Those of you who know me, or at least know my Facebook status updates, know I love dairy, but also know my gallbladder doesn’t. My love affair with dairy started years ago. My mother used to call me “rat” as in, the rat got to the cheese again, or we must have a little rat in the kitchen. I could eat cheese by the pound and went through milk by the gallon (which is probably how most people go through it, because it is sold that way). Dairy products used to love me back.
About three years ago, while on a travel assignment in California, I was working the night shift and had eaten a salad with ranch dressing. About an hour later, I began having severe pain in my upper abdomen/lower chest area (epigastric pain, to be precise). I thought I was going to explode like that guy in the Alien movie, you know when the baby alien comes tearing out of his body. I ran to the bathroom thinking the explosion might choose a pre-existing exit, but then worried that I might die in the bathroom and no one would find me. I went back into the unit, doubled over, pale, sweating and shaking, to ask the charge nurse to take me down to the ER because I was sure I was having a heart attack. I dialed my home number on my cellphone and handed it to one of my coworkers asking her between pants, to tell my husband that I was dying and that I loved him. My husband answered the phone and thinking I was playing a joke on him, kept telling my coworker, “John who? This is Billy Bob. I don’t have a wife.” I grabbed the phone and screamed, “She’s f**king serious! Shut up and listen!”
I was wheeled down to the ER where my blood pressure was 197/135! They took me back immediately and administered a 12-lead EKG, drew labs, and told me it wasn’t a heart attack, but probably a gall bladder attack. After about 30 minutes, the pain stopped with absolutely no trace of its existence. I felt so silly. My blood pressure returned to normal, the doctor instructed me to have it looked at when I got home.
This is where the phrase, “Doctor (or in my case, nurse), heal thyself” comes into play. Since I wasn’t having anymore pain, I decided to put it off. I was back to eating dairy and other cholesterol laden treats without any problems. Oh sure, every once in a while, I’d have some discomfort if I indulged in whole milk or cream sauces, but it was worth it! This brings us to last night. I may have received some girl scout cookies from a friend, and I may have had said cookies with a glass or two of whole milk, but only because I had it in the house for a recipe and had to use it lest it go bad (I don’t want to be wasteful). This led to a wake up call from my gall bladder at around 2:00 a.m. telling me it was not a good idea. About two hours of moderate discomfort, I was back in bed. Did I get up this morning and immediately call my doctor for an appointment to have my gallbladder checked? Nope. I did find a good recipe for cinnamon ice cream which I will be making for the next recipe I’m sharing with you.
Hello, my name is Delia and I am addicted to dairy.
Cinnamon ice cream (from David Lebovitz’s, Perfect Scoop) and turon (recipe courtesy of my Filipino friend, Susan)