When you've spent the past ten weeks with no control over the way your body reacts to the food you eat, and little choice in the kinds of food you can tolerate, and then you wake up one morning and you don't feel so terribly awful, would you celebrate this fact by eating an entire bag of Ruffles Sour Cream and Cheddar potato chips?
You probably wouldn't, right?
And yet there's something strangely empowering in feeling sick to your stomach due to a choice you've made, as opposed to the day in day out sickness that you've been powerless against for so long.
You ate something for pleasure of eating it, not simply because it seemed tolerable and bland and digestible. And that, at a certain point, feels like a bit of a miracle.