Page 9 of In a Pickle

But sure enough, an MRI and a couple of additional tests confirmed an advanced case of Crohn’s disease, an autoimmune disorder. Essentially, Liana’s digestive system was hyperactive, attacking itself. Her bowels had been chronically inflamed for years, to the point that she had multiple layers of scar tissue all down her intestines and was no longer able to absorb most nutrients. Plus, all of that scar tissue had piled up on itself, to the point that Liana’s small intestine had about 1% of the area of a normal person’s. No foods could pass through Liana’s intestines, causing the blockages that triggered vomiting.

All of Liana’s diets — and especially past doctors’ suggestions to increase her fiber intake — had accelerated the disease’s progression. Fibrous foods, especially the kale and beans Liana had favored, caused Liana’s immune system to attack itself constantly. Counterintuitively, simple carbohydrates would probably have been better for her Crohn’s disease than foods commonly thought of as “healthy,” like raw vegetables andfibrous fruits. Liana had stumbled upon a Crohn’s disease diet by chance through experimentation: broths, chicken, eggs, and potatoes were commonly recommended Crohn’s-friendly foods. Still, Liana’s years of food trial and error had caused her disease to progress quite rapidly.

The doctor told Liana gently not only that she should start on immunosuppressive drugs, but also that she probably needed surgery. There was no way to get rid of Liana’s intestinal scar tissue other than to cut it out. The human body had about two meters’ worth of intestines, and by removing 50 or 100 centimeters of diseased area, Liana might be able to eat normally again.

Liana was overwhelmed: finally, a diagnosis of a real disease; she wasn’t crazy. But the disease wasn’t anything she had on her radar. Her research had failed her, and her wild goose chases had taken years of her life. And she might have to have surgery?

The week after her diagnosis, Liana went to the hospital to receive an IV infusion of her first dose of immunosuppressive drugs. The drugs were supposed to keep Liana’s digestive system from becoming inflamed. She was told they only made an impact over time — months, a year even. She tried to temper her expectations, sitting in a long row of hospital chairs with dozens of people fifty or sixty years her senior, everyone besides her getting chemotherapy. She listened to their soft-spoken stories of their grandchildren as she tried to work on her laptop.

Driving back to her apartment from the hospital, Liana’s boss called to tell her that the company was significantly downsizing and cutting all contractors, including her. Liana’s boss offered to put in glowing recommendations for Liana at other studios. Liana thanked him but said that wouldn’t be necessary. She’d realized she was simply unable to work full-time in her currentstate and didn’t have the hustle the movie business required. Crying in her room that night, Liana couldn’t see any path forward for her in L.A.

Just as she had during the first week of the pandemic, Liana found herself again packing her life into boxes and flying home to Miami, where she again moved into her childhood bedroom in her mom’s duplex. Liana was so physically weak that she couldn’t walk up the stairs to the second-story bedroom without pulling herself up using the staircase handrail. It took her two weeks to unpack her measly four boxes and one suitcase, because she couldn’t walk around for more than five minutes without lying down to rest. She wasn’t yet feeling any effects from her immunosuppressants. That was normal, her doctor assured her.

Unable to fathom the energy it would take to look for a job, Liana spent her days sleeping and trying not to eat. After exhausting other options, Liana decided she felt so terrible that she should try the intestinal removal surgery.

She and her mom decided to schedule Liana’s surgery for November, two months before Liana’s birthday, so that Liana would still be 25 and therefore able to use her mom’s health insurance. Liana spent the entire Thanksgiving week in the hospital, trying to convince herself that the drip, drip, drip of the IV was her new beginning. She was discharged six days after her surgery and spent the following weeks recovering at home.

In January, just before her 26th birthday, Liana was given the go-ahead by her surgeon to resume normal activities, including driving and light exercise without abdominal strain.

Now, in February, Liana was spending her days looking for a job, trying not to spiral into the hopelessness thathad dominated her life for the last few years. She was also, apparently, attending a one-a-week pickleball class.

And there it was: the story of the downfall of Liana Abrams. The high school valedictorian and Ivy League grad who had a bright future ahead of her; everyone had always told her so. But oh, did she prove them wrong. She was washed out by 26, an utter failure, unemployed and living at home without any job prospects or the ability to walk a mile.

???

“Where did you go?” Deb asked, pulling Liana out of her reverie in the car. And then, more softly, Deb added, “One day at a time, right? One thing at a time, Liana. You’re here. You’re recovering. You’re doing great, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She tried to believe her mom’s words.

“What’s your plan for the rest of the day? I’m planning to make chicken soup if you’ll be home for dinner.”

“I will be home, and chicken soup sounds delicious. Thanks, Mom. I’m just going to send out more job applications,” Liana replied.And try not to think about James Alonso.

Chapter 6: James

A week after Liana rejected him, James paced nervously, waiting to see if Liana and Deb would show up at his class and hoping he hadn’t fucked things up entirely. He figured his idiotic mouth had cost him. He knew as soon as he’d asked her out that he shouldn’t have pushed her. This was only the second time she tried working out after surgery — a real accomplishment, a real mental and physical hurdle that she’d surmounted — and he’d blown away any pretense that his class would be a safe space for her to recover and focus on her health.

It was one minute until the class started, and James had resigned himself to losing Liana and Deb, when a gray Mazda pulled up next to the court and Liana hopped out. His heart did a little leap. So she was giving him a second chance he didn’t deserve. He needed to clear the air, to let her know that he didn’t expect anything from her, that he’d treat her just like any other student in his class.

“Liana, can I talk to you for a second?” He gestured for her to follow him to the corner of the court. When they made it far enough away from listening ears, he said immediately, “Look, I’m so sorry for asking you out. You were just here to enjoy a class with your mom, not to get hit on. And it was your first class back after a major surgery, for fuck’s sake. I promise, it won’t happen again. And I hope you can still feel safe with me, andknow that giving you the best class possible is my only goal. I’m not looking for anything from you at all.” He held out his hand for her to shake. “Friends?”

Was that a flicker of regret in her eye? But she shook his hand and smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Friends. And it’s cool. No hard feelings.”

“And from firsthand experience,” he said, “I know it’s not easy coming back from an injury or a surgery. All I want to do is support you.”

“Thanks,” she said, then turned to walk away, clearly wanting to end the conversation.Well,he reminded himself,that could have gone a lot worse. She could have told you to fuck off, or just not shown up for the class.

“All right, ladies,” he shouted to the class. “It’s time to get our pickle on! Let’s start workin’ for a gherkin!”

The senior citizens chuckled appreciatively. James would pull out all the stops today, all the bad puns he’d been saving up, just to see if Liana would crack a smile.

Liana seemed not to hold a grudge against him, and he caught her smiling after a couple of his jokes. When he high-fived her at the end of the hour, she murmured, “Great class,” and he felt like he had won the lottery.

His good mood lasted most of his drive home, until his mom called. James accepted the call on his car’s speakerphone. “Your dad is upset,” his mom said without preamble.

“Why is that?” James asked.

“You told him you couldn’t play in the charity golf tournament this weekend. You know he plays in that tournament every year.”

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