I'm officially on strike. For the moment, at least. Against what horrendous injustice, you ask?
Hospital food, I answer.
Here's today's lunch offering -- meatloaf with tomato gravy, mashed potatoes and sauteed squash. All foods I love and look forward to making and eating at home. Even for folks like me with a compromised immune system (hence, a strict "bacteria reduced" diet), it ain't a bad deal.
But I just. Can't. Do. It. Even. One. More. Time.
And I'm not sure why. Is it a small way of rebelling against the man for making me be in the hospital for the 11th time in six months on this gorgeous first day of spring? Surely that's part of it. Is it that the food is truly inedible? Not necessarily. They make some really tasty items around here. Nothing creative, mind you. But sometimes pretty decent. Is it because I'm getting old and only like eating my own cooking? Wow...wouldn't that suck.
As predictable an eater as I may be (Spaghetti? Yes, please.) I really can't handle the fact that the menu never changes. Monday lunch? Always the same three choices. Thursday dinner? Always the same three choices. You get the idea.
And it definitely all kinda tastes the same.
So as of today I think I'm just plain done. No more hospital food when I can help it. And when I have to, I might be invoking my special secret cancer patient privileges and ordering hamburgers and fries off the a la carte menu.
Anybody know if Everybody's Pizza delivers to patient rooms? And do you have the number?
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