Tag Archives: Grilled Cheese

You Make Me Feel….like an idiot….

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

Last week I had to spend 8 hours in the hospital waiting for my brother-in-law to come out of emergency surgery. All went well, in fact, so well, that they sent him straight home. Because he had been without food or drink for 24 hours, I decided to  go get him dinner and bring it to the rehab center. I didn’t trust that at 7:00 P.M. they would provide a nutritious meal, or any meal for that matter, because, you know, “the kitchen is closed.”

When I arrived at the rehab center with his hoagie, chips and root beer (okay, not so nutritious, but he was hungry and I was tired), there was a tray being delivered to his room. It contained one pathetic grilled cheese sandwich. That’s it, not even chips or a pickle, after no food for 24 hours. There wasn’t even a picture of Donald Trump or Jesus burned into the grilled cheese, and yet we were to believe that it was a miracle he had a sandwich from the kitchen at this hour!

The next day, I was exhausted. i just wanted to stay at home and work on my computer, sit on my deck, read a book and be left alone. As I was enjoying my solitude, I decided to play some music while I cleaned up the house.

I could not get the BOSE to turn on. The only way the BOSE radio and CD player works is with a remote control. The old BOSE, which died and they so thoughtfully replaced for a mere $250, had buttons on the unit and a remote. But someone in design thought, “Hey what do we need those buttons for? We have a remote!”

I’ll tell you what they need those buttons for.

So this remote which is the size and thickness of a credit card, does not work. No matter how many times or how hard I press those buttons nothing is happening. In my infinite wisdom, I decide : “Oh I’ll just put in a CD. I don’t need to listen to the radio.”

So in goes, Carole King’s amazing album from 1971: Tapestry.

I cant’ turn the volume up to drown out my warbling, because, you know, the buttons don’t work. So I sing softly, so I can hear Carole.

Three hours later I want to kill Carole. The earth has moved and everyone is so far away, but I can’t turn off the damn BOSE, because, you know the buttons don’t work.

I finally discover with a magnifying glass, in that credit-card-sized remote is a teeny, tiny place for a battery, which I do manage to purchase after going to three different stores.

It never occurred to me I could pull the plug, it was too late baby, for that.

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

 

“Where’s the Beef?”

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

One of the weekly treats I like to bring my brother-in-law, who is almost done in the rehab center, is a cheese steak. For some reason, this small gesture makes him enormously happy. He eats every single morsel and makes me pick up the remains with a fork so he doesn’t miss a bit. He’s become mildly obsessed with his food choices. This makes a lot of sense as it’s about the only choices he actually has on a daily basis.

If I wore a hospital gown every day, no shoes, didn’t go anywhere and could only choose my TV programs, I, too would be fanatically choosing my meals every day. So I try to be  understanding when it takes hours to go through the menu to pick his meals. I’m so understanding that I turned that job over to my mother. She meticulously goes through every single appetizer, main course, including condiments, right down to the amount of salt, pepper and sugar to bring with each meal, dessert and beverages. Then she makes a copy to leave with my brother-in-law so he can check to see what he’s having or if they brought what he actually ordered.

I find this OCD behavior over food and menus daunting. Probably because I’m on a diet. Or maybe because ever since my babies grew up, I’ve become Attila the Hun about having to worry about any body else’s food. And yet, as my mother and I were visiting him the other day the aide brought him a grilled cheese sandwich for his lunch.

The looks of horror on all our faces told her she was not leaving that room unscathed, because we had just finished this conversation:

Brother-in-Law: “What am I having for lunch, today?”

Mom:”I don’t know, let me look at your copy of the menu. So you chose a hot dog and a cheeseburger for today.”

Me: “Oh you’re having your own summer picnic!”

With that the grilled cheese sandwich arrives. This poor girl is accosted by all three of us with a resounding chorus of “Noooooooooooo!” like she had finally brought the hemlock as we had all suspected.

ice cream sundae“Don’t worry,” the aide said, “I will call the kitchen and get what you ordered.”

Now I’m trying to figure out how ‘hot dog’ and ‘cheeseburger’ looks like ‘grilled cheese’ on a pre-printed menu. But I still want to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. As I go to look at the menu, my brother-in-law starts to eat his grilled cheese.

“I might as well eat some of this, who knows how long it will take,” he mumbles through bites.

He eats half the sandwich, half the ice cream sundae, which he did order and it is now melting, and lo and behold the hot dog and hamburger arrive sans condiments. We take care of THAT catastrophe and all is well in the land of lunch.

By the way, I finally got my hands on that menu….there was no grilled cheese sandwich as a choice anywhere on any day for this entire week. I imagine the people in the kitchen saying things like:

“Oh we ran out of hot dogs, these people won’t notice a grilled cheese instead. I hope they’re not lactose intolerant.” Or any other kind of intolerant.

“You Just have to Laugh….”

©Cathy Sikorski