Meat Sweats

It started with 3 racks of smoked ribs crusted with BBQ sauce.   

You heard me.
T-H-R-E-E.  

This was part of what Tim ate in celebration of Independence Day about a month back.  By all accounts, he should weigh 450lbs, but he doesn’t.  He's 235.  He works hard to stay around there.

His physique is more like that of a tight end, due largely in part to his obsession with extreme physical activity. 

Three racks of ribs wasn’t a big deal for him to eat—we were used to his high caloric intake, and most of those calories once had parents.  Delicious parents.
Let me clarify here.  I am not describing overeating—it's honest hunger, like back in his college football days when he would eat a few appetizers, two entrees, and still not be satisfied as others looked on mortified at the amount he could consume.
It was simple supply and demand in his case—and still is.
Mothers and wives of linemen won’t pass judgment on this story too harshly because this too is their familiar life—waiting for the feeds to be over.

Needless to say, Tim felt sick that Fourth of July.  Recounting that day, he said it was somewhere between the 2^nd and 3^rd racks of ribs.  And he SHOULD HAVE felt sick—common sense tells us that no one should consume that much pig in one sitting.  His belly gurgles fell on deaf ears.   

His family lovingly dubbed it, “The Meat Sweats.”  A few others began diagnosing themselves with this faux disease as well, and it was left at that.
"You got 'The Meat Sweats."
Plain and simple.

Weeks later, “The Meat Sweats” was still rearing its ugly head.  A voice of reason (Aunt Carol Brown--a registered nurse) stated that perhaps this fake diagnosis was no longer a good reason to ignore what was looking like a real problem.
Never trust a diagnosis from the Van Nordstrom Clinic (Seinfeld reference).
The cause of his symptoms ranges from gastritis all the way to stomach cancer (probable, but highly unlikely).

Here are a few phrases that I have NEVER EVER heard Tim say in all our years of marriage:

--“Do you want the rest of this bagel?  There’s no way I can finish it.”

--“This oatmeal is soo good with soy milk!” 

--“I’m so full from those veggies.”

--“I’ll have the vegetarian burrito—as plain as it comes.”

--“Can I have a take home box for the rest of this meal?”

--"Spread that peanut butter REAL t-h-i-n."
--"Make sure there's no meat in it."

This IS serious.   

I guess it’s just what happens when you reach your thirties.
And have a baby--your fourth.
And lose your job--in the same week.

You’re more susceptible to stress and the consequences of nutritional dysfunction.
And most importantly, you can’t finish your bagel.

Here’s praying that his EGD (Esophagogastroduodenoscopy) turns up a case of the “Meat Sweats.”