It took me months to decide the news coming from the White House couldn’t be the cause, or at least not the sole cause, of my acid reflux. Six months or so ago (if I’m feeling particularly sour I mark the start of my affliction the day this president was sworn into office) every night, right after dinner, a burning sensation starts. The burn is very sharp at times, quite disagreeable. Sometimes, when I swallow, sharp acid flows into my throat.

For a time I tried to remedy the situation by limiting my diet. I stopped eating tomatoes. Anything spicy is off limits. I gave up squeezing lemon in my water and I avoid carbonation. Fried food is impossible, as is chocolate.

As you might imagine, this problem impacts eating out. My entire relationship with my husband, you could argue, has been forged in restaurants. From the nascent moments of our meeting and courtship, we grew to know each other across public tables on the east coast and the west. After we married and our son was born, we continued eating out. We took him for Chinese food; we introduced him to Indian, Japanese, Thai, and Korean. We raised him in a small town boasting no less than three first-rate Italian restaurants. Our son is an adult now and responsible for his own food choices, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he told a scolding nutritionist he was raised in a pizzeria.

To this day, my husband and I spend the bulk of our entertainment allowance dining out. We rarely travel; it seems to me we rarely venture further than Astoria. We have places we frequent in Cannon Beach, including but not limited to Screw & Brew, Castaways, and Surf Bird. I’m psyched to try the new Mi Corazon.

The nightmare of acid reflux, officially known as gastroesophaegeal reflux disease, or GERD, is it ruins your pleasure in food. I’ve read that many people experience reflux from time to time, but if it’s happening to you more than twice a week, you might need medication.

My symptoms include serious heartburn and chest pain, sour liquid in my mouth and difficulty swallowing. I finally went to my nurse practitioner and she prescribed Zantac 75. I was also advised to cut way back on my coffee habit, which as habits go, is slim.

Last week the husband and I met our friends Rex and Diane at Cheri’s Café. My husband had his heart set on Cheri’s pizza, which she makes a pan of once a day. She sells it by the slice and when it’s gone it’s gone. We dined at the table under the “Trump Free Zone” sign. He got a slice of pepperoni. I got the plain cheese. True, it had tomato sauce and was technically off my GERD diet, but a girl’s got to live. A girl’s got to live.


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