Today was much like yesterday had been, except for the happy addition of abdominal cramps. L took a moment after the nurse left to stow the most conspicuous and sensitive items that had been returned to him either in the closet or in the desk drawer. When he had finished, he cast a glum look at the tray on his desk.
Herb chicken.... Could he eat? He tried to skip meals as little as possible, even when it was hard for him to choke down whatever was on the menu: when it came to weighing eating food he disliked against the idea of being too weak to defend himself at night, the choice was obvious... even if the pink porridge had tested his resolve. But if there was a foreign object in his stomach... was it causing problems with digestion? Would adding food to it now make the situation worse later? At lunch, he had already considered the idea that the cramping could be caused by some kind of digestive blockage... but if that were the case, he probably would have vomited up what he had consumed earlier in the day.
He decided to compromise: he'd eat a few bites of everything. Enough to tide him over, enough that hunger wouldn't be a distraction, but not enough that he'd be trying to move around on a full stomach, or dealing with the possible consequences of having eaten so much. There were already the ramifications of moving around at night at all when he felt the way he did. Desperation was a good motivator. It would be better to push himself than to die for lack of trying.
He sighed, still skeptical, now resigned. Lifting the fork by the end of its handle, he then inserted the tines delicately into the chicken breast and peeled away a small strip of meat. It would be irritating if this turned out to be his last meal.
M73
Herb chicken.... Could he eat? He tried to skip meals as little as possible, even when it was hard for him to choke down whatever was on the menu: when it came to weighing eating food he disliked against the idea of being too weak to defend himself at night, the choice was obvious... even if the pink porridge had tested his resolve. But if there was a foreign object in his stomach... was it causing problems with digestion? Would adding food to it now make the situation worse later? At lunch, he had already considered the idea that the cramping could be caused by some kind of digestive blockage... but if that were the case, he probably would have vomited up what he had consumed earlier in the day.
He decided to compromise: he'd eat a few bites of everything. Enough to tide him over, enough that hunger wouldn't be a distraction, but not enough that he'd be trying to move around on a full stomach, or dealing with the possible consequences of having eaten so much. There were already the ramifications of moving around at night at all when he felt the way he did. Desperation was a good motivator. It would be better to push himself than to die for lack of trying.
He sighed, still skeptical, now resigned. Lifting the fork by the end of its handle, he then inserted the tines delicately into the chicken breast and peeled away a small strip of meat. It would be irritating if this turned out to be his last meal.