Sabotage

I may have mentioned that the smaller portion is not a good convalescent.

He is still in hospital.  He has moved on from Nil by Mouth where he was only allowed ice, which he held in his mouth until it melted and then swallowed.

The next step was Clear Fluids.  He complained bitterly that he could not tell the soup he was offered from the water for his tea.  For some reason clear fluids included jelly - but he could stand a spoon up in it and refused it.

Then onto Free Fluids.  Here he is allowed milk in his tea or coffee, porridge, custard and somewhat thicker (but not chunky) soups.

The tea and coffee were both vile, but he bravely managed half a cup.
The porridge was wall paper paste and he could not (would not) eat it.
The custard had lumps in it the size of peas and he could not (would not) eat it.
The soup was mushroom and he hates mushrooms so he could not (would not) eat it.

They have removed all of the tubes/bells and whistles he was connected to but have now had to replace the drain coming from the hole in his side.

Both his sister and I are exhausted.  We come home and tell ourselves that we cannot tell our dinner from the water for our tea and coffee, complain about the lumps and go to bed smiling wryly.  We are not of course anywhere near as tired as the wounded warrior. 

While he is diligently refusing to eat his digestion is not being tested.  He tells us, which I doubt, that he has been told that a 'good fart' will be sufficient to come home on.

I hope not.  I really, really hope not.  I do not want another dash to hospital with him.

PS:  I forgot to share a moment of shared mirth.  At 55 my smaller portion is one of the youngest (if not the youngest) in his shared ward.  The day before yesterday a nurse trotted from bed to bed asking earnestly 'Have you done pooh-pooh or wee-wee today?'.  It was a good thing that the curtains were drawn because our faces were all convulsed with the effort of not laughing loudly.  And his sister and I cravenly bolted before she got to him.