Sick food

Even in the midst of being sick, I've realised that comfort comes in many ways.

Yesterday, at work, I searched for a nearby physician to get some serious medication for a throat infection.  Unable to sleep for the pain, I found myself standing in front of the mirror at 4:30 in the morning, snapping horrifically ugly pictures of my throat with my iPhone and trying to diagnose streptococcal pharyngitis with the help of Google and the presence of lesions on my palate. 

I was still going have to work through the day, but damned if I wasn't going to get some artificial help to do it.

I found a clinic in my building, went in to see the doctor, and got the shock of my life.

He looked a lot like my late grandfather.  

I hesitated in the doorway.  

My grandfather had died after being bedridden for several years, but the man I knew passed a long time before that, when illness robbed him of all memory and eventually, speech.  

But this elderly doctor recalled my grandfather when he was still cheeky and twinkling.  He had the same dewlapped eyes (my mother always proudly pointed out the family's epicanthic folds), the same soft fluff of hair, wore his pants in the same loose, hunched high-waisted way.  He even had a similar slow, spreading smile.

I went in, sat down.

He flashed it on, asked what he could do for me as if it would be his greatest pleasure to help.  I watched, slightly hazy, as he took my temperature and turned the device to show me the figure and nodded "yes" as he looked down my throat.  He wrote his notes in a trembling but precise hand in the kind of cursive people were taught in the fifties. 

Then, he looked up at me, the slow smile spread again and he gently told me to stay away from citrus fruit, cold drinks and deep fried snacks.  As I stood to leave, he added beatifically, "Happy New Year."

I left feeling strangely soothed and hopeful that my grandparents had found each other and were at a similar peace.  

(Also, it might have had something to do with the fact that he gave me some amazeballs antibiotics that are making me light-headed, but better.)

Equally comforting are the "sick breakfasts" I'm enjoying.  Here, is the last Pandoro of the season, star-shaped and cloaked in softly melting butter.  (My mom's friend bought her this delicious smelling candle and I'm gleefully waiting in the sidelines with my lighter and wick trimmer.)

This morning, to line my stomach before my medication, I had some of my favourite smoked cheese, walnut toast (the Sunshine brand is cheap and good) with a chive and garlic spread and hot black tea with honey and lemon.

And my father just brought me a lovely hot congee with soft meatballs.

Apart from just being a good sick lunch?  Congee and meatballs are so neutral and nutritious that my best friend enjoyed some too.  

PS  Every now and then I prick a little cod liver oil capsule from my supply and squeeze the contents over hot food for Chip.  His coat shines a treat and at nigh-on sixteen, it can't be doing him much harm!