A good, healthy, post-frying binge snack:
Pile cottage cheese. Top with nuts. Slice drippy, ripe apricots. Drizzle with honey. Instant.
This is so not appropriate for a food blog, but it’s life, and I said food and life, so . . . here goes. Plus, I guess it does have something to do with the food in my house.
Today I went to see my rheumatologist and, for the first time since I moved to Seattle, left feeling great. As long as my blood tests reflect the fact that I’ve been feeling pretty good recently, I don’t have to go back until October, which is a big stretch, for me. I came home with two new prescriptions, but I can try to whittle down some of the drugs I’m already on, if I’m up for it. Yee haw.
But get this: the next time I go in I have to bring 24 hours’ worth of pee with me. Yes, I have to pee in a cup – but not just a little bit into a little cup, per usual. I have to put everything I have over a 24-hour period into a little graduated plastic container, recording the volume each time, and transfer it to a bigger container, which I must then refrigerate.
My own pee, in the refrigerator. In an orange container that looks suspiciously like a milk jug, with a handle and everything. Next to my eggs.
Ick. How can I possibly cook when there’s pee in my fridge?
I told my husband, and he forbade me from letting it get anywhere near the separate little fridge he uses for brewing beer. (The one that only holds sealed containers.)
And then driving it to the doctor’s office: What if I get pulled over? “What’s in the bag, ma’am?”
The most embarrassing part was when the nurse handed me the holding tank. It was a process; she had to get up on a stepladder to reach it. The jug is about the size of a half gallon of milk. Is that all I pee in a day?, I thought. I felt somehow (inexplicably) convinced that I’d definitely need more volume than she was providing, so I asked her what I should do if I had, you know, extra. (Perhaps this is related to the Tuppeware problem. You know how you can never pick the right size container the first time?) The nurse looked at me like I was on crack. Back she went, up the ladder to get a second container. Then she packed the two containers and the measuring device up nice and cute in sturdy brown gift bags. Like I’d been shopping for birthday gifts at the rheumatologist’s office. She didn’t need to point out that she could fit the kit into one bag for most people.
Now I feel all this pressure to fill more than one. I have until October 16th to prepare.