![roxane gay tomato soup roxane gay tomato soup](https://i1.wp.com/xoamys.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/img_6291.jpg)
But in terms of actual weight, in terms of a number, mine never seemed high enough to “count” as fat. Even my ankles and feet are perpetually swollen, like little cherub feet never meant to touch the ground. My legs and upper arms are pure fat, given how few muscles I have to begin with.
![roxane gay tomato soup roxane gay tomato soup](https://flashbak.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Batchelors-Peas.jpg)
My ass, meanwhile, juts out in the opposite direction, round and wild. My ribs and stomach arch forward due to scoliosis, so my belly button touches mid-thigh when I’m sitting upright. I’ve never known whether to call myself fat or not. Then he says, “I’m assuming you want to lose some weight while we’re at it, right?” The nutritionist listens intently, nodding and hmm- ing along. Dad, sitting beside me, lists what I’ve been surviving on: mashed potatoes, yogurt, pudding, tomato soup, ice cream. I give him the whole spiel: how my swallowing muscles have weakened how I can’t eat solid food anymore how I’ve barely eaten anything in over a month and have lost twenty pounds. The wall behind his desk is all window, but somehow all that sunlight makes his office feel even dingier. The nutritionist, a short man with a paunch and overgrown stubble, is pleasant but aloof, like a distant relative you see every few years. I don’t tell her that I can relate I haven’t figured out how my new system works yet, either. “We just got a new system and I haven’t quite figured out how it works yet.” I tell her I don’t mind. I’m the only patient in the waiting room, a small perfect square with dark paneling. But a few months ago, back when I could still swallow solid food, I wouldn’t have had an appointment with a nutritionist at all. If this were a few months earlier, I’d have had Dad swing in and pick us up a dozen donuts, whichever the person behind the counter recommended.
![roxane gay tomato soup roxane gay tomato soup](https://live.staticflickr.com/6051/6345868186_8730b39f02_b.jpg)
To get there, Dad and I have to drive by the donut shop Mom’s coworkers favor, nestled in a small shopping plaza beside a main intersection. The nutritionist’s office is in a high-rise around the corner from where my mom works. This is Hard to Swallow, a new column by Kayla Whaley about nourishment, disability, and adjusting to life after a sudden and massive dietary restriction.