Early November 2010 London
BLOG 42: Raiders of the lost food
OH has always been a battler – unafraid, never one to hang back from joining the fray for a cause he believes in. Now though, after winning the battle to stay alive, the fight seems to have gone out of him. He doesn’t want to sit up – never mind stand up. He doesn’t really seem to want to eat/drink either. The only time he shows some fight is when we try to give him a flavor of the fortified milk that he positively dislikes. He only has to smell it to turn his head away. Obviously, we try our best to only give him the flavours he likes but despite this being on his notes with all drinks labeled with his name - sometimes, for some inexplicable reason, the favoured flavor drinks just aren’t there when the trolley comes round. What? An apple flavoured drink labeled with OH’s name? Oh no! Surely not again! This time, I go storming off to the ward sister to complain. She shrugs and says “Well, there were no strawberry or banana flavours sent to us – maybe they were distributed to other wards or haven’t reached us yet. “
Not good enough. I’m a battler, too – and everything is fair in love and war – and right now, it is both love and war. Love for OH, and war on anyone taking his special food/drink. Armed with labels and felt tip pen, I go to every fridge in the wards where patients’ food is stored. Lo and behold I find a carton of strawberry with a label torn off and another one stuck on with someone else’s name put on. With grim determination, I rip off the false label and take the carton out and give it to OH so he can have his rightful ‘lunch’ – all he will tolerate. Again I march off to see the ward sister. Who is taking OH’s rightful food? She looks at me as if I’m mad but I don’t want to admit that I’ve been raiding patients’ fridges – even if I do feel that his original food was taken, so I feel more than a bit foolish. How can I ensure that he always gets his designated flavours I ask? Her short answer is that it can’t be guaranteed but they ‘always do their best’. I grit my teeth and determine to look into other ways around this ridiculous problem.
The next day, I go to my local pharmacy and explain the situation. The chemist then makes up a mixture for me that can be mixed with milk by the hospital kitchen staff or nurses to make up if necessary.
When I present the container to the ward sister and yet again, tell her what the nutritionist and doctors said about “calories, calories”, she nods in a resigned sort of way, making it clear that she considers me a pain in the neck, but hey, what do I care – as long as OH gets his food. At least she knows I mean business.
OH may not yet be quite up to the battle, but ArtyMar is!
. . . to be continued . . .usually posted on Thursday
