Coffee and I Had a Falling Out
It’s not you; it’s me
Last Wednesday, I dragged myself to urgent care. My colon was full of anger and inflamed diverticula. I needed antibiotics.
I had already put myself on a liquid diet. “Good girl,” said the doctor, then she made that diet even stricter. She ruled out coffee through the rest of my treatment, all ten days of it. “Not even black coffee,” she said.
I was too sick Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to care. My taste buds were off a little. Only Motts brand apple juice tasted good, so I lived on apple juice for days. The nice thing about apple juice is that, when you throw it up, it still just tastes like apple juice.
On Sunday morning, I decided to brew myself some coffee. I’ve never been all that good at following doctors’ orders. Besides, the books on diverticulitis tell me I can drink black coffee on a “clear” liquid diet. And I was feeling better.
Of course, I fully planned on adding creamer. I’m not lactose intolerant — dairy likes me. We’re good pals. Think about it: coffee with cream is really just one step away from being black coffee. I poured coffee into my cup, added creamer, and carried the cup to my chair. This coffee was going to be amazing. It was going to be the best coffee I had had in ages.
I took a sip, and bland liquid poured across my tongue. I swallowed. It tasted of disappointment. I took another sip. There was no magic in my coffee. It was not the warm hug for my throat it was meant to be.
It was bland. Hot water with weak creamer. I drank most of the first cup, pouring the rest into the sink.
On Monday morning, I had apple juice instead.
Coffee is, by nature, a faithful beverage. I don’t think there was anything wrong with the coffee — it was all me. My taste buds still weren’t right.
Today is our office Christmas party, and I am taking coffee punch: coffee, sugar, and chocolate milk — served in a punch bowl with ice cream floating on top. It smelled wonderful and friendly as I brewed it. I’m hoping it tastes like home.
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