A couple of weeks ago, I had my first ever proper hospital experience in the shape of a small op. The fear factor was there, but I had lots of new jammies to wear and saw the fortnight ahead as a chance to really explore a life of leisure wear, naps and prescription drugs. Fasting was required so the night before sugery, and edict of no food after 9pm and nothing to drink after 1am. I intentionally didn’t make any allowances for ‘this could be my last ever meal/drink etc’ , so avoided champagne and steak and other favourites and had a sensible meal of pork fillet, rice and veggies.
On to the big day, and as I am writing this, you’ll have guessed that all went well. The disappointing part, in some respects of course is that with general anaesthetic, you kind of miss the most interesting part of the day. Up ’til then it’s like a real-life episode of ER/Grey’s Anatomy. Blood pressure, ear temperature, awesomely silly gown that goes on the wrong way, being wheeled through the corridors on the way up to theatre, and making idle chit-chat with the friendly team who stick a needle in your hand. But then, they’re not standing in the same place when you wake up again, in a time frame that seems like only two seconds later. And you realise you’ve missed the actual surgery. Hmmm, dull. How will I know if I’m up for an Emmy award, and where’s Dr. McClooney?
Anyway, on to that sandwich. So back down in the recovery ward, I was offered water. It was a sip of water so ridiculously refreshing, and my zealous slurping meant I was then upgraded to having my own jug and glass. Quickly passed as ‘stable for food’ (oh,the anticipation!) they asked if I’d like a sandwich and a cup of tea. Would I ever?! I was hungry with a capital ‘H’, and figured that the past 16 hours was likely to have been the longest I could remember going without food.
I was brought over the cup of tea and a tray with a choice of four sandwiches. Actually, make that three, as two of them were tuna. I opted for the ham one on whiter-than-white bleached bread. They pulled the curtains closed again and I opened the plastic box. Took out both halfs, placed one on the plate and brought the other towards my gob. Mindful of the fact that it would be really embarassing if I was sick as a result of wolfing this down at lightning-speed, I took my time. With the first half, anyway. The skinny bread, the slimey ham, the slidey margerine. I don’t know how, but really, that all tasted like the most brilliant combo ever invented. Washed down with some sips of overly milky tea, this was some gourmet noshing.
Later that afternoon, I was brought another cup of tea -ooh, stronger this time, they must have seen that my constitution was up to it!- and two digestive biscuits. In the same vein as that sandwich earlier, never did such a plain biscuit float my taste buds’ boat as these did. Say what you like about the NHS, and indeed much has been said about their lackings in the culinary department of late. Whilst I really would hate to have to go through this on a daily basis, I have to give the team that looked after me a huge thank you, I’m delighted that they fed me, and it’s amazing how good something basic can taste, in the right circumstances.
Still a little groggy, on the way out of the sliding doors at the front of The Western General, I managed to resist yelling out for all to hear ‘I’m aliiiiiive! Now, where’s that steak?’
I too recently stayed care of the NHS … sadly I can't profess to being as glad to tuck into the food (despite them making me fast for a good 8 hours longer than needed!)
http://www.theglasgowfoodblog.blogspot.com
Hey Briony – well, I'll be back in there in a couple of months, so we'll see how the novelty wears thin with repetition! Fasting for anything longer than 8 hours is a tough ask for me!