Food as medicine

 It has been a week two months a year (or two) of medical micro-drama around here.

I will not go into the minutiae, but broad brush strokes should paint an amazing big sister doing the hard yards, with me as her sous chef while we wrangled with parents and specialists and anaesthetists and radiographers and nurses and hospital administration.

I was with the Old Man while he broke fast on Tuesday.

He was an in-patient (haha very impatient) and had been in theatre the day before.  He had had to starve himself for a full 9 hours prior to surgery. You have to understand the Old Man is a STRONG advocate of breakfast and considers the missing of any very ill-advised indeed.

I am not sure if it was a "give them options" policy of the hospital or fulfilling the desires of a starving man, but the tray he was delivered had it all.

• Porridge, fruit and milk.
• Egg on toast - just one, well-hard and with only a smear of melted butter between egg and toast - cold and white.
• Another toast, a pat of butter and a small packet of Apricot Jam - "nobody's favourite" he declared.
• Tea, coffee and juice.
• Sugar, salt and pepper.

There should have been a page in that interminable package of forms to be completed whereby you could indicate

• if the patient was the sort who could not stand to see any food wastage; AND/OR
• would appreciate the economy of the insurance company picking up the hospital tab after all of the years of premiums (mind you, there were years in our childhood where he would make a profit on the insurance company).

Instead, there were very pertinent questions about drug and alcohol intake.

And yet what did I find while assisting filling out potential future meal forms?

There is a tick box for every option, for many courses and sides, soups and dessert options - and wine, beer and soft drink selections.

That truly felt so very strange.