It’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this site but I have an excuse. I’ve been sick and since the end of August, unable to do much at all. Hospitalized for five weeks.
I had enough to do to argue with the doctors and complain about the nurses, technicians, and other hospital workers who treated me as a problem, not as a person.
In one rehab institution, I was in room 240. As if in prison, I was identified by my cell number. I was “240,” as in “240 gets a shower today.” My shower was scheduled for 7 AM on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Wait a minute! Can’t I bathe more often than twice a week? It seemed not.
In one of the rehab places I was at, breakfast was delivered to me routinely sometime after 9:30 AM. The first breakfast was a piece of toast, one tiny sausage, and something that I thought was mashed potatoes. It turned out to be a lump of cooked egg whites.
Since I am usually up by 5:30 AM, 9:30 AM seemed like an inordinate amount of time to wait for coffee and cold egg whites, so one morning about 6 AM I decided to ask if there was anything to eat, so I clicked the “nurse” button. “I’ll see,” said a wearied young woman who soon returned with a pack of “Mini-Oreos,” a small bag of potato chips, and a shot of cranberry juice. I receive this in a hospital where I am struggling to get well –and they serve me junk food. I was hoping for a small box of Raisin Bran (even Cheerios) and a glass of milk. No luck. By the way, the potato chips and juice were OK. I still hate Oreos in any form. I ate them anyway.
Jesus never said “Make sure 240 takes a shower” or “Find out if the guy in 240 likes cooked egg whites.” No, he said:
“I was sick and you cared for me.” (Mt 25:26)