Gross Things That Have Recently Brought Me Joy

It’s not uncommon for people to write about finding joy in the mundane. About everyday moments elevated by a sense of awareness. Lately, I’ve been thinking more, however, about joy in the grotesque. In small delights found in dirt and grime. 

As I’ve written about before, I spent about 3 total months in the hospital in the Fall of 2024. Each day brought the same cast of characters: CNAs or nurses, checking of vitals every 4 hours and providing treatment as ordered; doctors or PAs popping in for a quick visit; kitchen workers dropping off food I had ordered but did not want to eat; and the housekeeper, who often spent longer than anyone else in the room. She wiped every surface, mopped the floor, and cleaned the bathroom. She was there to make sure my space remained as close to sterile as possible.

Once my counts dropped, I could not leave the floor of the hospital. For my second stay, my movements were restricted to my room and a small alcove immediately on the other side of the door. I could not go outside. I could not leave my space without a mask. One medical team advised me to avoid any fresh fruits—the only food I craved during my hospitalization. At another hospital, no patient was allowed to store any item that had been in their room in the community fridge. No hospital permitted fresh flowers. The water and the plant could harbor mold or parasites. Everything was done to prevent disease. A simple cold or a regular bout of food poisoning could be deadly. It was always best to be “on the safe side.”

After I left the hospital, I lived in an apartment set aside for those undergoing treatment at local hospitals. Even this space suggested a specific daily cleaning regiment and conducted monthly inspections to make sure the area was free of dirt, dust, and anything that might trigger an infection. I had to send home the small Christmas tree I had been given in the hospital as such an item was difficult to clean and thus forbidden by the organization. Additionally, the nutritionist at the hospital had provided some specific instructions about food safety. Leftovers needed to be discarded after 48 hours. Leftovers that had previously been hot—pizza, for instance—needed to be returned to a safe temperature before consumed. “A piece of pizza that has been sitting in the fridge is covered with bacteria. A normal immune system doesn’t register their existence. However, this bacteria could kill you.” Everything seemed dangerous. I threw away food that looked perfectly fine. I didn’t eat leftovers cold even when I preferred them that way. I didn’t eat after anyone. And, I definitely did not eat anything that had fallen on the floor.

It took a while for me to relax my habits a bit. When you’ve survived cancer, you definitely don’t want to be taken out by a piece of pizza. However, slowly, my immune system grew stronger and those habits I had eschewed seemed a little less risky.

Lately, I’ve even started to feel delight in embracing those things that would have triggered my anxiety a year ago. Some things that have brought me joy lately are:

Eating Food Off the Floor

When I first came home, I would look longingly at the last bite of a cookie that had met its demise on the kitchen tile. We don’t have any rules about shoes coming in and out of our house. The dog walks through the yard and across the floor. I am under no illusions that the floor is clean, but still, the 5-second rule is back in effect. And, each time I pick up a morsel from the floor, check for dog hairs, and then plunk it straight into my mouth, I relish the experience. 

Sprouts at the Farmer’s Market

Early this summer, we ventured out to a local farmer’s market. We bought beef jerky and salsa. We learned about different varieties of mushrooms. Then, we stopped at the sprout stand. “Want a sample?” My yes came with a jolt of excitement. Sprouts are notoriously hard to clean, and these were still growing in the soil. I hadn’t been allowed to touch soil a year before and now my food was literally emerging from it. “These are sunflower sprouts.” I brushed the remaining bits of dirt from my bite and popped it in my mouth. 

Yesterday’s Coffee

Have you ever lost your coffee? Like set it down in the house and forgot about it? A month or so ago, I poured myself a cold brew, added some milk, and sat down in my office to write. About an hour later, I took a couple sips of the coffee in front of me. It was room temperature, and it was almost gone. I must have drank it absentmindedly, I thought. About 10 minutes later, I noticed a full mug of coffee on the nearby bookshelf. It was full, cold, and obviously from this morning. My first thought was that was disgusting, but then immediately a sense of delight came over me. It was disgusting, but it is okay. I’ll be fine. 

Dog Kisses

Dogs are adorable, loyal, and disgusting creatures. Mine rolls in whatever animal droppings or carcass she can find. She loves digging in the garden dirt. She plays with toys that have sat out in the rain, carrying them around and sometimes burying them with her snout. And still, even though I know that her mouth harbors dirt and bacteria and who knows what else, I not only let her kiss me, but relish in it. 

Undercooked eggs, eating snacks with my dirty hands while playing disc golf, playing fast and loose with expiration dates, consuming that 3 day old pizza. All of it reminds me that I’m still here and that I have an immune system that works. There is delight in recognizing that something is grimy and dirty and embracing it not in spite of disgust but because of it.