I joke, "Hopefully I won't die from the soup aye?" I smiled at this. I am happy. I am jovial. Life is good. I am, of course, referring light heartedly to the penicillin incident. Note to self: never assume nurses will understand anything, including their nurse training.
"Wait, has your doctor cleared you to eat heavier food?"
I am still calm. The soup is still on the tray. It is steaming away, just waiting for me.
"She said I could."
The nurse walks over and picks up my file attached to its clip board.
"She hasn't written anything down."
Everything changes. I am not smiling anymore. My soup is in jeopardy here. I would do anything to have it. I can't have any more jelly. I just can't.
"I'm sure it'll be fine. Please?"
The nurse tries to ring the doctor. I beg her to pick up, but she doesn't.
"We'll have to keep you on your current diet until we can get in contact with her."
I eye the soup still on the tray. The lunch lady wants to get a move on and finish her rounds. I consider making a dive for the soup and ingesting what I can in an orgiastic display of chicken-flavoured self satisfaction. The pain in my abdomen dictates otherwise