Hospital Food

Last week was pretty scary. I ended up in the emergency room with severe abdominal pain and chest pressure. Everyone thought I was having a heart attack. Turns out it was major heartburn. The medical cardio team decided to keep me overnight for observation...just in case.

By 8:00 the following morning I was famished because I wasn't allowed to eat anything except a couple of graham crackers. Fifteen hours with little nourishment, except water, I figured even hospital food would taste good. I was really looking forward to a healthy, tasty breakfast.

At 8:15 a.m. a very sweet young lady brought me a tray with a covered dish, some tropical fruit in a plastic cup, coffee, milk, and fake butter. Oh yeah, and simulated maple syrup which oozed out of the container rather than poured, like real maple syrup. The fruit looked good. It was colorful with perfect squares of pineapple, watermelon, and I'm not sure what else. My first clue of what I was in for were the perfect squares of fruit. Fruit doesn't grow in perfect squares. 

I tried gently piercing one of the fruit squares, and ended up having to repeatledy stab each square multiple times before I could get the fruit on my fork. I thought, 'This is ridiculous!' So I used my fingers. The fruit was so tough and tasteless, I couldn't eat it.

My next attempt for sustenance, was to lift the green plastic cover off the plate on my tray. I discovered two soggy pancakes I could have used as paper weights. Next to the pancakes was a remote resemblance to a sausage patty. It was unlike any sausage patty I've ever seen in my whole life. In fact, in could have been the remote, except it was the size of a flattend golf ball, complete with dimples, with hues of gray. The first thing I did was sniff the patty. It sorta smelled like a sausage patty. The next thing I did was take a small bite. It sure didn't taste like a sausage patty. I think I know what happened to the golf balls I hit out of bounds this summer. And they call this a heart-healthy breakfast?

Over an 18 hour period of time I had two graham crackers, two bites of a soggy pancake and a carton of milk. I was getting a little cranky. At this point in time, the medical team decided to discharge me, which was very smart on their part.

On the way home from the hospital I remembered my mother's words: "Be sure to wear clean underwear every day, and be sure everything matches, because you never know when you have to go to the hospital." She never said to pack a bag lunch.

Horse Pucky Award of the Week #1

I wasn't going to do this, but I have to. It just seems so appropriate. The Horse Pucky Award of the Week goes to Don H. Twietmeyer, Esq., CPA; Chairman, Board of Directors; Rochester General Hospital Foundation. If his title wasn't so long, maybe he could get his head out of his you-know-what long enough to realize what a huge blunder he made.

Mr. Twietmeyer is being sent the Horse Pucky Award of the week for his insensitive letter sent to my deceased husband requesting a donation to the Rochester General Hospital Foundation.

Last year, over $2000 was donated to the Rochester General Hospital Lipsom Cancer Center in memory of my husband,Tom. Thoughtless letters like this make me wonder if the corporate right hand even knows it has a left hand.

Rochester General Hospital was wonderful in treating Tom through his difficult illness. As a result, I expected more from them. I was wrong. Their biggest mistake was partnering with a fundraising firm out of Henderson, Nevada called IDC. These firms have about as much sensitivity as a brillo pad on a baby's butt.

If RGH has to do fundraising at all, how about hiring a local fundraising firm to keep the money in Rochester, where it can go back into our community.

Because IDC is in Nevada, the percentage they make off this fundraising campaign goes into their back pocket. They don't have to pay taxes in Nevada. The money is probably siphoned off into some account in the Caribbean where it goes to fund drug trafficking.

I won't be sending two cents to Rochester General Hospital unless I give directly to the Lipsom Cancer Center. The bag of horse pucky is ready, Mr. Twietmeyer! What's your address?