That’s all it is now.
Food thoughts.
I talked to the nutritionist this week. I was melting down a little—okay, a lot—about the eating part of this journey. She calmed me down. Said she’d be there every step of the way. That alone made me breathe easier.
It’s going to be a recovery, no doubt about it.
Last time, my digestive tract stayed mostly intact. They just took out the back part—the body and tail of the pancreas—and my spleen. Still major, still painful. But the bounce back? About a month. Four weeks later, Justin and I were in the car with Bootsy (our kitty), driving down to Sarasota for chemo. Life moved.
This is not that.
Full stop.
And breathe.
What Healing Looks Like This Time
This time, it’s a full reroute.
The digestive detour of all detours.
My organs will need rest, pain meds, and time. The digestive tract, on the other hand, will need a chemistry set—enzyme pills, carefully timed meals, and a whole new rulebook.
Breathe.
New Language: Protein, Fiber, and Fat
I keep hearing the same food words now: “fiber,” “fats,” “protein.”
Totally different than the usual diabetic buzzword: “carbs.”
It’s a weird mental shift—like I’ve entered a new language immersion course I didn’t sign up for.
The calculations of this fiber-fat-protein formula will affect my blood sugar, likely sending my diabetes into a tailspin. Let’s be honest—it already is. My diabetes has been doing its own interpretive dance since this whole thing started. Maybe it’s stress, maybe it’s hormones, maybe it’s just chaos—but it’s definitely something.
Still breathing.
The Eating Plan: 6–8 Meals a Day
The nutritionist told me this new plan is actually ideal for diabetics.
No refined sugars. No processed foods.
Protein is king.
I’ll be eating six to eight tiny meals a day. Literally eating all day.
With enzyme pills. And a shot of insulin.
Easy.
It feels overwhelming.
And somehow, still doable.
And breathe.
Finding Control in the Kitchen
I like to cook. I like to bake. I like feeding the people I love.
It’s how I show love.
Thankfully, Justin eats what I make and asks for seconds.
I know I sound obsessed. Probably because I am.
I’m sorry to anyone who’s talked to me recently—I know I haven’t shut up about food since this all started. I’m trying to think it through out loud. Trying to imagine what this new life will look like. Trying to plan for something I can’t fully visualize yet.
Amazon thinks I’m opening a wellness café.
The air fryer is here.
So are the protein drinks, powders, and the MCT oil.
Breathe.
Countdown Mode
September 2 feels close… and impossibly far away.
In the meantime:
- Pilates three times a week – burn that core
- Soup and broth prep
- Post-op liquid diet game plan
- Bread baking mode: activated
I made two challahs yesterday.
I’m eating bagels like it’s a goodbye tour. It kind of is.
Bring on the lox, I’m going full jew food.
Breathe.
New Rhythm, New Life
I tried going full-on indulgent: fried food, creamy soups, rich sauces.
My stomach waved a white flag. Too heavy. Too much.
So instead, I’m trying this 6–8 meal-a-day rhythm.
If I keep the portions small, I can find my groove.
This surgery checks all the boxes:
Scared. Anxious. Worried. Nervous. Prepared. Supported. Overwhelmed. Determined.
I’m not scared about the surgery anymore.
I’m at that take the f*cker out now stage.
It’s the after I’m working on.
Still breathing.
Meredith's Musings 
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