Today was indeed a little quieter, although that’s because it started at 4:15 AM and the worst of everything was done by noon.

The morning started with me being wakened by the nurse from an unusually deep sleep for me. I jumped when I finally came to and the nurse felt terrible. Even tonight, as I was getting ready to end the day, she asked again if there was a better way to wake me up. She felt bad that she, as she put it, “scared the frig” out of me.

Once the blood draws, weight, standing test, blood pressure, oxygen, and maybe a few other tests I can’t remember because it was—as I said—4:15 AM, there was no hope to go back to sleep. This is how my days will all start while I’m here, so I’ve just resigned myself to that fact. The nurse and I have made a deal for tomorrow morning that she’ll bring me a cup of coffee to have when we’re done with the tests.

Turned out my hemoglobin was quite low still, so they started another transfusion around 6:00 AM.

Then, before my second chemo of the season—I’m leading the series 2:0—I had breakfast.

Let’s talk about food, shall we?

There are a few factors at play here. First, let’s just get it out of the way—hospital food is terrible.

Second, because of my chemo and the transplant procedure, I can only eat foods that are entirely, unquestionably, devoid of both texture and flavor, unless that texture is mush and the flavor is bland.

Okay, that isn’t quite true. I’m on what’s called a neutropenic diet, which is safe for people who have severely compromised immune systems, which I will have for the next several months to varying degrees. It does mean, though, that you cook the foods you’re still allowed to have to the point of unrecognizability. This, coupled with the blandness of most hospital food, is not great.

That said, I admire the kitchen for the transplant patients, because the folks in there are at least trying, and a few things have even been pretty good. Even when I couldn’t call them “good”, they at least were things I felt ambivalent about, and so I could get them down without too much trouble.

Take last night’s dinner. Pepperoni pizza! Sounds good, right? It actually wasn’t bad. It was a very thick pizza with sauce, cheese, and pepperoni. All the components were there. And let’s face it—pizza is pizza; even the most mediocre pizza is better than no pizza. Plus, I had a very strange experience with this pizza in particular. It had a very distinctive flavor that took me back to the snackbar at the drive-in theater when I was a child. I can still taste that pizza—pizza I ate while watching Christopher Reeves as Superman and ET: The Extraterrestrial. It was thinner than the pizza the hospital gave me, but it was still exactly that flavor. As I ate it, I marveled at the wash of memories from my earliest childhood. The pizza at the drive-in wasn’t good either, but dammit—it was pizza!

For breakfast this morning, there was a “cheese omelet”. It was an omelet insofar as it was made of eggs and what was, presumably, cheese. It wasn’t great, but I couldn’t actually honestly call it bad either. It was fine. It was the most fine of fines. Completely unremarkable. Sitting here now, twelve hours later, I can’t even solidly recollect what it tasted like. I ate it, and that is all there is to say about it.

Lunch was a little different. There was a cheeseburger with cheese, lettuce, and onions. The problem was that the only thing with any flavor was the onions—so it just tasted like onions. All of it. The bun, the patty, the cheese, the lettuce…all onions.

The sides of macaroni and cheese and green beans were likewise limp and flavorless—dare I even say…anemic? This was odd because the macaronis and the beans were both cooked so thoroughly that it was difficult to distinguish between them once they left the plate and entered your mouth. Was that a straight macaroni, or just a slightly bent green beans? Mysteries like these will never be solved.

But here was the big surprise: dinner tonight was chicken tortilla soup, a black bean burrito, and salsa. And you know what? It was all pretty good. Like actually good. Granted, I’m from California, and if you’re from California you’re probably a little bit of a snob when it comes to Mexican food. I moved to Pennsylvania nearly sixteen years ago, and the state does not boast about it’s great Mexican cuisine…because there isn’t any. Good Mexican food—hell, decent Mexican food—is nearly impossible to come by—so the bar is low. The burrito was spicy! The salsa had flavor! And not just flavor—good flavor! It was amazing! Where did this food come from and why is it here? Another mystery that shall never be solved.

All that aside, the desserts are consistently delicious. I’ve sampled the vanilla pudding, vanilla ice cream, and angel food cake. All totally lived up to their names. These are the apology desserts at the end of the meal. These are desserts that say, “We know. We’re sorry. Please forgive us.” And, dammit, it works. You do forgive them everything for the three spoonfuls of pudding you get in the tiny little cup.

Tomorrow I’ll try the chicken tenders. I’m hoping they’re better than the ones served on the Lander campus. (If you know, you know.)