My baby (Ernie) just keeps getting skinnier (I MUST buy him a new belt and new jeans). Even when things taste good to him, he just tires of eating.
Right now he’s hopefully in recovery from several weeks of terrible diarrhea. I was going to say something more polite like ‘stomach distress’ but hell. I’ve sent enough messages about it to the doctor that I think I can finally remember how to spell diarrhea, so the hell with it. We’re trying to ease him back into solid food. Last night I made a little cacio e pepe, light on the cheese and light on the pepper for him. He ate some of it. Progress.
He’s kind of turned on some of his old standbys. Ernie used to be a chicken fiend. Not so much now. He didn’t even like his egg drop soup last time he had it—another old favorite crossed off the list. And although he normally loves vegetables…not these days.
I’m going to try to make some more congee and add some ginger to it.
I got a book from the American Cancer Society on cooking for those with cancer. Honestly, I did not find it a whole hell of a lot of help. Not that the recipes look bad. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe he just needs a caregiver with more energy.
I’ll see what I can figure out. He loved the bag of Archway Bells and Stars that we’d forgotten about and dug out of the pantry. You can only get them at the holidays of course but maybe there’s something similar. If we can get his system back to normal I can try to get some milkshakes into him, maybe with some protein powder. He’s been surviving mostly on bananas, applesauce and a little jello of late.
My beautiful boy(s).
Picture at top: years ago in South Carolina. And no, I don’t think the title of this post makes any sense but it’s what popped into my head.