The Hospital

I was actually amazed at the hospital's meals. I was always under the impression that it is a place that helps make people better. As in health-wise better. As in helping people make the best food choices so when they go home they are somewhat wiser, and therefore will become healthier.

However at meal time we were offered, high fructose corn syrup apple juice, corn syrup orange juice, caffeinated coffee. NO vegetables. The fruits were nicely waxed apples and oranges, not quite the freshest you've ever seen either.

I had ordered the Kosher Meals. When given the choices for breakfast, either scrambled eggs with literally freeze dried carrots and peas, or an omelet that looked older than I was, or french toast, with a dark corn syrup dip, that looked as though it would bounce if I threw it on the floor.

I know that the food is outsourced and the hospital can't actually control every aspect of everything, but I really feel that there should be healthier choices. Especially when America is going through a huge weight related, unhealthy eating habit crisis. I wonder if they offer diabetics the same foods they were offering me. I sure hope not.

On another note, the woman that was the "Nutrition counselor" weighed about 350 pounds. She came to tell me the choices of meals and helped me "build my diet" for the few days I was in the hospital. It was quite obvious that she was not at her ideal weight. As she came to my room, first on her route, she was huffing and puffing and sweating as well, from her long walk from the elevator to my room. A large plume of perfume preceded her, smelling of the variety sold at the local CVS. I thought perhaps it as out of the ordinary that this was she, however the next day the counselor that visited came in a close second in the weight department.

I have to say I was very cordial as I feel very deeply for someone struggling with weight, as I have had that challenge as well (on a much smaller scale, I might add), however the absurdity and incongruity of it all made me feel as I if I was having an out of body experience that was both comical and sad.

The Brisk

It basically was like a bad dream, having conversations in middle of the night, with the uncannily chipper nurses. "What's his name?" one asks. This is at about 4am, while they bring me some pain medication, they feel that it is the opportune time to have a chat. Perhaps I gave off the impression of wanting to have a conversation, although I was bleary eyed, bone tired and could barely sit up in bed. I replied that we didn't know yet, and we'd be naming him on the 8th day. Excited that she knew about this custom, she replies, "OH, You'll be naming him at the BRISK?" I think a for a second that I should let this go, after all it is 4am and I am about to pass out. But the thought of the woman calling a bris, a brisk for the next 20 years beckons me to correct her. After complimenting her on her vast knowledge, I mention that it is actually a BRIS, not BRISK. "Just ending with an S," I say. Oh, she is very excited at her new found knowledge. I imagine her scurrying down the hall with her electronic push cart of drugs back to the nurses station where she will share what she just learned from the lady in 423. The next afternoon, while once again receiving some Motrin 800, the day nurse asks me if I would be waiting to name my son at the BRISK. With no more patience for this matter and convinced that someone must have given a completely screwed up Judaism 101 lesson to the nurses on the maternity floor, I just smile and say "uh huh."