Be Tough to Beat the Tough

I will start with saying that every day is a battle. Don’t get me wrong though – its not necessarily a bad thing. It has to be tough in order to truly be successful. All of this food stuff, staying on track with meal plans, getting in calorie counts, all the hard work in New York, it doesn’t end when you leave the building or even the state. The institute was a sanctuary that only bestowed its best benefits through the time served in the trenches. It took effort to break old habits but, being in an entirely different situation, the edge of impossibility was sanded down. It took less time than I would have thought to form a new routine that incorporated a new calorie and meal regimen befitting of the hospital setting.

Here now, out and about, trying to fit my new way of seeing things into the old setting that I came from, is proving the difficulty that the professionals have been claiming. I have been doing well so far but I feel in my heart that I could be doing better…doing more. I know its a matter of baby steps and I have by no means relapsed in any sense of the word but just moving forward and pushing beyond claims so my of my being on the very minute daily breakdown levels. Each hour, each minute, I have to plan the next move while simultaneously facing the eating disorders ever-present voice of illogical reasoning. It does try to sneak its way in consistently.

I want to look forward to a life without its voice and yearning for influence but I can’t foresee that happening at the moment. I’m not at all trying to sound pessimistic about it all…just realistic. There may come a day when my head it quiet and food can be entirely enjoyed without a din of rebuttal but I know that day is not today. Being so conscious of that fact actually makes me proud at this point. I’m choosing to face these demons head on. I know its a tough situation but I have faith that I can be just as tough in my own personal food fight.

 

 

Gloves on - its another day in the ring!!!

 

 

Naked

With CRT’s 4-week criteria having run its course I am now just over a week into the second of the two 12-session therapy studies. Exposure Therapy lays out everything that you dont want to touch. Your fears are just there – naked – and you are expected to stand them down. To put it lightly its hard work. To get a little more in-depth with description its both exhilarating and terrifying, anxiety-provoking and stress-reducing, disorder-revealing and rationality-impelling all rolled into a plate of pancakes. With syrup and margarine the stack of three buttermilk griddle drool-enticers sat in front of me on a clean white plate at breakfast this morning.

Dr. Cristopane spread out her notes on the table across from me as we waited for the food to arrive. “What would you say your anxiety level is right now?” she asks in all seriousness. Most of the time I don’t know. I have a SUDS (subjective units of distress scale) list of things I associate with different levels of anxiety in front of me for help but its still tricky. I will generally either do something or I won’t and I very rarely exhibit outward expressions of anxiety. I tell her that I’m probably a 7. To me that is the equivalent of being on 42nd street in Manhattan with crowds, having an argument with a friend, or getting called into team meeting on the unit. My list is actually more like a level of difficulty in making the choice to do something sort of scale. Once I have decided on a course of action the actual movement it consists of isn’t so hard.

As I alternately munched on my pancakes and sipped the iced apple juice to my right Dr. Cristopane continued to ask how I was feeling and discuss the various resistances and disturbances of demeanor that came up throughout the meal. The pancake breakfast was a level 8 on my pre-built hierarchy of fear foods. In general my hierarchy primarily consists of carb-based items. For some reason they seem to be the things that I not only like the most, bagels, muffins, pastas, pancakes, etc, but also the main thing I have cut out of my diet through the eating disorder. Its hard enough for me to consume one carb component at a meal and two is virtually unthinkable when I’m eating out by myself. It was originally VERY difficult to admit that I even had issues with those foods to Dr. Cristopane because I knew that I would be faced with them if I did. I am here for a reason though, and, if I can’t come head to head with these things within these walls then I know I will have that much more of a hard time once I get home. If I don’t before then I don’t know if I ever will.

I mopped up a bit more syrup with the last bite of golden-brown goodness and smiled. Tasty, filling, and satisfying in more ways than one. The meal took effort but it was entirely worth it. Exposure is very much a roller-coaster. As Lia says: “If how helpful it is is measured by how shitty it is then it’s extremely helpful.”

Cheers to that!

Numbers Don’t Count

There is proof, again, that weight is just another number. What it comes down to is the balancing out of how we really feel within ourselves. That doesn’t mean we have to always feel good and it doesn’t mean that we have to always like what we see in the mirror. All it means is that we can’t let our self-images revolve around a couple of little digits. The value we need to find is one that cannot be defined in numbers. They, in reality, are obsolete and the last few days have really highlighted that fact for me.

Ever since I reached my 90%, and eliminated the 2 Ensure Pluses, I have stuck relatively close to that number. Some days I’ll go up a quarter to a half a pound only to find that the next time I am weighed I have lost it again. Overall I have been more comfortable in my body as of late since I got here in July. This past Wednesday, however, added a little more perspective. When you have reached your 90% but then drop below it you have to be under it two consecutive weight days in order to catch any consequences. On this last Monday I checked in at a half a pound above the magic 90 which has been normal for me recently. Wednesday, just two days later, neither the nurse weighing me nor I could believe our eyes when I stepped on the scale – I had apparently lost 5 whole pounds!

I have no idea how that happened and, although I’m generally in tune to my body enough to be able to feel if I have lost or gained, I felt the same as I had on Monday. We blinked at the scale, blinked at each other, I got off, and we tried again just in case it was a fluke, but wound up with the same result. It was written in the book and I signed my name next to it as usual to show that we both saw the same thing on the scale and then I went on to worry about whether or not my passes would be revoked due to the loss. Thankfully, since that was only the first time, nothing was affected, but I was warned that if on Friday it happened again I would not be able to use the passes I had written up for the weekend. Not only that but both the Ensures would be added back into my schedule.

Now, this weekend is the only weekend out of my whole stay here that I have a visitor. My mom was able to come up the coast from Virginia for two nights and we had lots of plan for the short time she would be here. It would be a real shame if, for any reason, I wasn’t able to leave the center.

I was anxious when I got up on Friday – fuzzy with anticipation. It turned out though that I actually had nothing to worry about. Just as I had inexplicably lost the 5 pounds two days earlier, I managed to gain that plus another 1 and 1/2 back. Now, through all this neither my diet nor my activity level has changed in any way that could be described as more than minor, and yet the scale seems to have a mind of its own. For as surprised as I was, yet again, at the numbers I was even more surprised at how comfortable I felt in my skin even knowing the amounts. Just as I hadn’t felt any different the day that I had lost weight, I didn’t feel any different this day that it jumped either.

So, in the end, I got to keep all my weekend passes. I really don’t fee like I have anything to complain about through all this. I just goes to show that the numbers don’t have to make sense. They don’t have to rule your life or even just ruin your day unless you let them. Today is Saturday and I feel just as good today as I have the whole rest of the week…and I thnk thats good enough to rely on.

Spare Me!

Today we bowl! Our group of  10 that included both recreation directors, Talia and Carly, all piled into the van with the non-existent shocks and headed out to Queens. The alley was small and more crowded than I would have expected for 11 am on a Tuesday but we got 2 lanes and settled right in. Amongst the sorting out of shoes and registering of names we all found ourselves in a horseshoe around the facilities only snack machine. A seemingly strange place for a bunch of eating-disordered patients to convene, but yet there we were ogling the goodies. We were actually owning up to our true likes and dislikes while letting the caged sweets run away with our imaginations to new horizons. A passer-by would have thought that none of us had ever seen a contraption such as this before.

Back at the lanes we divided into two teams of five and begin the mass shop-swap. Each in turn, with constant support and cheerleading with each roll of the ball, we played for about 20 minutes before breaking for lunch. We took plastic seats around a few of the small tables that littered the main floor area and let loose a torrent of white paper bag meals. We unpack like kids in a school cafeteria to inspect the loot.

General consensus amongst the group was that the 900 calorie lunch guideline had definitely failed to be met. Each of us had about 2 ounces of turkey on wheat bread with no cheese or condiments. Other than that there was 4 ounces of juice, a small apple, and a bag of sunchips. Mostly we just shrugged, ate, and went back to bowling after disposing of the remains. It was common knowledge that if any of us wanted more we could drop some money at the alley’s little cafe. Some opted for snacks, some for drinks, but it wasn’t until Elise came back with a cup of coffee that we all knew what we wanted.

The single cup was worth the $1.75 price on such a damp and chilly day right up until Talia and Carly realized that artificial sweeteners were in use. By the time they got over to the counter most of us had dressed our drinks and returned to the lanes. only myself and Molly remained at the prep station. That was when we remembered what we were in reality – essentially a bunch of psych patients on a field trip from the hospital. Its a little disheartening to be having a great time out with friends just to later be reminded that we are actually being baby-sat.

With all the ‘tsk’ of an elder to an out-of-line child Carly informed me that sweeteners were not permitted. I tried to explain that we were not only off the unit and spending our own money but that others had already done it without getting scolded. She told me that, while she hadn’t gotten to them in time, Molly and I were not allowed to follow in their footsteps. When I am treated like a child, instead of the adult that I am, first instinct is to act like one and rebel. I promptly told her that if that were the case then I just didn’t want coffee and dropped the entire cup in the garbage.

I understand how this looks and, in the past, a situation like this would have let in a cloud of grumpiness that would likely last the remainder of the day. This time it didn’t though. I didn’t realize the difference until we were headed back to headquarters in the old rickety van. Thats the point of all this though – The amazement at my subconscious dropping of a grudge. After the incident we went back to enjoying the game and generally having a good time. It may take baby steps but its just more proof of how things are changing.

 

On All Accounts

There is something to be said for going out to eat by yourself. It is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do yet. Its the test of accountability taken to the height of the eating disorder. Sure, on our passes we write down meal plans, where exactly we will go and what dish we will be consuming, but that doesn’t mean that the staff will know if we actually did it or not. To go out on a pass meal with someone is to work with that person and keep each other in check with the agenda. Without that it is almost unbelievably easy to find yourself with your butt in the dirt and the wagon rolling away without you.

On the unit my eating disorder knows full well that it can find no balance. I checked it at the door when I entered this treatment center only two short months ago. Unfortunately, each time I go out though, its still right there waiting and wanting to know where we are off to today. So I go, trying to ignore it, trying to leave it behind, hoping that it will realize that its really just not wanted and I have had success with that many times now. Most of those times though have been when out with other people.

So far I have done two meals out completely by myself. The first of them wasn’t a total disaster per se, I just came out of it relatively disheartened. The main point was that I should have followed the plan I had written. Instead I got out there and got overwhelmed, second-guessing the original choices I had made, and just had a lot of trouble coming to a decision. It was a frustrating venture but a learning experience at the same time. My mini-shmorgashboard included an egg salad sandwich with tomato on wheat, a bag of sea-salt multi-grain chips, a banana, and a triple berry yogurt muffin with a water and a soda.

I wound up eating about half of each item and calling it lunch. Its hard because we are supposed to get about 900 calories per meal but its gets really difficult to estimate the amounts for items without labels. I know its not supposed to be a strict science but in the beginning nerves get wracked because we haven’t yet learned the flexibility, intuitive eating, and general friendliness of food that should be the end result of all this.

Today was dinner. It was a  dark, rain-soaked, two-block walk to Reme’s up the street. This was the first time I had been there and the little restaurant with the red awning was the exact opposite of its foretold crowdedness. It could have been the dreary weather or the early meal time but, whatever the reason, I had my pick of tables and chose a booth in the corner. The pass meal was written for a Hawaiian ham steak with sides but the price on the menu was a good $3 over what the unit menu said so the plan changed. I wound up getting a hot open brisket sandwich with fries and a dish of green beans. Not so keen on the sandwich bread I ate all the meat and beans. I gave the fries a fair shot too but they were very much lacking in the flavor department, even with catsup, so I gave up.

Out int the rain again I rounded the corner to University Deli for a dessert. It had to be enough to make up for the uneaten fries. I stood in the little carry-out eatery deliberating over the sweets until I was uncomfortable with my own actions. In frustration I made a grab for whatever and wandered back to the atrium with my goodies. I have to say that, although delayed, my final decision was a pleasing one. I munched down a good-sized chocolate chip cookie and half a peanut butter Twix which turned out to be just as amazing as I had dreamed each time I ogled it at the store.

All in all the practice of a second time wasn’t perfect but it was just the tiniest bit easier. I’m learning to be accountable to myself. It does help to have someone there with me but, in life, thats not going to be the case all the time. I realize that the harder something is the more I need to do it. Its taking on the challenge thats key and thats the whole reason I’m here.

To Dine Out

Today was my second lunch group outing. Sally, who normally runs it, has been on vacation for about a week now so it has been presided over by her protegé, Calista, and the rec director, Talia. Now Talia has been working here for years and knows her dietary ED info pretty well even though her main focus is recreation. Calista, however, is another story. She is new, still in school, and here for the purpose of completing her dietetic internship. Granted, shes still learning the ropes a bit, but she has been here long enough to at least have figured out how to eat meals around a bunch of eating disordered patients.

Talia is excellent to eat with. When we are out she gets roughly the same amount of food as us and she eats all of it without a hitch. Calista has been consistent as well but not in such a good way. In fact, many of my peers here would much rather not dine with her at all. She is a naturally thin woman of indian origin who, personally, I think is quite beautiful. The problem is that she doesn’t eat enough. There are many dietitians with food issues but they have jobs working with people who are trying to lose weight, not gain. If there is one thing a dietician should do when eating meals with us its to be a good example. One of Sally’s mantras is that we should model our plates after hers.

To make a long story just a bit shorter, Talia asked me a question as we walked back to the inst, ahead and out of ear shot of the rest of the group. She wanted to know if the amount that Calista had left uneaten on her tray had bothered me. After an honest “yes” on my behalf Talia then asked me if I would bring it up at a short meal process group when we got back. Hesitantly I agreed so long as all the others who had similar complaints would back me up. She asked why no one had addressed the group about it before and found that, although most of us were irked by it, none of us wanted to rock the boat. We are generally a pretty passive bunch.

So I did it. I said it made me uncomfortable that she didn’t practice what she preached on a routine basis. Others agreed with head nods while Calista immediately got defensive. On that note Talia wrapped the group up and too Calista in back. Since it was Talia’s idea and urge to air out the dirty laundry I can only assume that they had a chat about the issue. Hopefully things will change. Just as we are doing our part learning here the is learning as well. In one way or another we are consistantly helping eachother – it just depends on how accepting of it we are.

I’ll Pass

Its another weekend and I am so close to getting 4a and passes I can practically taste it. What happens is that you have to hit your 90% two times, for me that would be Monday and Wednesday, and then at team meeting on Thursday I will get the official “go ahead”. I already have this coming weekend booked as far as places I want to go and I can barely contain the anxious excitement that makes me jittery at the thought of exploring. The city is laid out before me and all I have left is the green light of health.

The deal with passes is that you write one out on a formatted sheet of paper and drop it in the request box so the staff can review it at one of the 2 team meetings held during the week. The yellow sheet of paper that gets filled out is very specific, especially when it comes to eating meals out. You have to not only be exact about what you are going to go do while out but also how you will get there. They need specific departure and return times and, most importantly, where we plan on eating. All passes span across the time of at least one of the daily meals and sometimes, at the end, two meals  and/or an overnight out. Many people live or have family in the area and the “practice” of returning home can be very beneficial.

The most important part of a written pass is the part of the meal. On the unit we have a thick alphabetized binder of menus from around the city. For a pass we not only have to write down where we are eating but also what we plan on ordering down to drinks and sauces used. Beyond that we even have to write down a backup plan in case what we want to order isn’t available. One of the biggest inspections a pass gets in the review process is Sally, the unit’s dietitian, approving of our meal construction. As of late I have been perusing the menus and just jotting down some combinations that work, trying to model a plate of food out based off the components that come on our tray here. Tomorrow I will be going over my choices with Sally because she actually won’t be here for my first 2 weeks on passes.

I can feel the excitement for this taste of newly acquired recovery strength building as I write. My plans for this coming Saturday start off around 1 pm. Just after lunch on the unit I’ll be off to navigate the subway down to Sullivan Street where I have a 2:00 hair appointment scheduled at Mudhoney. Heather recommended the place and, after checking it out online, it looks like its right up my alley. After that is a bit of window shopping in the area and then dinner and an evening movie with actual movie popcorn. I can only imagine how tired I’ll be returning back by 8 pm for snack.

Then, on Sunday, is the Bust magazine Renegade craft fair in Queens. Handmade goodies with quirky personality? Yes, please! Count me in! So that day I’ll be eating lunch out and I’m pretty sure I will be joined by Benji and Amy.

At this point I’ve got my fingers and toes crossed that everything goes smoothly. If all of it pans out it will be just what I have been waiting for.

Moving on to the next step!

Yes, Stomach, I hear you

Score one point for getting through things that I didn’t want to do. My tally must be pretty high right now but this time I think I will count double points for the added factor of having to do it 2 days in a row. These back to back trials of perseverance that I refer to are the long-awaited research meal days. I was too anxiety-ridden to write about it while in the midst of the experiment but, now that I can breathe with the assuredness of it being over, hindsight has again set my thoughts in motion. part of me, the forgiving part, wants to shrug and chalk it up to just having been an experience. The other part, however, would love to riddle the telling of the last 2 days with some very colorful language. I think I’ll try to find a happy medium.

The anticipation on Tuesday, the morning of reasearch meal #1, was quickly dropping like a fog over my world. When I sat down to breakfast I knew what to expect on my measly tray – two 4 oz. apple juices, a yogurt and an apple. Everyone else got the pancakes we had been asking for fervently through the last two months. Balls. I missed out on that one. I was told that they were really good though. After that I was okay until about 9:30 or so…until the hunger started to claw its way into my consciousness. Then it was all over. I couldn’t think about anything else except the pending lunch. The others did their best to help distract me but the anxiety grew to an all-consuming high. Its strange to think that I used to eat so little when my body craves so desperately now. At this point there is no denying what it wants. No confusion.

Finally, just before noon, one of the research assistants came up to get me. I followed her, in her white lab coat, downstairs and back to the same tiny room I had done both the exercise study and the sweetener test in. Everything was the same except this time there was a little round table with a plastic tablecloth ala “Lady and the Tramp” in the middle of the room. She sat on the bed while I sat at the table and in front of me was placed a sheet with a 1-10 scale and varying degrees of anxiety provoking situations listed throughout as a guide. We sat in silence for a full 3 minutes while I was instructed to think about the upcoming meal. At every one minute interval she asked me to rate my anxiety level on the scale.

Before the meal came I was repeatedly scoring quite high. I was anxious because I just wanted to eat. There were no guidelines as to how much had to be eaten. It was just whatever I wanted to do while the video camera in the corner taped my actions and her voice buzzed in over the monitor to periodically rate my levels. The tray that was finally placed in front of me had only a few items on it but they were large. I was suddenly staring at a large bowl of regular potato chips, an 8 oz. bottle of water, a family-size tube of real mayo, and a footlong turkey and swiss Subway sandwich on wheat. Other than the meat and cheese there was only lettuce and tomato on the sandwich.

That was it. Once I got the go-ahead I dug in. That first day it was excellent but I think I would have eaten just about anything they had put in front of me. I only ate 2 or 3 chips but I got through almost all of the sub, eating all of it’s insides and leaving about 1/3 of the bread; all the while my anxiety slowly decreasing. It felt great to just get some substance. After that they had some paperwork for me to fill out, some questions to answer, and then I could go about the rest of my afternoon as usual. That didn’t stop me, though, from dreading to have to do it all again the next day.

When I awoke the next morning I was calmer. The exact same test two days in a row so I knew what to expect. I was armed with knowledge. Then they threw a wrench in my gears. I was hungry going into breakfast and actually looking forward to the small amount of bulk I would get from the meal. Something, anything, to fill me up just a little. When I got in the dining room and saw my tray my jaw dropped. Apparently all I was to consume today was one lowly toasted English muffin and a 4 oz. container of apple juice. I grudgingly ate, trying to make it last as long as possible, and then spent the remaining time at the table not only hungry and anxious but pissed off as well. No one else who had done the same study before had gotten the English muffin version of research breakfast.

I got through it though. Lunch and a twin meal to the previous day was placed in front of me. I ate, with less anxiety this second go-round. I’m going to have to ask at research group next week what exactly they are looking for in this study but, for now, I’m okay. For now I can go back to enjoying my normal size expected meals.

At least until I have the third research meal day just before I head home.

Hunger Games

Today is the day! I just made it this morning with the scale balancing right at the 3/4 pound gain that has occupied my line of vision for the past 2 weeks. Not only am I not RTU for the weekend but I am finally at my 85%. The next step is to put in a privilege request form to move up to level 4b so I can roam the building at my leisure. I could, potentially, be annoyed that I have to wait through the Labor Day holiday weekend before they approve the request at the next staff team meeting on Tuesday…but I’m just not feelin’ it. I’m too happy that I got to where I wanted for so long to be at to let it frustrate me.

It was before lunch, only a few short hours since I had been weighed and realized my goal in the scale clicks, when Dr. G pulled me aside. With 85% comes the two major therapy studies that Columbia is doing right now: exposure and CRT. There are 4 weeks of each, 12 sessions apiece and each person eligible does both. Its a random draw as to which one you start with but I’ve got my fingers crossed for exposure.

First things first though. I won’t know which will be kicking me off until I’ve done whats known as research lunch for two days in a row. From what I’ve seen and the details I have been told by other patients who have already been through it I am curiously anxious to start. The breakfast and morning activities (or lack there of) prior to research lunch has me a little nervous towards my mixed emotions.

Its all very moderated so that each person doing the meal has the exact same thing for the breakfast leading up and the standard that they serve is much less than what our bodies are used to having. Every person I have seen with the diminished breakfast on their chosen research day ambles around the whole morning try their darndest to not gripe too much about the every persistent stomach pains growling audibly.

Aside from the miniscule meal, in order to keep everyone’s physical exertion and intake in check, there is no morning coffee allowed. So there goes the once daily caffeine boost we are each allowed and then we also omit the 10am morning Ensure as well. It may seem that being on so many calories each day would cause us to kneel and thank the ceiling at the cutback but thats just not so. All there will be is annoyance and hunger, hunger, hunger. We need all of those calories right now! Our bodies want them. They crave them! To top it off, on research lunch day, we are RTU till the afternoon meal is over. That means no fresh air, no trips to the store, no nuthin’.

Thankfully all of this only goes until 1:30 in the afternoon and, with my newly approved 4b status I already know where 2 pm will find me. I’ll be sitting in the upstairs cafe with my Boston Globe Sunday crossword book lounging in full relaxation mode. Oh, and one more thing, my nice caramel-colored steaming cup of coffee will be my teatime guest of honor.

Rice Rice Baby!

The rice smelled amazing as Amy stirred it, letting the contents of the steaming pot slowly absorb the apple cider it was cooking in. It was supposed to be an apple walnut rice recipe that we had found on the internet but, due to majority rule, we wound up omitting the nuts. That didn’t matter when it came time to eat though because the rice had a great unique flavor without them. Beyond the side dish the broiler, oven, and remaining burners were all hard at work on tuna steaks, cheese sauce, broccoli, and a delicious little sweet treat entitled Earthquake Cookies.

All of this came with my first experience in cooking group. Its a group run by Talia every Tuesday at lunch time and we have to be on level 3 and at a certain percentage of our ideal body weights to participate. This time there were 4 of us aside from the staff, Talia and Carly. Besides me our little posse was made up of Laura, Amy, and Diane with Laura being the only veteran. The main objective of the group is what one might expect from the name. We get together and choose our menu, those who are available trek to the grocery store down the street, and we all reconvene before lunch to get our slick cooking skills on.

I was in charge of the cookies which have now turned into one of my favorite recipes due to their simplicity and deliciousness. They called for our choice of boxed cake mix, all of us agreeing on spice cake, 2 eggs, shortening, a tablespoon of water and a dusting of confectioners sugar. Believe you me, I will have this recipe memorized in no time just from sheer repetition. Talia got the fish ready and we each seasoned our fillet with what we wanted before it went into the broiler. Through that Diane and Amy prepared and made the rice and Laura, with her energetic personality, was checking on multiple things during breaks from stirring the cheese sauce.

Finally, after about 45 minutes of mouth-watering aromas barraging our noses, it was time to sit down and eat. Earlier in the day Talia had e-mailed Sally, the dietitian, about the correct portion sizes for this meal so we could each meet our caloric needs and thats where a bit of a problem arose. It just a little shoddy planning on our part but a good lesson of the various things that need to be taken into consideration when balancing a meal. The portions were all acceptable except for the whole cup and a half of rice we each had to consume. Got it. Lesson learned. That was indeed a lot of rice. It would have been a better idea to add in a glass of milk or a sauce to the fish, either of which would have reduced the rice to just one cup, but now we know for next time, I guess.

Full and happy we cleared our plates after the meal and then sat back down at the table for processing. Mostly everyone had done well and felt okay about the experience as a whole. Amy was concerned about the apple rice allotment but, once the reasoning behind it was explained, she understood. The cooking group experience had been a happy success. Not everyone who comes in here has such an easy time with it. We all have different phobias surrounding food including, but certainly not limited to, consumption, cooking, prep work, growing, etc., so that cooking group can become a freakishly intimidating experience. I think, though, that this time we persevered achieving our goal, and, I for one, am proud of it.

It looks like next time the general consensus has fallen on a dinner of quesadillas…yum!