To All the Moms - A Banana Baileys "Milkshake"

Mother's Day has always been a weird one for me. To say that my mom and I didn't get along well is an understatement.

If my mother had been a species of fish, she would have been the type that eats as many of its young as possible, as soon as they are born. It's good for those species in the evolutionary sense, since only the strong survive. The weaker fish, and the unlucky ones, help to nourish mom, I guess.

That comparison isn't much of an exaggeration. My twin, as well as my aborted twin brothers, two years older than I, were not survivors.

Meanwhile, my mother spent a lot of her pregnancy with me trying to deny she was pregnant. At first, I was menopause. The doctor was wrong, she said. She obviously couldn't be pregnant. Or could she?

When it became apparent that I was still hanging on, mom had dreams that my deceased grandmother was trying to hand me to her, but mom didn't want me. In the dreams, she tried to refuse to take me from grandmother, over and over again.

Even though mom tried to refuse to take me from my grandmother's arms, that wasn't enough to stop me from being born. And just like that ... I turned a woman into a mother.

That's not to say that my entire childhood was hell. Mom taught me lots of fun things, like how to play poker for money, how to bet on horses at the race track, and how to pick out the brand of whiskey she liked. I became a regular at the grocery store and drugstore, buying whiskey and cigarettes for mom, long before I was old enough to write my name in cursive.

She taught me many things unintentionally. I learned that fall-down-drunkenness was unattractive and disgusting. I learned that I never wanted to be so dependant on a substance that I would search through filthy ash trays to find a cigarette butt that was long enough to light.

I learned how to block out distractions because of her need to always have noise in the tiny apartment. I learned how to ignore the constant babble of TV and radio when reading or doing homework. I learned how to listen with half my attention while thinking about other things.

Now, I can actually watch television, listen to the dialog, and type completely different words at the same time. The downside to this talent is that sometimes I need the distraction of television when I need to do a lot of writing.

Mom, in her single days.

It could be worse.

I learned that when people tell you things, even if they earnestly believe them, these things are not always true. "They say that ..." is not proof that something is true, and "I don't believe in that!" is not a logical way to refute facts. I learned how to look things up and come to own conclusions.

These days, I spend a lot of time looking things up.

I learned that even if mom trusts someone, that person might not be trustworthy. Some people are pure evil in friendly-neighbor's clothing, and sometimes trusting your gut is best.

I learned that not all bad people go to jail or are even arrested or prosecuted.

Sometimes one has to hope that karma is enough.

I learned that the only person who can keep a secret is the person whose secret it is. Once the first person hears the secret, it is free to spread to neighbors, relatives, and even to the mom of your first-grade crush at a PTA meeting while your first-grade crush hides behind his mom's skirt. Literally.

I learned that liars are not as adept at lying as they think they are, and I learned to spot tells. Sneaky liars seldom get past me. Regular liars are totally transparent.

Speaking of lies, my dad had the good sense to never put me in a position where I would feel stuck between telling the lie my mother told me to tell, or being honest with him. If he knew my mom told me to lie and say we were at the grocery store instead of the bar, he wouldn't ask me.

Mom and Dad. Awwww ... newlyweds.

I learned that telling the truth was the easiest thing to do. Liars have to remember their lies, and which versions they told to which person. If you tell the truth, you only need to remember one thing.

I learned that a lot of people lie when they don't want to answer a question, and I figured out that I didn't have to answer every question asked of me. I didn't have to tell my secrets and let them into the world.

When confronted with questions I didn't want to answer, I grew confident enough to say, "Sorry, but that's private," or "I'm not really comfortable discussing that," or "Now is not a good time to talk about that."

Or, "If my husband didn't tell you, then I'll honor his decision not to reveal those things."

I learned not to rely on other people to make me happy. When, on the evening of my 16th birthday, my mother told me that I was too old for birthdays, I was devastated. I had hoped for a Sweet 16 surprise. Maybe a party. How about a cake after dinner, with candles? As the day wore on, my expectations grew lower. I would have settled for a card. But all I got was the announcement that I was too old for birthdays.

So, I decided that on my birthday from that year forward, I would buy something for myself, or do something for myself that was special. I continued that tradition well into adulthood. Most years, I got cards or presents from others. But I knew I didn't have to count on them to treat me well. I was allowed to do things for myself, because I deserved it.

I learned that I should not give someone money for safekeeping, or loan it to them, if it would bother me that I never saw the money again. Birthday money, spare change collected for carrying the neighbor's groceries, and nickels saved from redeeming soda bottles found on the street was said to be "safely put away" for me in mom's bank account. By now, it should be worth a tidy sum, right?

Because of my mom, I learned how to cook without recipes. When I was an adult and mom refused to give me the recipes I remembered from childhood, I figured them out based on my memory of the flavors. I became confident at creating my own recipes and replicating others that I tasted. I guess you might say that she's at least partly responsible for me becoming a food blogger.

Not quite the same smile after I came along.

I learned about marriage from mom's friends and relatives. Some were married and remarried with frightening regularity. They had ugly divorces in between, and bad relationships with many exes. I knew I didn't want that. Others stayed married even though their husbands were abusive. I knew I didn't want that, either.

I knew, without a doubt, that I didn't want to be like my mother. She was my role model of who not to be.

When mom broke her hip and decided not to do physical therapy or help herself get better, I watched her long decline. I took care of her, and I took care of her dwindling finances. For the first time, I wished that I had siblings to help bear the burden. And then she was gone.

I was sad, mostly for the fact that we never had the sort of relationship other people had with their mothers. She wasn't my friend, my mentor, or my idol. She was the woman who gave birth to me, and who consequently gave me enough care so I could grow up and move out.

This isn't a sad story. I have no regrets. My mom made me strong, inquisitive, skeptical, and independent. She made me a survivor.

But still, when Mother's Day rolls around and my friends talk about how wonderful their mothers are or how sad they are that their mothers are gone ... I feel a bit of loss. Not that she's gone, but that I never had the sort of mother that I would actually miss.

So if you had a mother who was your friend, inspiration, and confidante, be happy that you had her in your life. If your mom is still your best buddy or if she now needs your help and support, enjoy your time with her.

And if your mom was like mine, celebrate that you were one of the strong little fish that grew up to be the person you are today.

Thanks, mom. This one's for you.

Baileys Banana Milkshake
For the record, my mom would have hated this drink. This is all about the flavor. She preferred whiskey and water for maximum kick and minimum fuss.

1 ripe banana
1 generous cup ice cubes
1 1/2 ounces Baileys Irish Cream
2 ounces heavy cream (you could use milk, if you like)
Tiny pinch of salt

Place all the ingredients in a blender (salt is optional, but it enhances the banana flavor), and blend until smooth. In a Vitamix (which is what I used) turn the knob to the frozen/ice cream setting and just let it do its thing.

Serve, slurp, enjoy.

You can make a non-alcoholic version by swapping the Baileys for milk or even water. You could simply eliminate it, but the extra liquid makes blending easier.

The single worst day of my life

Bob, the year I met him.

Before you read the rest of this, let me assure you that my husband is getting better.

But that wasn't the prognosis three weeks ago, on September 26, when a doctor and his staff called me in for a meeting. I had a knot in my stomach on the way to the hospital, and the knot got a little bigger when I saw a few too many un-cheerful faces.

In the meeting, the doctor droned on for what seemed like an hour about all the things that were wrong with my husband. A whole litany of organs weren't doing well. On top of everything else, he hadn't woken up since they took him off sedation. His gut wasn't working, so they couldn't feed him. He couldn't breathe on his own. He needed too many medications just to stay stable.

The doctor finished his monologue by saying they didn't expect him to get better and that the best they could do is keep him comfortable. There was no chance he'd improve. There was no hope.

I choked out, "how long does he have?" and the doctor said it could be a few days or a few months, but it was up to me, because I could schedule a time ... Hearing that was just about more than I could bear.

There are seven stages of grief, and I went through all of them simultaneously. Then I started over again. I was swinging from being an emotional puddle to being completely rational and logical. I cried buckets of tears and gasped and howled and hyperventilated and whimpered.

I went to my in-laws house to tell them their son wasn't going to make it. Or, really, I just collapsed in their doorway.

I spent several hours informing the rest of my husband's family by phone, one after the other. Then I went back to the hospital for a while to say a few words to my husband and hold his hand.

Then I came home to take my elderly dog to the vet. I'd made the appointment the day before, after she'd hurt herself while I was out. She had been trying to get up from a nap, but couldn't do it on her own and had managed to snag a dew claw and bleed all over the floor.

So I made an appointment at the vet, and brought her in on the day I was told my husband wasn't going to make it. I was a wreck. I had hoped I could keep my furry companion around for a little longer, but she let me know it was her time to go.

All I could think of was that at least when my husband got to the other side there would be a wet nose and wagging tail to guide him on his way.

It was the single worst day of my life.

I spent the night tossing and turning. You think of strange things at a time like that. Towards morning I dozed off, but was awakened by a call from the hospital. Bob had suddenly taken a turn for the better. His eyes were open, he was responding to commands, and they had taken him off most of the medications he was on. His vital signs were good without any help.

It took me a while to process all of that. To realize it wasn't some sort of dream. To realize that the day before wasn't a nightmare. To rekindle that glimmer of hope that the doctor had extinguished with the certainty of his diagnosis.

Back at the hospital, everyone was all smiles again, and plans were being made for Bob's continued care with a renewed commitment towards recovery. I was exhausted and elated. This time, informing the family was a much more pleasant task.

If my life was a made-for-TV movie, there would be a scene with Bob moving towards the light and a black dog growling and snarling and not letting him past. Bob finally gives in and wakes up. The dog smiles, wags her tail, and leaps into the light. And all is well. Credits roll.

But my life is not a TV movie.

And we're not anywhere near the end of this story.

Since that day, Bob has been improving. Slowly, for sure, and he's got a long way to go. But now the focus is beginning to turn towards rehab. He's still got medical issues - a surgical wound needs to finish healing, and he's got a persistent lung infection. But these are things that can be fixed.

He is being weaned off the ventilator and is doing well, but it tires him out a lot. They've inserted a feeding tube and have removed the IV feeding. They have started re-training him how to swallow - first with ice chips, with the hope that he'll be able to being taking food soon.

The therapists are working with him to get his muscles working again. He's getting movement back, but he has very little strength. A helium balloon could win in an arm-wrestling match.

Some days there is significant progress, some days there is just a little. Some days, he's just plain tired. But he is moving in the right general direction. For someone who was supposed to have a few days left, he's doing amazingly well. For someone who drove himself to the doctor because he wasn't hungry, he's in pretty lousy shape.

Did I mention that this is going to be a long recovery?

I don't mean long in terms of weeks. I mean months. Bob will not be home soon. When he gets released from the hospital because his medical issues are fixed, it's likely he will be transferred to a long-term rehab facility. It will be a long time before he is home again..

Meanwhile, there are other issues to contend with ...

I've been pretty public about my husband's medical condition, but the one thing I haven't mentioned is ... insurance. Or lack thereof.

It's not quite as bad as it seems. I won't be homeless. I won't starve. But it's going to be incredibly sucky for a while. The good news is that my husband has been in the hospital long enough to qualify for medical financial aid. When that's good news, you know things are pretty lousy, right?

The bad news is that my husband hasn't earned any income since he went into the hospital on September 6, and he's not going to be making any money in the foreseeable future. I can hear some of you thinking, "unemployment" but you don't qualify for unemployment unless you're actively looking for work. I can guarantee you that my husband hasn't been sending out resumes from his hospital bed.

I am filing to gt my husband on disability and hoping for the best. I've been told that it can take several months before a decision is made, and that they might deny us on the first time around, and I might need to hire a lawyer to appeal. Maybe things will happen faster. Maybe not.

I hate asking for help, I hate the idea of taking handouts ... but the other option is eventual bankruptcy, and that's something I like even less. By taking the financial aid, the hospital and doctors will get paid. With bankruptcy, the hospital and doctors will get stiffed. I'd rather see them get paid. I'll take the aid and find a way to pay the rest.

So, long term, we'll probably be fine. A few years from now, it will be nothing but a bad memory.

But for now ...

It's not just my husband's income that's an issue. I've taken some time off of work, so my income has been greatly reduced. Not to mention that I'm mentally exhausted, emotionally fragile, and usually sleep-deprived. I know I need to start making more money, but it's going to take some time before I'm up to full speed again.

Short term, the money for paying everyday bills will be running low pretty quickly. I know I can borrow, but I don't want to borrow money that I might not be able to pay back. So, I'm gonna go the beggar's route and put up a PayPal button and if anyone wants to chip in, I will be forever grateful.

Support Amounts

$5 support $5.00 USD $10 support $10.00 USD $25 support $25.00 USD $50 support $50.00 USD $100 support $100.00 USD $500 support $500.00 USD

Note: if you've been here before you might notice that the Donate button is now a Pay Now button ... PayPal has rules about donations, and I didn't want to run afoul of them. What are you buying? A great big heartfelt THANK YOU!

If this is something you don't want to do, that's perfectly fine. I honestly don't expect it. I'm just putting it up there so those who want to, can. If I had the energy, I would run a bake sale or raffle off stuff, or sell an e-book, but at the end of every day I run out of time and energy before I run out of things I should have done. So, no baked goods for you. Maybe later.

Please note, too, that this is not a tax-deductible donation - I am not a charity. This is more like me standing on the corner with a tin cup. Or however you want to picture that.

Please, if your situation is worse than mine, mentally, physically, emotionally, or financially, don't even think about donating. We all have out own needs, and I know that there are many, many people worse off than I am.

And if you have any doubt whatsoever about the truth of my situation, please don't think about donating. Like I said, I won't end up homeless. I won't starve. I won't rob a liquor store. But rest assured, if you do donate, the money won't be used to pay for illegal drugs or hookers. Unless you consider gas and electric illegal drugs or you think the insurance company is run by hookers. Which I guess is possible. But, nah, not likely.

And on the positive side ...

This whole situation has really changed my attitude about a lot of things. In many ways, it has made me see things in a more positive light as I celebrate each small improvement in my husband's condition and appreciate the time I share with him.

It has also highlighted the fact that money certainly isn't everything. All I really want is for my husband to come home to me, healthy. I'd sort of like to have a home for him to come home to, but I don't care if I never have another new car or a vacation or a latte at Starbucks. None of those things are necessary for happiness.

There will, however, be much joy on the day my husband comes home, and much happiness with each step he takes on that long journey to get here.

If you do donate, thank you from the bottom of my heart. When I am in a position to do so, I will return the favor.

If you haven't been keeping up, here are the previous posts I wrote about his hospitalization:
http://www.cookistry.com/2012/09/cooking-has-been-put-on-hold.html
http://www.cookistry.com/2012/09/over-one-hurdle-surgery-is-done.html
http://www.cookistry.com/2012/09/thirty-four-years-and-going-strong.html

Thirty-four years and going strong

That 70's hair.

I met my husband thirty-four years ago today. Now, whether "today" is the 23rd or the 24th depends on your perspective and your time zone. So we either met really late at night on the 23rd, or really early in the next morning.

I prefer to say we met on September 23, because that means we've been together one day longer. And, since it was the continuation of that day rather than the beginning of the next one, I think it's fair.

You see, it was the week after my birthday, and one of my girlfriends decided we needed to go out and celebrate. So we made the rounds of a few local watering holes. And a few more. And when the bars with the regular licenses closed, we went to the one with the late license. It didn't get hoppin' until after 2am.

Ah, to be young and ... young.

My intention that night wasn't to meet someone. I just wanted to hang out with my friend and not be bothered by guys. I was a little bored with the tired pickup lines, and I was on-and-off dating someone who I knew would be completely off very soon. I wasn't anxious to leap into dating someone else.

So when Bob showed up and offered to buy a drink, I wasn't particularly interested. Then he said a few things that made me laugh, and I thought I wouldn't mind talking to him a little more. We talked until the bar closed.

He suggested we go for coffee, so we went to a local diner that was on my home turf. And we talked and talked and talked ... and then I noticed that it was very very bright outside. Yep, we'd talked all night. And we just kept talking. Every darned day after that. If we didn't see each other, we talked on the phone. For hours. And we laughed a lot.

And then one magical day we said, "I love you" to each other. And I think we've said that every single day since then. Every. Single. Day.

Well, he's not talking much now, because he's still in the hospital and breathing through a ventilator. But I say it to him every day. And sometimes he looks at me and moves his lips, and sometimes he's too sedated to respond. But I say it anyway and I believe he hears me.

We've been together 34 years, over 12,000 days, and it's not nearly enough. I see him in that hospital bed and when he's having a bad day it feels like someone's ripping the heart out of my chest. When he's having a good day, I feel light and sparkly and joyful and hopeful.

He's got a long recovery ahead of him, but the doctors and nurses are doing everything they can to get him healthy enough to come home. Me, I'm taking it one day at a time. Sometimes the best I can do is one hour at a time, or one breath at a time or one heartbeat at a time. And then another and another. And then the minute is the hour, the hour is the day, and we've made it through another rough patch and we can think about having a better day tomorrow.

It's been difficult. It will continue to be difficult. For the past 18 days, I've been mostly useless. I go to the hospital and come home and maybe go back again. Sometimes my visits are short, and sometimes they're longer. When I'm home, I think about him at the hospital. And then I call to see how he's doing. And sometimes I get calls from the hospital.

I've spent a lot of time whining, whimpering, and crying. Sleep does not come easy. I've learned more medical terms than a normal person should need to know. But the nurses have been wonderful and supportive. And they make sure I'm taking care of myself, which is the hardest thing for me to do.

But life has to go on. I need to pick myself up and get myself back on track. No matter how many people have offered help, there are things that won't get done unless I do them. I have unopened mail scattered around that needs to be opened, emails that need to be answered, bills that need to be paid, floors that need to be cleaned, and an ailing dog who needs more attention than she's gotten in the past few weeks.

Soon, I'm going to tackle all those things, one little bit at a time, because that's about all I can handle. I'm going to have to start figuring out the financial implications of this hospitalization. It's going to be daunting, I'm sure, but we'll manage. I've been broke before. It's not the worst thing that could happen. And I refuse to believe that the worst will happen.

I have also decided that for the sake of my own sanity, I absolutely have to keep a positive outlook. If Bob's condition remains the same for a day, that is not bad news. It means that nothing else has gone wrong, and I can be thankful for that. If something goes wrong and the doctors and nurses find a way to diagnose it and fix it, that's good news. Because they are finding all the things that are wrong and they are dealing with them, one piece at a time.

There are fewer things going wrong now than last week, and more things going right. More tests coming back, and more plans being made for his treatment. We are moving in a good direction. He will not be home next week, but I have every intention of stuffing him with turkey at Thanksgiving.

I am not a bright-eyed crazy optimist. I know that things can go wrong. And they have. I have a whole list of things that could have gone tragically wrong, but they didn't because the doctors and nurses were there to intervene. So every day that he sees even a little improvement is a wonderful day, and I'm not letting anyone take that joy away from me.

Not only do I need to stay positive for my own sanity, I need to stay positive for Bob. If he's conscious enough to know I'm there, I'm sure it's better to see me smiling and telling him that things are better. Seeing me weeping and gnashing my teeth will do him no good.

And I have to stay positive so I can think straight enough to get back to work on a regular basis. That means more cooking, more recipes, and more blog posts from me. It means I might start eating more regular meals, which is a bonus. There have been some very, very odd meals at odd hours in the past few weeks, that's for sure.

The guest bloggers will still be filling in while I get back into the rhythm, but you should be seeing more of me around these parts as time goes on.

I can hope that all the news coming from the hospital will be good, but I know better than that. There will be minor setbacks along the way; hopefully they will be few and they will be very small. But he's in the right place. These things are not new to the hospital staff. They know what to do. They have the medications, the equipment, the knowledge, and the compassion necessary to take care of him. And I trust that they'll give him back to me soon to feed and take care of and love.

Meanwhile, we just need to hang on to each other for one more heartbeat, one more breath, and one more day. We'll get through this.

I want to sincerely thank everyone who has been so supportive during this very difficult time. I've made so many friends through blogging and through food groups, and online ... and I've reconnected with old friends on Facebook. The online world is amazing. I wish I could hug you all.

Or send you cookies. The good kind, not the computer kind.

I know I haven't answered a lot of your comments, but that's just because something goes all funny with my eyes and then I can't see through the blur. But that's a good thing, and I love reading what you say. 

Oh - and that photo? That was taken shortly after I met Bob. You may laugh at the hair if you're so inclined, but I really loved the curls. Do you hear music? Hmmm... could it be ... Disco Inferno?

It's my birthday, and I'll steal posts if I want to

Hi. I’m Bob, Donna’s hubby. I hope I don’t bore you with this. By the way, I’m skinny as a rail.

Today is Donna's birthday, Happy birthday Donna! A while back I asked her what she’d like for her birthday and she said she’d like me to write a blog post for today.

Oh, you’d like the day off!

Okay, I’ll try. Where to begin?

Oven:
When Donna and I started dating she invited me to her apartment for a lasagna dinner. I didn’t know she could cook at the time; we’d been going to restaurants on dates. I arrived at the apartment and she invited me in. I noticed the aroma of home cooking and couldn’t wait for the dinner. It was a small apartment with a kitchen/dining area.

She sat me down, served salad and eventually presented this huge lasagna. I ate and ate and ate. This didn’t come from the freezer aisle at the supermarket (which was my usual fare). After dinner we headed into Chicago to meet up with some of my buddies and their dates.

Early the next morning, after breakfast, I returned Donna to her apartment. We said our goodnights and she opened the door. I felt this blast of heat emerge from the apartment (this was in the middle of a Chicago winter). I went in to see if there was a fire or something. Nope. We determined that she left the oven on all the time we were out.

Okay, I've got to interject here ... (sorry, honey) but this wasn't actually the first time I cooked for Bob. That was a spaghetti dinner. The lasagna was a little later, but it was the first pull-out-all-the-stops meal that I made for him.

Bob has also omitted the second part of this tale. You see, when we got back to the apartment and it was so ridiculously hot, we opened a window just a little and cracked open the patio door. It was the dead of winter, but it was that hot in the apartment.

We went out again, with the intention of being back at my place a little later, after things had cooled off. But no, a raging blizzard blew through and we couldn't get back to my apartment. It might have been a day or two before roads cleared.

This time, when I grabbed the doorknob it was frosty frigid cold. Icy, even. Uh oh. The patio door was half open and there was a pile of snow on my living room floor. The window in the bedroom was still just cracked open, but there was a nice dusting of snow on the bed.

I've always wondered if the people in the neighboring apartments noticed anything weird, and if so, what they thought.

And, for the record, I have no idea why leaving the oven on made it so hot in the apartment. Maybe I left the oven door cracked open. I really don't recall.

Okay, back to Bob's stories:

Sneakers:

After many fantastic meals by Donna, she dared me to prepare something (quite like this post). Simple, I thought.

Or maybe not a good idea because I’ve been known to burn water. But I had to make it special.

My concept was to combine turkey with Salisbury steak as a main dish, mashed potatoes as a veggie and gravy on the side with some sort of dessert. But I knew from previous experience that the gravy somehow leaks onto the potatoes and moreso the dessert in any frozen dinner.

So, plan B. I had an idea. Days before the dinner event I found a cookbook that had directions on how to make dough. I had access to Donna's kitchen for most of the day because she was taking her mother out shopping. I bought all the ingredients I needed (King Arthur flour, Red Star Yeast, ground beef, cheese, and jalapeño peppers) and went to work.

I couldn’t believe how long it took to make the dough, though. In the meantime I was able to cook the ground beef with the peppers on the stovetop.

After the dough went through the rise I figured it was ready for its fall. I proceeded to assemble my masterpiece. Once accomplished, it went into the oven.

The timing was perfect. Soon, Donna returned and asked “how’s dinner going?"

"Moments away," I responded. The table was already set, Donna sat down and when the timer went off, I presented the meal.

“What do you call this?” she asked.

"Nashville Sneakers," my response. You see Nashville Sneakers was a silly little ditty done by one of my favorite bands. I actually rolled, cut, formed and shaped the dough to resemble sneakers (logos and shoelaces included) stuffed with ground beef jalapeno peppers and cheese.

Days later we were at her mother's place and Donna told the story about my experience making dough from scratch and her mom asked “why didn’t you just use Bisquick”? What’s Bisquick?

Liver & Onions:
One time Donna offered to make me liver & onions. Imagine trying not to roll your eyes after hearing that. “Sure” I said. My mom made it from time to time when I was growing up, and it was like shoe leather.

I figured that after all the great meals Donna served me, one flop could be overlooked. I’d tell her afterward that liver is in the same category as cantaloupe in my book, and if given the choice I’d go for the cantaloupe.

She turned from the counter with a serving plate loaded with liver & onions. I looked at the utensils placed before me and they were a fork, a regular dinner knife, and a spoon. No steak knife. Just like at home. Mom would be proud.

I dug in to the dish and after using the knife to cut through the “rawhide” realized I could actually cut it with the edge of the fork. It was tender! I asked what this was and she said “liver & onions.” She couldn’t believe I finished off the whole meal in one sitting. Sorry, mom.

Cold Soup Wingnut:
Donna and I were on a cruise for our honeymoon. They seated the same group together every night for dinner, I guess for you to get to know each other. On the first night of this cruise vichyssoise was served as an appetizer.

After being served, one guest pushed his bowl away exclaiming “this soup is cold!” Our waiter returned to the table and explained to the gentleman that that vichyssoise is served chilled, pointing it out on the menu. Culture shock, we figured. When the waiter returned to take the entree orders, the gent wanted a hamburger. And regardless what was on the menu, he ordered a hamburger every night.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Donna's note: Bob is still in the hospital, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't quite finished with this post. I found it on his computer and figured, what the heck, it's my birthday and I'll do what I wanna do.

There is an actual recipe for Nashville Sneakers. I'm not sure Bob remembers writing it, but I've got it in my recipe collection. The "artwork" in this post is from that handwritten recipe.

Over one hurdle - surgery is done

I said I wasn't going to turn this into a medical blog, but I have dozens (probably hundreds ... ) of people who have asked for updates on my husband's condition, and this seems to be the easiest way to get the information to everyone. Better than posting massive updates on Facebook and emailing scores of people.

If you missed it, here's the first post that explains how we got here.

It feels like a month, but it was just a week ago that Bob drove himself to the clinic. And quickly ended up in ICU. On Monday of this week, they felt he was well enough to be in a regular room, and things were looking up. But everything was still rather nebulous. Maybe he would need surgery, maybe not. Maybe they've have to open him up, maybe they could go in through small holes. There were a lot of maybes and not a lot of firm plans.

Yesterday was the longest day of my life. I got a call at about 1am that Bob was being moved back to ICU because his breathing had gotten so bad. I couldn't sleep, so I went to the hospital where I guarantee you neither of us slept.

They said that one of his lungs was accumulating fluid and it's possible he aspirated something, but he couldn't cough anything up because of his stomach pain.

So they decided to drain the fluid from his lung and got him started on breathing therapy through the oxygen mask. He was conscious but stupid from lack of sleep, pain, and lack of oxygen.

The doctor came in and said uh oh, he's too sick for the scheduled surgery on Friday. Bob wasn't getting enough oxygen even with the oxygen mask at full volume and there's no way they could put him under in that condition.

So they said the surgery would be delayed until he could breathe better. The downside was that he couldn't eat and they didn't want to give him IV nutrition because that can ruin your liver if you're on it too long. They wanted to wait until after surgery to get him on the IV food. Which meant it would be a few more days of no food, which wasn't something he could afford since he had already lost too much weight.

Then the doctor suggested putting him on a ventilator. He said that they could go down the ventilator tube and clean out his lungs better and that after a few days he'd be ready for surgery, so maybe they could still schedule it for Friday.

Okay, fine, that sounds good.

I went home to take a shower and check on the dog and when I got back to the hospital an hour later, he had the breathing tube in, he was sedated, and they scheduled the surgery for later that day. Since he was on the ventilator, the machine would breathe for him during surgery and the doctor decided it was better to do the surgery right away instead of Friday.

Well, okay.

They took him into surgery some time after 7pm and he was back in his room at about 9 pm. They removed his spleen which had died after they plugged the aneurysm, and cleaned out the blood clot which was behind his stomach and cleaned up some other bits and pieces. No doubt poked and prodded here and there. I mean, you're in there, you might as well look for alien implants and spare body parts. They doctor actually drew a little picture. The stomach is here ... we flipped that up ...

Hmmm ... not exactly a romantic picture of my husband, but the non-emotional side of me found it ... interesting. It's amazing what modern medicine can do.

Everyone told me he did really well during surgery - didn't lose a lot of blood, his vitals were okay - I mean, they're doing some major renovation, so there were some variations of blood pressure, but he never went critical. He came back to the room and one of the ER nurses was positively beaming and even a little teary-eyed about how good he looked.

He's going to remain sedated until they're ready to take him off the ventilator. They said they'd do that as soon as his gut decided to start functioning again. Maybe a day or two. And then he can start eating again and they'll be getting him back on his feet to move around.

It's still going to be a long road. He wasn't eating well before he went into the hospital and he needs to gain some weight. He needs to recover from major surgery. There's always a risk of infection. They're doing biopsies on the material they removed, just to make sure there's nothing else we need to worry about. He needs to be up and walking around as soon as possible and I'm sure that won't be fun for him.

Still lots of things to worry about, but the surgery was the first big hurdle. I can't tell you how terrified I was when they were wheeling him down the hall, but I knew he was in good hands.

After the surgery was over the doctor told me that he'd sleep better tonight knowing the surgery was over and that it went well, rather than "turning like a rotisserie chicken" and wondering if things were going to get worse if he waited until Friday for the surgery.

I really believe it was the right decision to go ahead. If we waited, that would have been more days with no food and more days with a dead spleen in his gut.

Now, he's moving forward instead of moving back.

As for me, I was blubbering like a baby when I got home. Exhaustion and worry have taken a toll, but I sleep well last night and I feel more like a human today. I'm still tired, but it's a kind of tired I can deal with. I feel a little less crazy.

I'm sure there are more hurdles coming, but we've made it this far. We'll get through it.

I want to thank everyone for their comments, emails, messages, good wishes, prayers, smoke signals, and everything else. I don't know if I'll have a chance to thank all of you individually, and to be honest I'm still making my way through reading all the comments. I need to take breaks because I get all teary when I read them, and then I can't see. I love you all.

Hopefully all the news from now on will be good.

Oh, and that photo? That's Bob, shortly after we met. That's one of my favorite photos of him. Other people might tell you that he looks a little ... okay, a lot ... older than that now. But to me, that's what he always looks like. Maybe my eyes are getting old, too.

Cooking has been put on hold ...

My husband didn't pick up the milk yesterday.

That's because he's in the hospital, in the ICU.

The good news is that he's out of immediate danger, and I've had a great many people tell me how lucky he is to be alive. You see, he had an aneurysm on an artery on his spleen, and it ruptured. Most people bleed out in a matter of minutes. He was bleeding internally for a long time. Maybe a month. Maybe more.

"He has nine lives," one nurse told me.

"I should be talking to a dead man," a doctor told him.

It's a miracle he is still here, but we're still not out of the woods. It will take some time before he's back home again where he belongs.

So what does this have to do with food? Nothing, really. Less than nothing. But I thought that my regular blog readers might want to know why things at this blog might be a little .... different for a while.

I won't be blogging about my husband's hospital meals. He's allowed clear liquids, so today's breakfast tray included coffee, cranberry juice, beef broth, and a Popsicle. I don't think we'll be doing reviews on that.

As for me, I went grocery shopping the day before he went into the hospital, and I've got a beautiful array of fresh fruits and vegetables that are starting to glare at me accusingly every time I open the refrigerator. I also have a few foods I need to review. Some jars of sauces from Dave's Gourmet are high on the list because all I need to do is cook some pasta.

But I don't really have the brain power to write about food right now.

This is a very scary time for me. I met my husband exactly one week after my 22nd birthday, and we've been nearly inseparable ever since. We were married in spirit long before we filed joint taxes. We've weathered some hard times and laughed ourselves silly during the good times.

But no matter what was going on around us, it's almost always good times between us. He even said something today that made me laugh. Because that's what he's like.

Besides making me laugh at stupid jokes, Bob has been my support during every crisis. When my father was struck by a car and died suddenly, he was there to support me. When my mother broke her hip, needed home care, and lingered in a nursing home, he was with me every step of the way.

We eat dinner together, at the dinner table, every night. And we talk. Often, about nothing. It's one of the highlights of my day.

He is so proud of my little successes with this blog, it's adorable. He tells everyone about it. He prints copies and sends links, and tells everyone about posts that get linked to elsewhere. He picks up copies of the newspaper when I'm published. He's my biggest fan. He's my best friend.

And he eats whatever I cook. Except cantaloupe. But that's not on the menu very often.

So now he's in the hospital, drinking clear fluids and I'm huddled in a corner using hospital wifi and gnawing granola bars and drinking cranberry juice.

Eventually, I will get back to cooking. Not because I'm hungry, and not because I want to blog about it, but because cooking relaxes me. It comforts me. I might not eat much of what I make, but making it will help me feel better.

As far as this blog, I have a few posts that were written previously that I'll be posting, and I'm lining up some guest posters to fill in as well. I have to say that the food blogger community and my Facebook friends have been a huge comfort. I've gotten hundreds of messages and emails and comments. I feel loved and supported.

I may post a few updates here about his progress, but this is not about to become a medical blog. I'll be posting updates on my personal Facebook page and I might post on my fan page as well, when it's appropriate, and of course you can comment or email me. I'm not hard to find.

Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the guests who will be helping me out. Please support them all, visit their blogs, and know that I appreciate each and every one of you who reads this blog. I might be quiet for a while, but I'll be around.