How MealTrain, Treats, and Cards Were my Manna
Or how I can still taste love nearly one year after surgery
July 2023
Nick and I follow our hostess through a maze of tables. My wavy hair swishes on my neck, and summer fabric from my maxi dress swirls around my ankles. We sit, tucking legs underneath the white tablecloth. Lights are dimmed for the evening at our favorite steakhouse near my parents’ home in Michigan where we are for summer vacation.
Before our entree arrives, Pain becomes our third wheel at dinner. It originates in my lower right back, squeezes my hamstring, jolts my calf into convulsion, wraps around my heel, and ends at my big toe. I adjust my weight, cross my legs, stretch my legs, and drink more wine in an effort to decrease the intensity. At this point I know the pain will not subside until I am laying flat on my back.
“Your pain is unbearable. You can’t live this way,” Nick says. He looks me in the eye and grabs my hand across the table.
We have a very real discussion about the possibility of surgery. After nearly a year of physical therapy, doctor appointments, acupuncture, needling, stretching, and medication, I’ve tried everything. My severely herniated disk in my lower spine will not heal without surgical intervention.
We leave dinner early, steak boxed in To Go containers. I limp out of the restaurant.
Less than one month later, I circle August 15, 2023 on our family calendar. I write “Alyssa: Back Surgery” in pink dry erase marker as if it were a dentist appointment.
***
August 2023
My phone dings with a text from a church friend. Friends have been asking about meals. I’d love to make a MealTrain for your family. When would you like it to start?
Within a week every slot on the MealTrain is filled up -- friends from church, friends from the neighborhood, friends from college, friends from my online writing community. Each time I refresh the page laying on my back on the couch, tears leak. They travel down my cheek, over my jawline, and disappear into my neck. I’m usually the strong one, the friend who creates the MealTrain for others, the neighbor who drops a dinner on your porch when you’re sick or cookies because it’s been a hard week. But this time? I know I need help.
***
September 2023
On a gray Sunday afternoon a few weeks after surgery, I lay between my kids, all of us snuggled under a blanket. Ding-dong the doorbell calls. I pause the climax of animals creating a musical in Sing and log roll off the couch more quickly. Moving is getting easier.
A friend from church stands on my doormat holding an aluminum pan of chicken spaghetti, our last MealTrain meal. She hands me the warm pan, and I think of other warm pans of enchiladas and squash casserole and lasagna and hot ham sandwiches. I remember the cards and emails with encouragement and DoorDash gift cards. I can still taste chocolate cake pops and chocolate covered strawberries. Without sharing the hard and admitting I can’t do it all, I would have missed out.
I had never considered what love might taste like.
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Manna."
It was amazing to see you moving through Chicago last year, tending to your recovery while also tending to your creativity. The way you chose healing and joy and creativity all at the same time. It still inspires me.
I love this! How is your pain nearly a year out?