Surgery pauses, and revives relationship with wine
Last month, I got to check something new off of my official “Things That I Never Thought Would Happen to Me” list: experiencing (and surviving!) a ruptured gallbladder. Now, I must admit, I managed to live the first 35 years and seven months of my life without knowing what a gallbladder does. If you’re like me, here’s a little refresher: The gallbladder stores and releases bile that our small intestines use to digest food, especially fats. The gallbladder isn’t like our brains, lungs or heart in that we don’t really need it to exist. Indeed, I’ve managed to survive the past few weeks without one!
Having my ruptured gallbladder removed has come with many great side effects. Not only am I no longer in excruciating pain or at risk for septic shock, but my weeklong stay in the hospital on an ice chip-only diet was the perfect way to drop 12 pounds almost overnight. Not to mention, I have a dramatic new scar just below my ribs that I’ll forever be able to ascribe to that time I survived a velociraptor attack!
Unfortunately, the operation also came with a major drawback. I had to take a month off from drinking wine.
This was the longest I’d gone without a drink since late 2011. Maintaining this temporary sobriety was easier than I expected. To be honest, I’m not sure anyone really feels like popping Champagne corks while recovering from major surgery. I was surprised, however, at how this little break from the bottles changed my relationship to wine.
As someone who has studied wine, worked in the wine industry, and, even now, churns out 400-600 words on the topic each week … sometimes I just want to drink something I don’t have to analyze or think about. Stepping back from wine gave me the chance to do something that I didn’t know I needed: miss it.
I missed the sense of traveling that I got from opening a bottle from a place I’d never been. I missed the flavors — complex and nuanced, overt and simple — that each glass holds. I missed the fretting over which bottle to open with which meal (and with whom!), and I even missed how a corkscrew felt in my hand.
When I was finally able to drink wine again, I didn’t immediately reach for something prized from my cellar. Instead, I sipped on the dregs of a bottle of Italian rosé that my fiancé had been sipping on for over a week (Spoiler alert — it wasn’t very good.). It was nice to find, however, even at the bottom of a so-so bottle, that my passion and love for wine and all that surrounds it hadn’t waned at all. As always, you can see what I’m drinking on Instagram at @sethebarlow and send your wine questions and quibbles to sethebarlowwine@gmail.com