What if you couldn't eat?

[Jenise]

I suppose very few of us have ever given serious thought to not being able to eat, or even worse being able to put nothing in one's mouth whatsoever. No food, no liquid, nothing. But that is the case for former Chicago Sun Times movie Critic Roger Ebert, he the other half of the famous duo who rated all movies by thumbs up or down, whose ongoing fight against cancer and subsequent surgeries have resulted in his doctor's edict "nil by mouth".

His situation is absolutely herrendous, but he bravely lives on and has taken much comfort in keeping a blog that many people, including a good friend of mine, follow, ruminating quite eloquently about the life that is ebbing from him. Here is his entry about dealing with the not-eating aspect of his condition which I think most of you will find interesting. Not to gawk at for the tragedy, but to admire for the grace, a grace his blog makes it clear he continually finds in just about everything. Would be that any of us could face it so well. And at the very very least, reading it should make everything you eat today taste sweeter.

http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2010/01/nil_by_mouth.html

What a read. Thanks, Jenise.

Oh my, that is very sad, but also amazing as to what the human being can do, when it becomes necessary. The most important part of eating for me is tasting. I love the flavors of so many things, and that is what I would miss. Thanks for posting this.

That was a tough read for me. When my mom developed rather rare cancer of the salivary glands, within a week of diagnosis her tongue was gone. A year later so was her lower jaw, esophagus, trachea and finally her upper palate. For her last 10 years the only thing between her nose and shoulders were some vertebrae and surrounding tissue

Not being able to eat was about as horrendous to my mom as any of the deformities or pain. She was a true gourmet, and a killer cook. Strangely - or perhaps not - she became even more intense a cook after losing the ability to eat. She turned into a madwoman at the stove, frantically researching and piling before us cuisines from all over the world. It was as if she was trying to compensate for not eating through sheer volume of production. When finally she was confined to bed she watched FoodTV and read cookbooks - most of which I have now. There are almost 400. Three years later she wrote the menu for her post-funeral party. It was superb.

I hope Mr. Ebert's memories give him succor.

Wow. It is a very sad piece, but there's still something about Ebert's honesty that's very heartening.

As a speech-language pathologist, I have worked with people in this situation. I can tell you that if offered to have one function returned, it would not be to eat, but to speak.

They order cocktails they will never sip, and dinners they will push around the plate to make their dining companions feel less self-conscious. They find ways to compensate for not being able to eat, but no technology or writing implement allows them to fully engage in a lively conversation. Imagine Roger Ebert listening to people discuss their opinions of the latest film. He may have the most brilliant insight, the wittiest line of the night yet, by the time he types it, the moment is gone. He describes this perfectly in his blog:
So that's what's sad about not eating. The loss of dining, not the loss of food. It may be personal, but for, unless I'm alone, it doesn't involve dinner if it doesn't involve talking. The food and drink I can do without easily. The jokes, gossip, laughs, arguments and shared memories I miss. Sentences beginning with the words, "Remember that time?" I ran in crowds where anyone was likely to break out in a poetry recitation at any time. Me too. But not me anymore. So yes, it's sad.

So, for me, the greater question is: What if you couldn't speak?

Julia, do you find this to be true with all personalities? I'm wondering about the shy, introvert, who perhaps never felt they had much to say, or the sightless person who relies on their hearing for so much of their safety, location, direction, or a myriad of other types of persons who would need another sense to feel whole?

[Jenise]

So that's what's sad about not eating. The loss of dining, not the loss of food. It may be personal, but for, unless I'm alone, it doesn't involve dinner if it doesn't involve talking. The food and drink I can do without easily. The jokes, gossip, laughs, arguments and shared memories I miss. Sentences beginning with the words, "Remember that time?" I ran in crowds where anyone was likely to break out in a poetry recitation at any time. Me too. But not me anymore. So yes, it's sad.

So, for me, the greater question is: What if you couldn't speak?

Agreed and understood. And that's what I meant by my title question: eating is only the starting point. Certainly, the loss of voice most of us have contemplated never included, as Roger so simply put it, "the loss of dining". I cook up a storm for two, but if it were just me I'd live on frozen peas. I hear people discuss successfully dieting by not eating anything after 3:00 p.m. and think they've gone mad: the social event that is dinner for the type of person who cooks their heart out on a regular basis, even when it's just for two, is the most important part of our day. It's when we commune.

Tom's story about his mother is just as heart-breaking. I hope he has a kitchen full of her things, so that her spirit can live on through them.

The title of this thread - "What if you couldn't ..." puts the question on a very personal basis. The loss of either or both the ability to eat or to speak is so overwhelming to me that in truth I cannot deal with it. So much of my life has been involved with and even dedicated to communicating verbally with others and to doing a great deal of that over food and drink that any answer I give will be only superficial and probably either a rationalization or an out-and-out lie. Too heavy for me and thus not capable of a response....

Best
Rogov