No doctor has ever told me that I need to gain weight. Usually I wait in dread for the newest medical slice into my non-compliance so clearly seen welded to my hips and tummy.
My mother has never heard it, either, and she weighs exactly what she did when she was married 56 years ago (size 10, 120 lbs). That changed with her flirtation with abdominal infection and surgery. She lost 10 lbs while in the hospital and the surgeon told her that she needed to put some meat on her bones to help her heal.
So while I was visiting we were looking for ways to increase her calorie intake and get lots of protein into her to help the wound heal. It was kind of fun because Dad and I would go to the store and think about what stuff we knew we were supposed to eat (non-fat plain yogurt) and then look for the high-calorie high-fat kind instead. We didn’t go buy bags of chocolate candy and instead stocked up on raisin bread and high-fat peanut butter instead of the reduced-fat kind in the pantry, and picked up a high-power protein drink that she calls her chocolate sludge.
While we were out and about in the car, Dad and I had The Weight Talk. He also has battled his weight all his life so he understands that there isn’t an easy fix, so really this talk was about his concern for my health so I can live a long and happy life. Given what he’s been through in the last month, I couldn’t get upset with his caring. And then he took me out for an ice cream cone and we agreed we wouldn’t mention it to Mom.
Mom is doing better and realizing how sick she actually was. She’s weak as a kitten and the wound is going to need another 6 weeks to heal. Tho maybe all those high cal and high protein food will help speed that up.
We had a good visit and the flights home were uneventful and on time. Although those double-seats were expensive, I was comfortable and didn’t feel self-conscious because, well, sometimes there are empty seats so no one knew that I paid for the one next to me. Tessie was very happy to see me and meowed and sat on my tummy in the night, kneading my chin with her paws. I hope she remembers next time that I do come back.