My dog hates me. OK, maybe she doesn’t actively hate me. Probably more passive-aggressively tolerant. Probably just passive. No growling or barring teeth. It’s just that I can’t feed her or take her outside or pet her or talk to her. Basically, anything I did before my stroke. I lived with her, then I didn’t. Confusing, I know. I have come to understand that dogs can be uncomfortable a lot like people. Chris also reminded me that Piper hasn’t ever been very affectionate. True. But if I smelled more like beef or cheese…
Speaking of food, I have primarily “eaten” corn for more than two years now. The formula
that gets poured down my feeding tube four times per day is corn. I don’t have
a problem with a little corn, but four times per day? For years? I think it’s a
The alternative? A lot of blending. A lot. All under the supervision of my
doctor and a dietician. There will be bloodwork. I want it to work. I really
want it work. It can’t not work. Double negative? Pish posh. It is my blog,
after all. And surely we can’t mess up the food thing.