Winnowing

I’ve never been big into ice cream, but now that I can’t have it? I consume it semi-regularly.

The ice cream I have today is non-dairy, as I found out not long ago that I’m (suddenly, inexplicably—unfairly!) lactose intolerant. But it’s still laden with delicious fats and sugars, and if I’m being honest it’s too much for me most of the time; I have a bowl or two, then the carton languishes in the freezer for weeks until I remember it’s there, finishing it off mostly so it doesn’t go to waste.

But that entire exercise, the near fetishization of something that I didn’t want before (but which is suddenly appealing because it’s off-limits) is something I’ve experienced a few times since the height of the pandemic, when I was in my mid-30s and a wave of genetic- and age-related issues began to emerge, zombie-like, from my cells and organs and bodily tissues.

I found out I had Hashimoto’s Disease, which is a disorder that tasks one’s immune system with attacking one’s own thyroid, causing all sorts of issues. I lucked out and caught it early, and I’m on the lowest dose of a synthetic thyroid hormone that I take each morning. But, well, now I have to take a pill each morning. Probably for the rest of my life.

The hits kept coming as I learned that some combination of stress and possibly the aforementioned thyroid issues were spasming the muscles that control my jaw, causing me to clench hard at night (bruxism), which led to a cracked tooth and eventually (though not soon enough) a custom-made mouthguard that I now have to wear to sleep, lest my jaw wear my teeth down to powder.

I never thought I would romanticize the idea of settling into bed without a big honk of plastic in my mouth, but here we are.