
In the meantime, I was consuming those vegetables, both my own and
those of generous neighbors. On the fatal day, I’d had a delicious lunch of peppers
stuffed with beans, sprouts, bright orange winter squash and finished with a
fresh apple—a crisp, yet sugary Empire, I believe. The coup
de grace to this high fiber orgy was an entire, crunchy, raw-from-the-garden carrot.
Oh, and BTW the backstory is that there are significant
portions of gut missing after a long illness followed by two surgeries. By 5 p.m. that evening, I knew I was in trouble; by
midnight, the waves of pain were mountainous. It was time to head to the ER for
the ritual vein piercing, then you’re a sad-sack bit of flesh still warm
only because of attentive nursing and Ringer’s Lactase drip. Needless to say, I was in hospital during those two warm days in
which I’d planned to make my final harvest of even more sprouts, kale and beets. Only the beets,
after my release from the hospital, are on the menu—for the next few months, at
least. After that, caution is advised regarding how much fiber goes in. My friendly neighbor was happy to receive the two
4 foot stalks of sprouts; the kale went into the community fridge in the hopes
someone wanted or knew what to do with it's dino-hide leaves.
It's sobering to realize that ingesting a raw carrot can actually be a flirtation with death. Confusing
a desire "to live normally,” with how far I’m truly able to do so, slides easily into the realm of
“denial.” How easy for this old lady to stray over the line!
