The Mighty Newsletter_121825


Stories you may need today:


People With Migraine Deserve More Than “Good Enough” Care

Video of the Day:

@ninatame

Love a lil accessible hack! Video Description: Nina is a white middle aged wheelchair user. She's in her mint green dining room and she's ... See more

Around the Web:

Community Poll

Take a Mighty Minute
Mighty Minute

What’s your favorite type of gift to receive? 🎁

Whether it’s for the holidays, a birthday, an anniversary, another celebration, or just because, receiving a gift can add an extra glimmer to your day—especially when it’s something that makes you smile or meets a need you didn’t realize you had.

From a thoughtful letter to an item you’ve always wanted, a bouquet of flowers, or quality time with someone you love—what’s your favorite type of gift to receive?

Mighty Contributor Spotlight:

What Christmas Dinner Is Like When You Can’t Eat

Christmas dinner is a big deal in my family. We spend Christmas Eve decorating sugar cookies and building gingerbread houses, picking away at the cheese plate, and drinking hot chocolate while watching holiday movies. My brother and I used to play ping-pong in the basement with our cousins while the adults stayed upstairs to talk and drink red wine. Christmas Eve dinner has always, for as long as I can remember, included prime rib roast beef with mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, cauliflower, onions, peas, and gravy. Dessert was usually a black forest cake. My uncle used to bring out a Ferrero Rocher assortment after dinner and hide Kinder Surprise Eggs all over the house for us kids to find. Everyone would go to bed full.

Christmas Day was always just as special from a food perspective. My brother and I would wake up early and start eating candy canes and Lindt truffles that fell out of our stockings; breakfast was always bacon, hash browns, toast, and scrambled eggs. My mother would start cooking the dinner (turkey, stuffing, mashed and sweet potatoes, baked vegetables, cranberry sauce) pretty much as soon as breakfast was over. For hours before dinner, there would be treats: cheese and crackers, appetizers, and chocolate truffles snuck from the dining room table. Then dinner would arrive, and we would all eat seconds or thirds. My aunt used to bake a chocolate Yule log cake for dessert, and we would usually have it with peppermint ice cream and Lindt chocolate truffles, and a gigantic tin of Belgian chocolate biscuits that my dad’s uncle would bring. Boxing Day breakfast was always maple sausages and blueberry pancakes; lunch was reserved for grazing on leftovers; for dinner, our close family friends would come over, and we would order an obscene amount of Chinese takeout.

Since so many of my family’s holiday traditions and fun memories revolve around food, my first holiday season after I developed symptoms of gastroparesis was very difficult. I couldn’t eat anything except for soup; the Advent calendar, chocolate from my stocking, and my share of every Christmas meal went to my older brother instead. The gingerbread tree my grandpa used to buy for us went mostly uneaten; I couldn’t make hot chocolate with marshmallows and chocolate shavings or eat any of the cookies my friends baked. I drank clear vegetable broth and ate soda crackers.

Gastroparesis is a chronic digestive disease that impacts stomach motility. Basically, food doesn’t move once it gets to my stomach; I’m nauseous and experiencing intense abdominal pain daily, and one sip of water will make me feel uncomfortably full for hours. I cannot eat meat, dairy products, most fruits and vegetables, or anything that’s too seasoned or greasy. It’s a struggle to eat a piece of dry toast, let alone a full Christmas dinner.

I used to sit at the table with my family while they ate, struggling through nausea-inducing smells and chewing sounds just to keep up the appearance of a Christmas meal. However, last year I decided to put myself out of the misery of watching people eat when I can’t (saving myself equal parts nausea and jealousy) and fully accept the reality of my disease. My mother still sets a place for me at the dinner table, but it is largely symbolic: I’ll hang out at the beginning of dinner and abscond when the eating begins, then return to sit at the table after dinner when my family lingers and talks.

Having a chronic disease that impacts your daily life is difficult, and so is realizing that holiday memories will be altered by it as well. Accepting the ways my gastroparesis has changed my routine and altering my holiday traditions to suit that has been a very important part of accepting my chronic illness, and I’m excited to make new memories (that don’t involve roast beef or chocolate) this holiday season.