If You Can Tolarate the Food, You Can Leave the Hospital.

Tolerate is an interesting word and I wish I had my camera to take pictures of the food I was being asked to tolerate.  I went to the hospital at 5:30 am and woke up about 4:30 pm. I had leggings on my leg working in a peristaltic manner that could move the blood through my legs two days after I was dead,  I have  already written about the catheter but also had six needles and two blood pressure devices probing my body and my first quest ion was when would it all be removed and when could I leave the hospital.

My first test was if I could tolerate the liquid food, I would get solid food and then they would check me for discharge.  If I didn’t eat the food, I couldn’t go home.  Dinner that night was the color and surface texture of old-fashioned concrete blocks with their characteristic gray color and white pebbles occasionally poking through the surface.  I protested that this was an unfair test as on the healthiest  day of my life I would never cook, serve or eat a meal that looked that bad.  There was no way I would tolerate food that bad and rejected the whole meal.

The next morning was an equally unfair test.  They served a chicken broth made from the powder base that institutions use.  It was barely warm and the salt, fat chunks, and spices were laying undissolved on the bottom of the bowl.  I tested the so-called broth and once again was forced to reject it because it had enough salt to stop my heart and make me a lifelong resident of Largo Medical Center.

I ate the jello, but would have preferred jello shots, drank the juice and drank my tea and begged my nurse for administrative relief from the requirement to tolerate their liquid foods.  She asked about Graham Crackers which was one of the comfort foods of my youth that I rarely eat anymore because of the sugar but jumped at the offer.  I inhaled three packages without problems and was declared fit to eat solid food.

Amazingly, the lunch was tender morsels of beef in a  mushroom onion gravy served over  a bed of noodles. Now this was real food that I would make in my coffee pot, serve and eat.  It was the only meal that I actually ate in the hospital in 36 hours because I simply couldn’t “Tolerate” he thought of anything else.  This is a long ways from the days of my “see food and meet diets”.

I still remember those concepts well, if you see food, eat it.  If you meet food, eat it.

Looks like I have to really thank Cait and Dagny for changing my eating habits and having me start to focus on preparing and eating “meals for one” with flavor, taste and substance that I like and remember from a lifetime of cooking.  The family remembers my Mother as a fairly bad cook,  but in her defense, the poor man’s chicken broth and potato soup that she made and served was a lot better than the hospital food I couldn’t tolerate.

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