When I was sort of present in the world of the Neuro ICU, I decided it was time to eat, and with some misgivings, Margot helped me order a quesadilla. Guess what? When I write my novel about post head trauma snacks, it will not include a somewhat smelly cheesy snack.
Next, Margot and I agreed that a bland, old school bowl of Cheerios would be a strong choice for breakfast? lunch? dinner? As much as COVID protocols allowed, my sweet girl was at my side, making decisions from the mundane, to the most complex. It turns out that all of these mattered now, then and at all points in between.
Cheerios turned out to be the the food of my recovery. Safe, reliable, dry, wet, covered in peanut butter, these little oat circles returned to my life with pretty much the same level of importance as when I introduced them to the diets of my babies in a another century, not so long ago.