Healthy hospital food? That's hard to swallow

THE great thing about hospital is that, one way or another, you get to leave in the end. By the time I leave, I have passed caring which way. 

Preferably I am sitting, gingerly, and wincing as the friend’s car weaves around potholes at 5mph, and I swooning from the mixture of fresh, summer air and liquid morphine, but after two weeks inside the ward of death, leaving in a wooden box would be fine, too. Anything to get away from the hospital food.

A lifetime of medical good fortune — aside from a short, sharp bout of cancer a decade ago — has recently run out. Or, maybe, given that I am sitting up, writing this and not quietly biodegrading underground in one of those trendy cardboard coffins, it has not run out. Bear with me.