Restaurant Eating for the Dietarily Restricted

I hate the word foodie, because it brings to mind a really wealthy brunch addict who instagrams pictures of their kale salads and smells their wine before they drink it.

So I’ll just say that I love food.

And more than loving food itself, I love going out to eat. The whole process has always been fun for me–– choosing a great restaurant, eating awesome food with the right company. And living in a city like Chicago, I could pretty much try a new restaurant every weekend and still never make a dent in all there is to be eaten here.

I'm not immune to the brunch Instagram. I'm human.

So imagine my struggle with new dietary restrictions.

“Dietary restrictions” is a kind term for my current eating situation. To me, dietary restrictions means something simple that you could write on the RSVP card to a wedding: “I’m a vegetarian,” “I can’t eat gluten,” “I’m dairy free,” “I will be dining at the open bar.”

But with Crohn’s (and colitis, and a lot of other illnesses), dietary restrictions are a bit more complicated. Suffice it to say I can eat what my gut decides it can tolerate–– and it’s being pretty picky and changing its mind more than a college freshman deciding on a major. Lately it’s been mainly fish, bread, and potatoes that have been going over okay–– what I like to sacrilegiously call my Jesus diet.

So how do you explain that to friends? Or a restaurant? Or a well-meaning aunt who just wants to cook you dinner? This is where eating out of your own home gets tricky and, often, un-fun. You can’t exactly sit there and go over the entire ingredient list with your server, lest they think you’re on some sort of Gwyneth Paltrow-inspired fad diet and spit in your food for being an immense pain in their ass on a busy night.

Last weekend I went out for a girls night with some friends from college. For everyone else, the prospect of picking a restaurant was probably just a normal group text. But for me, I sat on Yelp for a good hour, trying to come up with bars to suggest that were fun, cheap, and had stuff I could eat. I found a place! And ended up being able to order with minimal special instructions and just enjoy my night (and my tuna) with friends. Planning ahead, while not always the most fun! and spontaneous! thing to do can really help you relax and have a good time while you’re there–– no one wants to spend dinner stressing about whether the thing you just ate is going to make you need to pop a painkiller.

I may even be a repeat offender!

I also make pretty much all of my meals (down to breakfast and snacks, too) ahead of time to make life easier. That way, if I’m headed to an event where I don’t know the menu, I can eat my meal-prepped dinner beforehand or stuff some safe snacks in my purse. I have a reputation for getting hangry, so ending up somewhere with no Crohn’s friendly options is not an option for me (and is not advised for the people around me–– sorry for being mean when I’m hungry, friends!)

Having to plan your food ahead doesn’t have to be all bad, either–– it can make you look like an awesome party guest! I went to a barbecue recently and BYO-salmon for the grill, plus I brought a potato salad. It was great because the potato salad guaranteed there was something there I could eat (see ya, hanger) and it’s also just thoughtful to bring a dish to share when invited to a party. So take that, Crohn’s–– while I may be losing my spontaneous ability to go grab late night poutine after some aggressive dancing to Britney Spears, I am gaining in adulting points. And Barefoot Contessa recipes–– holler at that tarragon potato salad, folks.

Make 'Em Laugh

Comedy has always been an integral part of my life. From the early days of staying up late to watch "Saturday Night Live" with my dad to high school nights spent doing weird bits with my best friends, I’ve always leaned toward the more sarcastic side of life.

Sometimes jokes are just for fun, but they’ve also always been a great coping mechanism for me. Some people might call it a crutch, but those people are just well-adjusted assholes who can’t be trusted. Whether it was a fight with a friend or my parent’s divorce, joking about it has always made the bad stuff feel a little bit more manageable. If you can take something that hurts you and use it to make other people laugh, you’re turning it into something kind of beautiful.

When it comes to chronic illness, arming myself with a good sense of humor has been the greatest tool in my arsenal. Don’t get me wrong–– I have bad days where I just want to sit and wallow about how shitty things might be at that particular moment, no jokes allowed. And conversely, there are people who deal with their illness with unending positivity about silver linings and how things could be worse. But on most days, I opt for a different approach: making a joke out of the seriousness. And with Crohn’s, it’s easy to do–– doctors have literally stuck a camera up my butt on multiple occasions. If that doesn’t lend itself to comedy, I don’t know what does.

Saying something gross to strangers

Disclaimer: this approach probably isn’t for everyone. Sometimes, joking about a serious illness can offend, which is totally fair. But there’s a really great quote from the movie “Garden State” said by Natalie Portman’s character, who suffers from epilepsy, and it’s always stuck with me:

“What do you do? You laugh. I’m not saying I don’t cry but in between I laugh and I realize how silly it is to take anything too seriously.”

I’ve always tried to take this same approach. Let yourself feel your feelings–– if what you need that day is a good cry, do it. It feels great sometimes. But if you feel the need to make light of something heavy, lean in to that feeling. It can be really cathartic.

I have been blessed with a group of wonderful weirdos that I have called my best friends since about the age of ten. Nothing is really off limits for us to joke about, which has made my Crohn’s experience so much lighter and easier to handle. I don’t have to worry about burdening them, or grossing them out, because they’re the first ones to crack a joke about my messed up colon. During this most recent flare, one of my best friends sent me toilet paper with Donald Trump’s face on it. Best “get well soon” gift ever.

My best friends. They are impossible to out-gross.

Being able to joke around with the people you love makes talking about your symptoms a lot less alienating. That’s why it’s important to set the tone with the people in your life. It’s hard to know what to say when someone tells you about their medical problems. Do you say you’re sorry? Do you say it’ll get better? Do you ask questions, or respect their privacy? It honestly all depends on the person, so it’s up to us (the sick persons involved) to lead the way. I like answering questions about my disease because it raises awareness, and I like joking about it because it helps me and others cope. So I always try to set that tone early, so people know it’s okay to ask, and that it’s okay to joke.

So when you see me making light of something like hand tremors or painsomnia, I promise I’m not just being a terrible human being, or feeling sorry for myself. I’m trying to come to terms with some no-fun stuff by making it fun in any way I can. I’m not looking for pity, or a reassuring platitude about how it gets better. I’m just looking for some understanding, and maybe some more friends who can get down with a poop joke.

Lies My Sister Told Me That Maybe Weren't Lies

My sister and I are very different human beings.

I love attention–– duh, I have a blog. She despises it–– even having people sing to her on her birthday makes her twitchy and weird. She dresses hyper-professionally and should basically buy stock in Ann Taylor Loft, whereas just yesterday my style was referred to as "an adult Lizzie McGuire." I keep up with the Kardashians, but I’m not sure she even knows who Tyga is. We’re two sides of a really weird , genetically similar coin.

This is Heather and Me! Two very different peas in one pod.

One of our biggest differences has always been food. Don’t get me wrong: we both freaking LOVE food. But we’ve always loved it in different ways. I love it in the way where you know where all the late night hot dog stands are. She loves it in the way where she owns a juicer and makes her own pesto.

In spite of our many differences, though, we’re insanely close. She’s the person I talk to most on a daily basis, so naturally when my Crohn’s threw my diet for a loop a couple of months ago, she was the person I turned to. She’s been trying to get me on healthy home cooking for years now, but like anything in my life, I don’t do it until I’m good and damn ready. Like any stubborn, self-respecting millennial should, I reject things I don’t understand. And I didn’t understand kale, or why I would want to eat quinoa when I could have literally any other food.

When I was finally ready to eat right so I could function through a work day without immense stomach pain, it was like my sister had been waiting in the wings to become my real-food fairy godmother. I just so happened to have a visit planned to see her, and since I wasn’t well enough to go adventuring around DC, we used the time to teach me to cook. In a couple of days, Heather took me from “how do you bake a piece of chicken?” to “I’m going to puree some basil to incorporate into my homemade mashed potatoes.”

I even learned to juice, which is something I previously made fun of mercilessly but was actually kind of fun and yielded some delicious carrot ginger situation that gave me a lot of energy I’d been missing on my bland diet.

Does this juice make me look like Gwyneth Paltrow?

After my trip ended, she sent over a parting gift of wisdom–– a cookbook of sustainable seafood recipes. My gut has decided I can’t eat any meat more dense than fish, so this is basically the most thoughtful gift a human could get me right now, short of some new intestines. I felt like a butterfly leaving my little cooking cocoon, and with only moderate help from Heather via text, I made a really impressive arctic char. She may have given me advice and cook times and recipes, but mainly she gave me the confidence that I can actually do this stuff and cook using something other than a microwave.
So should I have listened to my sister four years ago when she said pizza rolls aren’t dinner? Probably. But the point is that sometimes we know what’s good for us but it takes a kick in the ass (like an aggressive Crohn’s flare) to grow up and make us actually act on it. And now I have the satisfaction of knowing I did this for me and my colon, and not because some guy or celebrity or fad diet made me think I needed to change. I’m changing for my health, not to look like Beyonce, which makes it a lot more accessible. It's not how I look, but rather about feeling good enough to make it through the day.

Fun in making new kinds of fish

My hope for you all is that something kicks you in the ass and makes you realize you can actually feel better based on your food intake. Or if it’s not food, whatever it is you’ve been putting off because it seems to hard or tedious. And more than that, my hope is that when you do finally make the decision to make a change, you have an older sister who wants to teach you how to make butternut squash soup. It’s no Big Mac, but it’s shockingly satisfying to eat something you cooked yourself. It’s too soon to tell, but it’s possible that I’m becoming a reformed drive-thru junkie.

Chronically Single: Dating While Sick

I am terrible at dating.

I think to be good at dating there needs to be a modicum of giving a damn involved, and that is something I just do not have. I don’t want to pretend to be interested in some Tinder dude’s improv show. I just don’t have the time or energy.

I’ve always been bad at dating. The peak of my allure was in the eighth grade, where I think I had a total of two “boyfriends” with whom I slow danced to Ashanti in a gym. From then on, though, I could never bring myself to devote much time and energy to attracting a dude. I preferred to spend said time planning elaborate pranks with my friends or making puffy paint shirts with Dumbledore on them. Yes, I have always been this cool and hip.

So in all fairness, my lame dating history pre-dates my Crohn’s diagnosis, and there’s a solid chance that even if I were in full physical health, I would still be hanging out with a romantic comedy and a pizza on a Friday night. But as it stands I do have Crohn’s, and the being chronically ill thing? Definitely makes the dating thing a bit harder.

I know there are plenty of people out there with chronic illnesses who are in awesome, happy relationships. Maybe those people were better at dating to begin with, like Fonzi or Gigi Hadid, and now they’re found their unicorn person who takes them to doctor’s appointments and binge watches House of Cards with them on bad pain days. Maybe they’ve found someone else with a chronic illness, who really “gets it” and doesn’t get salty if they have to miss out on plans due to a flare. Maybe they’re dating a medical professional who has seen way too much to be grossed out or put off by their less cute symptoms. To those people I say: thank you for existing, and giving me hope I won’t be single forever. Please set me up with your doctor friends.

But as a chronically single 24 year old girl with a random disease, the “date” situation can get a little prickly. Especially in times like now, where I’m in a pretty aggressive flare. Not being able to ingest alcohol means I can’t go out for drinks, killing a key way of meeting and mingling with the opposite sex. I also can’t eat most foods, leading your average guy to think I’m maybe just on some fad juice cleanse. I also worry often about disappointing someone–– even if we go for coffee and they like me, will they quickly grow tired of the fact that during periods of bad health, I’m usually in bed by 8:30?

It’s hard, because you just want to scream “I swear I’m fun and normal!” But generally speaking, dudes don’t respond well to being screamed at by strangers? Like I said, dating is hard.

Among my many healthy single friends, an excuse I often hear for not going out on dates is “I’m just too busy” or “I don’t have the time.” While some people will call these excuses a cop out, they’re often legitimate. I’m friends with some badass women who are in grad school, running organizations, and working their way up the ladder in really cool companies. If they don’t have an hour to go for drinks with a CrossFit instructor who wears sandals, I will grant them that.

And so in a different way, I also find it hard to prioritize the little time and energy I have into blind internet dates. When your symptoms mean you only have about three hours of solid energy a day that’s not devoted to being at work, you tend to want to use it for more productive things like going to your doctor’s appointments, or cooking, or seeing a friend. And if that means it takes me a bit longer to find my made-for-me unicorn person, I’ll just have to wait.

So I suppose what I’m saying is, I probably won’t be finding true love anytime soon, unless that love is found in line at Whole Foods while I’m buying a salmon and some V8. Which would be a great meet-cute, so maybe get on that, universe?

Namast'ay in Bed... Indefinitely.

It’s time to talk about chronic fatigue!

I know what you’re thinking–– that’s just a fancy way to say “tired.”

Extreme, chronic fatigue is a lot like love–– until you’ve experienced it yourself, it’s hard to really “get it.” That’s probably where the comparisons to love end, though. Fatigue sucks.

As a kid, I always thought migraines were just really bad headaches. Then I started getting chronic migraines and I was like “wow, this is a whole different universe of pain.” That’s how fatigue is–– it’s hard to conceptualize the extreme nature of being that physically exhausted until you’ve been there. But I’ll do my best to help explain!

Unless you’re a robot, you probably know what it’s like to feel tired. If you are a robot and are reading this, please email me. I would like to be your friend, like in the movie Bicentennial Man, until I die but you never die and instead just mourn me forever.

For all the non-robots out there, you know what it’s like to be tired. Whether it’s from not getting enough sleep, or a long day at work, or helping a friend move, you’ve maybe been tired a lot! Life is busy! It’s 2016! People always want us to answer all of our emails so promptly!

But take that level of physical exhaustion and now double it a few times, so it’s not just “tired,” but something that alters your thoughts and your joints and your whole being. It makes your body ache and it makes you lose your train of thought when you go to speak. And humor me for a second and imagine that no amount of rest would make that tired go away. You could nap, put your feet up, “rest your eyes” as my grandma would say, but you would still find yourself just as tired. That’s kind of what chronic fatigue is like.

Suffice it to say that sucks, amirite? And a lot of people suffering from chronic fatigue have it as the result of another illness, like Lupus or Endometriosis. For me, I experience chronic fatigue because of my Crohn’s disease, but I’m also treating my Crohn’s with a steroid that gives me insomnia. It’s like the medical life cycle of hell.

A past, flare-free and fun~ life

So why am I telling you all these depressing things about fatigue? Is it so you’ll feel bad and donate to a GoFundMe I’m creating for a new, bionic body that doesn’t get tired? More logically, it’s because it’s important to know these things if you have a fatigue sufferer in your own everyday life–– which many of you probably do.

I’m 24 years old, I live in the third biggest city in America, and I really love to go out with my friends. When I’m not in a Crohn’s flare, my social life often involves 24 hour diners, requesting Beyonce at 4 AM bars, and occasionally puking on my own stylish ankle boots. I tell you all of this because after over a month of being in a flare, I really feel the need to remind the world that I CAN BE FUN, GODDAMMIT.

The problem is that when I’m sick like I am now, the fatigue takes all of that and pretty much says “nope!” For a while I couldn’t even go to work, and now I’m super proud of the days where I can make it through a whole work day and almost immediately pass out when I get home. That energy level makes it a bit hard to do things like go to happy hour or attend a friend’s party.

Life in a flare? More naps, more Netflix, more icy hots.

So if you know someone who suffers from chronic fatigue, or any chronic illness that may be accompanied by it, cut them some slack if they have to leave the party early or can’t make it to whatever cool thing is happening this weekend. Believe me–– they wish they could. They want to be able to do all the “normal” things, but being young and sick isn’t normal. So sometimes it’s important to make allowances and realize that while a night in with Scandal and some tea may sound like a homebody cop out, fatigue isn’t a made up symptom, and it doesn’t just mean you’re “over tired.” Your body physically needs the rest like it needs medicine.

Living with fatigue means constantly fighting your own internal clock for a few more hours to get things done. It means anxiety and feeling like a bad friend when you have to cancel plans because you physically can’t make it out. So fight on, fellow fatiguers! Take a break when you need it! Invest in a onesie and a lavender scented candle! I see you, I support you, and I will now be going to sleep.

I Like Getting Tattoos (Or, Having Control Over Your Body When You Don't Have Control Over Your Body)

I like getting tattoos.

Other things I enjoy include piercings, dying my hair colors not found in nature, and spending far too much of my disposable income on whatever makeup a Kardashian is currently peddling on Instagram.

So what, am I having a late in life rebellion against my parents? Do I just like my hair to look like sherbet because I’m really hungry?

In the last year, I've rocked roughly 6 hair colors.

I’ve thought long and hard about why I like to make my body physically fun-looking in unconventional ways, and the best answer I can come up with is control. Control is a really un-fun sounding word, but to me it’s an exciting concept.

Chronic illness means rarely having control over your own body. It means you can be trucking along in life, doing everything your doctors ask, and you may still encounter a shit storm of symptoms at a moment’s notice. It can make you feel pretty powerless–– everybody wants to talk about how “your body is your temple,” but what happens when your temple is tearing itself down for no good reason?! Screw this temple, honestly. I got a broken temple.

Two hair colors at once like "I'm not a real adult"

So how do you take back your own body? For a lot of people, that’s where body modification comes in. There’s a lot of different levels to body modification–– everything from ear piercing to full body tattoos are included. For some people, it’s a whole lifestyle. I’m a pretty small-grade practitioner of it myself; I only have a couple of piercings and a few tattoos. But throughout history, whether you have a sleeve, or gages, or fuchsia eyebrows, body mod has meant something kind of cool: self-empowerment.

If I can’t control the chaos going on inside my temple, there’s something empowering about being able to decorate it as I please. It’s also nice, on an infusion day or a trip to get blood work done, to look down and see the tattoos I’ve chosen looking back at me. When I was a little kid and I was having a bad day, my mom would draw a smiley face on my index finger as a reminder at school that things would be okay. My tattoos feel like the big-time version of those little smiley faces drawn in pen.

In the process of getting my favorite tattoo–– it's a big daisy.

And when you’ve been bedridden or housebound with a flare for a while, something like turquoise hair can make you feel like a glamorous unicorn in a way nothing else quite manages. It’s a great (and slightly less permanent) way to take charge of putting a smile on your own face. And while makeup doesn’t quite fall into the category of modifying your body in any permanent sense, I tend to include it in the category of aesthetic changes that lift my mood. Trying a new spidery eyelash trick or a bright purple lipstick can make me feel newly human on the outside even when my inside is like “meh, ow, take a nap.”

So if you have a chronic illness of your very own, might I suggest treating yourself to a new foundation that makes you look more glowy than you feel. Go buy a box dye and turn yourself into a Rainbow Brite fairy princess. Try whatever trend makes you happy. Because in the grand scheme of control over your body, you’ve got to take it where you can get it. I may go to bed at 8 PM tonight, but at least I’ll do it with sparkly new nail polish on, and that was enough to make me feel like me today.

Happy(?) Autoimmune Disease Awareness Month!

March is autoimmune disease awareness month!

That really rolls off the tongue, right?

In talking to some friends and family recently, I’ve realized that not everyone is necessarily super clear on what autoimmune diseases are. Which totally makes sense! I don’t know what bitcoin is! I don’t understand how 3D printing works! I don’t get Periscope at all! And until one of those things directly affects my life or a kind soul explains it to me, I won’t ever know. That’s how it works.

So, if you’re interested, read on for my very non-medical, non-technical version of what autoimmune diseases are:

Basically, having an autoimmune disease means my body is a bit broken. Or more specifically, my immune system is busted. In a normally functioning immune system, your body works to fight off infections and viruses, which is a good thing that lets us live our lives and not get sick every time we encounter a germ. Unfortunately for me, my body sees itself as an infection or virus, and thus promptly attacks itself on a regular basis. It’s pretty rude and counterproductive.

It’s not clear how I got Crohn’s disease, and there’s no foreseeable cure. So the medical plan for my life is to try to stop my body from attacking itself as much as humanly possible. This involves trial and error on a lot of really amazing medicines that try to get my body to chill out and stop fighting itself.

The biggest thing to be aware of about autoimmune diseases, in my humble opinion, is that they make no damn sense. I think the hardest thing in explaining my disease to friends and family is that they always want a clear cut explanation or way to solve it, and there isn’t one, which can be frustrating. A messed up immune system is just a wacky thing to deal with. I can’t make sense of it, but I can accept it. For me, accepting it means knowing my body’s limits and doing whatever I can to stave off the unfortunate symptoms that accompany life with an autoimmune disease. Accepting it means learning to puree vegetables and take a nap if my body is screaming at me to do so.

As far as symptoms go, those are equally confusing and weird. While an autoimmune disease can affect pretty much any part of the body specifically, they also come with a host of other, more general symptoms. Crohn’s disease mainly affects my GI tract–– but it dabbles in a little bit of everything else too, from joint pain to fatigue to eye problems and skin rashes.

A lot of people with autoimmune diseases are on special medications that suppress the immune system. In terms of my Crohn’s, these medicines do great work. It stops my body from fighting itself and making the Crohn’s worse. But it’s also literally suppressing my immune system, which makes it that much easier to get sick in basically every other way. So treating my Crohn’s can mean getting the cold, or the flu, or any other number of unfun things. It’s a trade off.

So if you know someone with an autoimmune disease, use March as an excuse to send them a little extra love and understanding. And as always, I’m not a doctor (nor do I play one on TV), so if you want more ~scientific~ information on how the immune system works (or in these cases, doesn’t work), talk to your doctor! Or build a time machine so you can go back and pay better attention in 8th grade health class.

My Jeans Are Too Loose, And For This I Am Conflicted.

This morning I put real pants on for the first time in three weeks.

Living that “Crohn’s disease flare and also having the flu” life, I’ve stuck mainly to leggings, if not straight up pajamas for weeks now. I’m lucky in that I work at a web startup where leggings and big sweatshirts are the norm, so I’ve gotten away with stretchy pants that don’t push down on my intestines for far too long now. But today, Chicago weather had other ideas, and I knew real jeans would be necessary.

I went to reach for my loosest pair of jeans as to not push it, and put them on to find they are way looser than normal. I am now, as I type, wearing what was formerly my tightest pair of jeans–– only they’re not anymore. They’re too big.

Now, as just a regular 24-year woman, this whole blog post probably sounds like a really awful humble brag. We get it, Sam. You lost weight. Good for you! Also, maybe go to hell?

But as a chronic illness-having woman, weight loss is a bit more complex, and usually comes as a result of being super sick for a period of time (at present, my diet consists mainly of foods that look like they were already digested by a mama bird). Not that we really need something to complexify body image for women in 2016. We’re living in a whirlwind of messages. Fat shaming is rampant. Skinny shaming is a thing. Love your body, but also maybe go paleo and gluten free or better yet only eat seeds? It’s honestly hard for even 100% healthy women to keep up with all the bullshit.

Point being, weight is complex, and something we should probably stop trying to put into convenient boxes and infographics for Pinterest consumption. Some women are skinny and healthy. Some women are bigger, but still healthy. Some women are gaining weight for reasons beyond their control, like medication or thyroid issues. Some women like myself are losing weight for reasons beyond their control. Am I happy every time someone tells me I look like I’ve lost weight? Of course, I want to be Kendall Jenner as much as the next person. But do you know what’s better than compliments on my thinness? LITERALLY ANYTHING DIPPED IN CHEESE SAUCE.

So maybe what I’m saying is this: if you’re in decent health, cut your body a break. Skinny doesn’t always equal healthy. Keep an eye on things like blood pressure and cholesterol levels, but don’t beat yourself up over that one picture your mom posted on facebook where it kind of looked like you maybe had an extra chin. Chock it up to lighting and enjoy your life and also a hot dog.

Because as a reminder, people who say “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” are liars. Really hungry liars.