This was sitting like a little orphan in my Outlook drafts box. It was at a very difficult time in 2008 when I thought I might be becoming lactose intolerant. I have since rejected this hypothesis. Please enjoy (, Cara).
disclaimer: these are disjointed scraps of thoughts not entirely sewed together. (Patchwork writing?)
My body is rejecting milk. My mom turned lactose intolerant in her 40s, so I figured if I was so unlucky as to follow in her genetic fate, at least I would be middle aged, probably so busy with kids and a job that I wouldn't have time to sit down and savor the white liquid heaven.
It all started (the love affair that is) in 1995.
When I was 10, my endocrinologist put me on the very scientific "whole milk diet." Whole milk accompanied every meal. I felt special confidently (and legally) sacheting into the Camp Pocono Ridge cafeteria kitchen, opening the massive institutional refrigrerator, and pulling out a half gallon of milk for me and my special needs.
It was my identity. It was me.
When I have a healthy portion of milk available, I will occasionally eat cake or cookies just so I can create the perfect milk-consuming environment in my mouth. I can gulp it down with a glass of milk. Nothing neutralizes and refreshes a buttery/sugary mouth like milk.
What I am saying is, this is more than just a beverage. This is who I am. It is my friend, and losing it will be a disaster.
But my heart will go on.