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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s
Page 069
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79. because of food difficulties; and one, in particular at which I went through the tortures of hell. The beautiful dinner began with an artichoke. I disremember what followed after but I do recall that I was almost distraught before the meal was over, to say nothing about the evening through which I sat with mute distress. Hives puffed out at the tube ends even to the ears and I sat almost crazed with an itching that I could not scratch, and a phenomenal abdominal pain. All I could do was to clamp tensely folded arms over the stomach and hold on for what seemed endless hours. Projecting further form my memory of years gone by, are more dinner parties at other friends homes; and lovely informal suppers among congenial groups which were ever stalked by stomach-aches, and by my having to be excused for regurgitation. But being wiser then and more experienced I had my husband take me home when endurance was no more. It was much better to break up the party than to stay through another disconcerting ordeal when the hope for relief was quite dispelled. There is nothing so utterly taxing as having to sit all fatigued and aching on a straight chair, and try to look interested and happy. Try to look cheerful if you can. Try to keep the pain from screwing up your face; and try to keep the haunted look of suffering from
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79. because of food difficulties; and one, in particular at which I went through the tortures of hell. The beautiful dinner began with an artichoke. I disremember what followed after but I do recall that I was almost distraught before the meal was over, to say nothing about the evening through which I sat with mute distress. Hives puffed out at the tube ends even to the ears and I sat almost crazed with an itching that I could not scratch, and a phenomenal abdominal pain. All I could do was to clamp tensely folded arms over the stomach and hold on for what seemed endless hours. Projecting further form my memory of years gone by, are more dinner parties at other friends homes; and lovely informal suppers among congenial groups which were ever stalked by stomach-aches, and by my having to be excused for regurgitation. But being wiser then and more experienced I had my husband take me home when endurance was no more. It was much better to break up the party than to stay through another disconcerting ordeal when the hope for relief was quite dispelled. There is nothing so utterly taxing as having to sit all fatigued and aching on a straight chair, and try to look interested and happy. Try to look cheerful if you can. Try to keep the pain from screwing up your face; and try to keep the haunted look of suffering from
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
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