Sodexho Surprise
The 7th floor nurses know how to treat a patient right. As soon as I arrived on the floor and was wheeled into the reading room, I was offered crackers and apple juice. Since I was hungry for the first time in what seemed like ever, I took advantage of the offer--even going for seconds. Hey, get hungry enough and those packets of unsalted Premium Plus are a banquet. Besides, I had no idea what--if anything--I was getting for dinner. I knew there'd be a heavy plastic tray with my name on it, but would it contain clear fluids, full fluids, or solids? And what kind? And yuck, hospital food!
For those who've had the fortune of never having been, hospital food is usually awful. About the only good stuff is whatever still-packaged food you get on your tray, things like popsicles, tiny containers of milk and juice, and the single packets of condiments like margarine and salt. Naturally, there's never enough of these--the beverage cups are about 114-120 mililitres and you get one each of every condiment they deem the meal requires, which isn't enough to help the rest of the meal. If you're not that hungry, you end up cherry picking and piecing your way through the tray's contents until you give up or they come to pick up your tray, whichever comes first.
Of course, there are exceptions. The first meal after a steady diet of intravenous fluids is strangely exotic. Broth! Popsicles! Juice! First solid meals are usually delicious, too. Like the time when I was mistakenly brought vegetarian lasagne while I was still supposed to be on fluids. I went Garfield on that meal, gobbling it up like Jon was about to come into the room and take it away. Come to think of it, he probably should have--it ended up in my bedside garbage can, rejected by my body. And my first meal this time was delicious, too. Chicken and broccoli and potato wedges. I remember eating it while looking out the window at the Davie Street KFC, thinking, "The taste lives HERE, Colonel. The taste lives here."
But then the magic wore off and meals became less palatable. Sure, there were highlights--an egg salad sandwich here, a banana there--but dinners got to the point where KFC was looking pretty damn good. Hmmm. I wonder if KFC would deliver to my hospital room?
I should probably keep wondering about that.
For those who've had the fortune of never having been, hospital food is usually awful. About the only good stuff is whatever still-packaged food you get on your tray, things like popsicles, tiny containers of milk and juice, and the single packets of condiments like margarine and salt. Naturally, there's never enough of these--the beverage cups are about 114-120 mililitres and you get one each of every condiment they deem the meal requires, which isn't enough to help the rest of the meal. If you're not that hungry, you end up cherry picking and piecing your way through the tray's contents until you give up or they come to pick up your tray, whichever comes first.
Of course, there are exceptions. The first meal after a steady diet of intravenous fluids is strangely exotic. Broth! Popsicles! Juice! First solid meals are usually delicious, too. Like the time when I was mistakenly brought vegetarian lasagne while I was still supposed to be on fluids. I went Garfield on that meal, gobbling it up like Jon was about to come into the room and take it away. Come to think of it, he probably should have--it ended up in my bedside garbage can, rejected by my body. And my first meal this time was delicious, too. Chicken and broccoli and potato wedges. I remember eating it while looking out the window at the Davie Street KFC, thinking, "The taste lives HERE, Colonel. The taste lives here."
But then the magic wore off and meals became less palatable. Sure, there were highlights--an egg salad sandwich here, a banana there--but dinners got to the point where KFC was looking pretty damn good. Hmmm. I wonder if KFC would deliver to my hospital room?
I should probably keep wondering about that.