Yesterday, I was hungry. I mean full fledged, nauseous from the rumbling, hungry. Nothing seemed to help. Not protein shakes, not yogurt, not popsicles, not soup, not juice, not a latte - nothing. I was so sick by the end of the day from not eating something solid that all I could do was lay down on the sofa and wish I had never had the surgery. Not even a week since I received the band and I felt so low I didn't know if I could get up. Of course, factor in the fact that my grandmother's house burned to the ground the day before and I had been exerting myself trying to help her deal with it all. If ever I wanted a time for "comfort food" it was during this ordeal. But the comfort wasn't there. Not with pizza or french fries, or mashed potatoes. Just liquid. I know my hunger was physical, I simply was crashing from the lack of calories and the energy expended. But it was mental too. I was mentally hungry for the foods that make me feel better. I was physically hungry and I wanted to fill that hunger with feel good foods - not pureed bean soup. There is nothing appealing about pureed bean soup. Especially when you just want to feel full and warm and ok as you watch the ashes of a home smolder and almost 90 years of life go up in smoke. We are so grateful that my grandmother survived the fire but the trauma is still very real and very scary. I find myself worrying about my own home. I looked carefully at my son's nightlight, I unplugged our outdoor water fountain, I slept fitfully thinking of smoke. This kind of turmoil is rare for most people, thankfully. But here I am dealing with it in full force and I can't even eat with my family, can't even comfort myself with those foods of my childhood.

Yesterday, I was hungry. Hungry in my body, my mind and my soul. I can't remember ever being this hungry before, but most of it had nothing to do with the protein shakes and the jello.