It happened. The glorious eating. It was as beautiful and perfect as I’d hoped. My uncle and his wife were our extremely gracious hosts. Before dinner, I ate crackers, occasionally making a bold move and dipping them in hummus (no prob). When the buffet was opened, I was busy cutting up Young A’s plate o’ pure protein (turkey, meatballs, salmon), so I didn’t quite get to storm the table as I’d planned. By the time I got there, cousin I’s exquisite sauteed green beans (a vegetable which I’d been given clearance to have), were nearly gone so I had to jump the queue to snag some. I took turkey, mashed potatoes, some bread, plain sweet potato (or… was it squash?), and in a weak nod to my actual instructions from the nutritionist, a dollop of cranberry sauce – which as it turned out was quite fancy and citrusy, not the gelatinous blob from a can that had been officially sanctioned.

I was on a high because I was seeing so many family members I hadn’t seen in ages – so many of whom have spent the past year coping with their own great trials, and many of whom have been reading along here. I got hugged up and caught up and it was fabulous. Only once got teary (no, it wasn’t while eating).

I moved through rooms and various groupings of family before settling on the living room to eat my prized selections. I had sent an email several days earlier to my relatives I knew I’d be seeing, asking them to please not question me about what I would or wouldn’t be able to eat. That was before The Great Correction happened, though. I hadn’t anticipated being able to eat an entire plate of food. I hadn’t anticipated going for seconds, and then pumpkin pie and my mom’s cheesecake, and then seconds on that. Eventually, people started making fun of me and the way I was eating. I didn’t mind a bit. It was the best Thanksgiving meal of my life and I won’t soon forget it.

I couldn’t go to bed right away, which was just as well because the kids didn’t go down until nearly 10. After they were in bed we gathered around my parents’ table to talk over the evening and fill each other in on stories we hadn’t heard. I ate some canned pears. I stayed up another two hours, making sure my body wasn’t going to go haywire on me. It was fine. I felt kind of stoned, I guess. A Thanksgiving meal after extended deprivation will do that to a person.

Today was a slow beginning, two breakfasts, my requisite dose of steroid (which I’m starting to resent) and finally, just before lunchtime, we extracted ourselves to go for pizza and then for a walk down by the river. Yes, you heard me. Pizza. I ate some. It was good. It wasn’t THE BEST, but as I told the kids, pizza everywhere else exists to make us feel grateful for the pizza we have back home. (Today’s was my training pizza. I’m maybe not ready for the real thing.)

We walked down by the river, took in its powerful rapids, and since I kept falling behind I had time to reminisce about my trips there as a kid, the same age as mine are now. I felt grateful in my very DNA.

We stopped for donuts on the way back home.