Speaking in a blog is not like speaking in person. A blog is, or ought to be, coherent. People, on the other hand, are incoherent, more often than not. In a blog, as in a film or a book, the things people say are pondered and always come out just right. In person, you always leave something unsaid, or get tongue-tied, or express yourself badly. Still, in person, you save on spelling and orthographic errors. So what has syntax got to do with eating...? Nothing...so here goes...
If you cannot chew food and manipulate it in your mouth with the tongue then you cannot eat in a normal way. You have to lose your tongue to discover how useful such an apparently minor organ is to the functions assigned to the mouth. The loss of the ability to bight, chew and swallow means that certain foods are off the menu forever (a T-bone steak, for example). And you are condemned to one of two alternatives, or perhaps both at the same time. One approach is to use a catheter which connects directly to the stomach - a tube that enables you to pump liquid food straight into the stomach. I had to do this for a while until my mouth and throat recovered some tone and I could move on to the other approach - slide purés down my throat, confining the catheter to the intake of liquids and medication. You can slide sludge down your throat but you need a tongue to control the flow of liquid, otherwise some of the liquid will seep into the lungs and you will drown. So, I still conserve my catheter (my hose).
The loss of the pleasure of eating, the loss of satisfaction and the sense of well-being that comes from a full stomach and, above all, the inability to taste food that the use of a catheter implies can be very depressing - and can lead to an obsession with 'eating'. But you can pump yourself full of liquified chicken and meat until it comes out your nose and you will not be able to taste a thing, and the hunger will persist - as if your taste buds have to be satisfied before the hunger will go away.
Purés, dumped directly down your throat with a spoon, your body almost prone and your head arched backwards, is a rough approximation to the act of eating - and you can taste the food. And the pursuit of taste will exercise your imagination. You will seek to combine ingredients in a host of bespoke purés in order to excite your mouth. I find myself consuming sweet sludge at all times; sweetness, perhaps the most intense taste of all, was something I could give or take before. Therefore, there is some satisfaction to be derived from purés and you can assuage your hunger for a while. But, purés are digested very quickly (depending on the consistency, they tend to be expelled in about an hour or two - sludge in/sludge out, you might say) and the hungry feeling returns with renewed intensity.
The consistency of the puré is important - too thin and you will drown in it, while if it is too thick it will accumulate in your throat rather than slide down your gullet. Also, it should be served at room temperature - like baby food. The production of excess saliva in the mouth (a reaction to the damage caused by the surgical operation and the loss of the natural mechanisms for controlling or expelling excess saliva) helps the puré to slither down, but if the production of saliva is too much, it will mix with the food producing a clingy blob that is difficult to force down.
The surplus of saliva in the mouth is constant, and the taste is highly disagreeable, so much so you will need to clean your mouth frequently. You will have to spit like a football player from the Gorbals or blow out the saliva. A handkerchief is insufficient to clean the mouth - you will have to go around with a bath towel round your neck.
You have to train your mouth and throat to deal with purés - the loss of your tongue means it is an acquired ability to use the throat to control the flow of the puré and force it down. And you will still need the catheter to take liquids, though the liquid in the purés is, generally speaking, sufficient. In hot weather, however, you may have to take in additional liquid with the catheter to avoid dehydration and the consequent extenuation.
It is a pleasure to eat - and the loss of the principal conduit of that pleasure (total or partial) means you can never recover the full joy of eating. Therefore, you should put out of your head the idea of eating in a restaurant or being invited as a dinner guest. No restaurant or host is going to tolerate the acrobatics and sheer sloppines required to down sludge. And even if they were, the humiliation would be intolerable.
I conserve the hope that one day I will be able to eat with ease - though not necessarily in public. I would like to be able to dominate some of my favourite foods, to eat them in a semi-solid state and in a normal posture, even if I have to use a spoon at all times. A lifelong dependence on purés is not what I have in mind; I am not prepared to be reduced to simply ingesting tasteless sludge to satisfy a bodily need. I want taste and substance, and I intend to have it, even if it takes me years to make it.
If you cannot chew food and manipulate it in your mouth with the tongue then you cannot eat in a normal way. You have to lose your tongue to discover how useful such an apparently minor organ is to the functions assigned to the mouth. The loss of the ability to bight, chew and swallow means that certain foods are off the menu forever (a T-bone steak, for example). And you are condemned to one of two alternatives, or perhaps both at the same time. One approach is to use a catheter which connects directly to the stomach - a tube that enables you to pump liquid food straight into the stomach. I had to do this for a while until my mouth and throat recovered some tone and I could move on to the other approach - slide purés down my throat, confining the catheter to the intake of liquids and medication. You can slide sludge down your throat but you need a tongue to control the flow of liquid, otherwise some of the liquid will seep into the lungs and you will drown. So, I still conserve my catheter (my hose).
The loss of the pleasure of eating, the loss of satisfaction and the sense of well-being that comes from a full stomach and, above all, the inability to taste food that the use of a catheter implies can be very depressing - and can lead to an obsession with 'eating'. But you can pump yourself full of liquified chicken and meat until it comes out your nose and you will not be able to taste a thing, and the hunger will persist - as if your taste buds have to be satisfied before the hunger will go away.
Purés, dumped directly down your throat with a spoon, your body almost prone and your head arched backwards, is a rough approximation to the act of eating - and you can taste the food. And the pursuit of taste will exercise your imagination. You will seek to combine ingredients in a host of bespoke purés in order to excite your mouth. I find myself consuming sweet sludge at all times; sweetness, perhaps the most intense taste of all, was something I could give or take before. Therefore, there is some satisfaction to be derived from purés and you can assuage your hunger for a while. But, purés are digested very quickly (depending on the consistency, they tend to be expelled in about an hour or two - sludge in/sludge out, you might say) and the hungry feeling returns with renewed intensity.
The consistency of the puré is important - too thin and you will drown in it, while if it is too thick it will accumulate in your throat rather than slide down your gullet. Also, it should be served at room temperature - like baby food. The production of excess saliva in the mouth (a reaction to the damage caused by the surgical operation and the loss of the natural mechanisms for controlling or expelling excess saliva) helps the puré to slither down, but if the production of saliva is too much, it will mix with the food producing a clingy blob that is difficult to force down.
The surplus of saliva in the mouth is constant, and the taste is highly disagreeable, so much so you will need to clean your mouth frequently. You will have to spit like a football player from the Gorbals or blow out the saliva. A handkerchief is insufficient to clean the mouth - you will have to go around with a bath towel round your neck.
You have to train your mouth and throat to deal with purés - the loss of your tongue means it is an acquired ability to use the throat to control the flow of the puré and force it down. And you will still need the catheter to take liquids, though the liquid in the purés is, generally speaking, sufficient. In hot weather, however, you may have to take in additional liquid with the catheter to avoid dehydration and the consequent extenuation.
It is a pleasure to eat - and the loss of the principal conduit of that pleasure (total or partial) means you can never recover the full joy of eating. Therefore, you should put out of your head the idea of eating in a restaurant or being invited as a dinner guest. No restaurant or host is going to tolerate the acrobatics and sheer sloppines required to down sludge. And even if they were, the humiliation would be intolerable.
I conserve the hope that one day I will be able to eat with ease - though not necessarily in public. I would like to be able to dominate some of my favourite foods, to eat them in a semi-solid state and in a normal posture, even if I have to use a spoon at all times. A lifelong dependence on purés is not what I have in mind; I am not prepared to be reduced to simply ingesting tasteless sludge to satisfy a bodily need. I want taste and substance, and I intend to have it, even if it takes me years to make it.
This is waiting for me. I just add milk (and maybe a little more sugar), mash it up and ready. Cake in a bowl! And if I do not like it I can use it to fill cracks in the wall.
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