August 23, 2002

I can’t eat and I’m miserable. Everyone around me is miserable too. I guess its contagious or perhaps my constant complaining is what's making them feel this way. I just feel totally worthless. I can’t even go out to dinner with my friends because it makes them self-conscious about eating in front of me. And me, it starves me to death to smell food and not be able to eat it. Wanda Mae is always saying, “Herbert you’ve got to listen to the doctor.”

It’s been over 1 month and I still can’t swallow without getting choked. I hate it when the doctor says there is no change in my condition. He keeps saying how my nervous system has been damaged by my stroke. Doesn’t he think I already know this? He insists that I keep the feeding tube in my stomach so my body will receive enough nourishment and protein to maintain my health. He’s always talking about swallowing phases and how I could aspirate and die. I know I could handle that oral phase. My teeth and jaws are as strong as a pit bulls.

September 1, 2002

Why can’t I eat is my question? I feel like I can manage it. I’m only 65 and you’d think I was 85 by the way my family treats me. Perhaps on my next visit to the speech therapist we’ll try some that of thickener in gravy she's talks about. Mmmm gravy sounds so good. Geneva said later we may be able to add thickner to liquids that will actually make them easier to swallow and lessen my chances of becoming choked. She knows what she's talking about after all she has worked to help me recover most of my speech and language skills. My voice gets weak when I’m tired but otherwise its fine.

Last Saturday I tried drinking water and got choked. I used to tell Wanda Mae about getting choked but I don’t anymore because she gets so crazy, screaming and yelling about how I’m gonna die if I don’t listen to the doctor. I tell her I know my body better than some doctor and then she starts all over again. She just has no idea how thirsty I get, how much I would pay to be able to drink a glass of water.

I never realized how much I took for granted until my stroke. Maybe I’d be better off if I didn’t know I couldn’t drink or eat. I am just a burden now with Wanda Mae always fussing over me like I’m some child. Lord that woman drives me crazy. “Herbert put that down” seems to be all she ever says to me anymore. “Herbert you act like a child always sneaking around in the kitchen” she says, and “You've reverted back to your childhood.”
What does she know about it anyways. She’s not the one that can’t eat.

Hey I was thinking about telling my therapist that I’ll take her out for some hot fudge cake with whipped cream and nuts after my therapy session on Thursday. Oh well at least I can dream about food.