Nutrition used to be the cornerstone of nursing. So I’ll have plenty of what makes me feel better – as well as the medication
When we are unwell, we retreat to a place of safety. So here I am, standing in front of mine, bathed in the promising yellow glow of the fridge light, certain that something in here will make me feel better. After two years of thinking I was somehow immune, of giving thanks for my sturdy, bulletproof eastern European peasant DNA, I finally have Covid. I am proper poorly. I am part man, part paracetamol.
There are few upsides to having a bug, whether it be Covid, flu or just a raging, dribbling, snot-storm of a cold. And frankly, there are none at all, if gastric distress is part of the package. But if appetite has not been slaughtered, well then, it’s game on. For being ill provides a double-stamped, fully watermarked, gilt-edged licence to eat what the hell we like. Perhaps, in non-viral times, you’re avoiding the carbs? Sod that. Your body needs bread, potatoes and pasta, ideally together. Fat is no longer a food group to be fretted over. Now it’s an imperative. And chocolate, by which I mean Cadbury’s Dairy Milk rather than any of that artisanal nonsense, is renowned for its profound medicinal qualities. I read that somewhere. Look, it makes me feel better, even if it doesn’t actually make me better.
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