Just before Christmas, I snacked on homemade smoked mackerel pate on toast. I chased this down with too many Bendick mints and that night experienced one of the worst crise du foie attacks of my life. I have joined the ranks of those unable to tolerate the erratic and seasonal consumption of richer, fattier food, but it was not always so.
May I tell you of my story of gastrichell, as someone with a penchant for deliciousness?
My gallbladder gave up in 2018, when I was 32. It was crammed full of stones, like gravel, and I was told I had fatty liver too. It was probably catalysed by the course of zoladex I had for endometriosis, a rapid menopause every month for half a year.
For six months, it wasn't a case of 'cutting down' because the pain on tasting a chip was so intense. I completely cut saturated fat from my diet because it was the only way to avoid the awful, contracting agony across my upper abdomen. I lost four stone, but I was miserable and angry and weak.
I had my gallbladder out almost exactly six months after it decided it had had enough. It took a while to adjust. My appetite is still reduced, and probably always will be. My alcohol tolerance is hysterically useless. But I am better, painless and able to eat what I want after a period of extended, juddering alienation from my body and appetites.
A fascinating read, and something I've touched on in my writing too. Brought up to fear being fat, having yo-yo dieted for nigh on half a century, I was found reaching for the Gaviscon this Christmas too. It's cheese that does it for me!
May I tell you of my story of gastrichell, as someone with a penchant for deliciousness?
My gallbladder gave up in 2018, when I was 32. It was crammed full of stones, like gravel, and I was told I had fatty liver too. It was probably catalysed by the course of zoladex I had for endometriosis, a rapid menopause every month for half a year.
For six months, it wasn't a case of 'cutting down' because the pain on tasting a chip was so intense. I completely cut saturated fat from my diet because it was the only way to avoid the awful, contracting agony across my upper abdomen. I lost four stone, but I was miserable and angry and weak.
I had my gallbladder out almost exactly six months after it decided it had had enough. It took a while to adjust. My appetite is still reduced, and probably always will be. My alcohol tolerance is hysterically useless. But I am better, painless and able to eat what I want after a period of extended, juddering alienation from my body and appetites.
A fascinating read, and something I've touched on in my writing too. Brought up to fear being fat, having yo-yo dieted for nigh on half a century, I was found reaching for the Gaviscon this Christmas too. It's cheese that does it for me!
Thanks for the heads up. I’ll embrace eating foie gras everyday on vacation is not essential to having a good time.
Received and heartily enjoyed - with a Gaviscon shot - as ever