It's a by-product of having known hunger intimately during my life. I can't
stand seeing perfectly good food go to waste. (Go figure; now I'm in a wasteful
business.)
Today, however, I couldn't have been more overjoyed by the act of throwing
away most of a perfectly good chicken salad sandwich.
Because dad's chemotherapy compromises his liver's ability to produce
bile, until today eating has not been an option for him for three weeks (just too painful
'cause it bloats him). The doctors have finally figured out a way to allow him
to eat solid food without causing him serious gastric distress. Dad did not tell
us this.
We were sitting around and a tap comes at the door and the lady with the tray
comes in. They've been giving him a bland diet in small portions in hopes
that he'll eat. He sips on his juice; that's about it. I was making way for the
new tray when I came upon the source of my optimism. A plate was on dad's table
that contained a sandwich. Cut into neat triangles, one was intact. The other
had three bites taken from it; revealing the bland-looking sandwich filling
within.
"Hey, did anyone eat your lunch?"
"No."
"Somebody ate this sandwich." I held up the
plate.
"I ate a little of it. Oh — I didn't tell you; I can eat a little,
now..." He told me how they'd finally figured out a way for him to eat without
pain. This is the key to building up his strength, so his chemotherapy can
resume.
Two weeks since he entered the hospital. Two weeks of thinking my father would die, wasting away from not eating,
vanished in a split second.
The tray lady put the new tray down and reached out, trying to take from me
the plate, a soiled napkin and a couple of empty juice containers.
"Show me where to put this, on your cart."
"No, that's okay, I'll take it."
"I insist."
She sheepishly showed me to the large cart that carries the trays. A plastic
box at the bottom of the cart serves to hold dirty plates and refuse. There I
deposited the garbage, and the plate with the partially-eaten sandwich. No pang
of guilt here. I looked for a moment at the three bites dad had taken from the
sandwich, and went back inside dad's room.
My voice was inappropriately loud as I spoke my next words. Tray
lady gave me a look as though perhaps I ought to be hospitalized there; in a padded
room.
I said, "That's the best sandwich I ever threw away in my life!"