The Tale of Two Lasagnas

This week Amanda had her eighth surgery. It wasn't planned, but we took it in stride, being experienced.

I've noticed that people aren't comfortable visiting sick or injured children in the hospital. I used to think it was odd that people would come to a hospital to see a newborn baby, but not to visit a sick child. Now I understand. Most people can't bear to see a child suffering or in pain. And they shouldn't have to. Everything in us cries out when a child is in pain. We are practically hard wired to protect them.

So people offer to cook. It satisfies the need to DO something without exposing them to the suffering. That brings me to the lasagnas. Over the years we've had lasagna in every shape and size imaginable. We've had vegetarian lasagna, Alfredo lasagna, tofu lasagna (ick) and many, many variations on regular lasagna. I think I may still have two in the freezer left over from Amanda's last surgery - two years ago.

Every now and then an intrepid soul decides to veer off the lasagna path. I appreciate the thought but it has resulted in some weird foods being delivered to our door. There was the tuna casserole which, due to my seafood allergy, landed in the trash the moment the unwitting chef left.

One friend delivered an entire roast turkey. When I cut into it, the breast meat was reddish pink. Apparently she didn't know that you had to defrost the turkey prior to roasting it - or that it needs 5-6 hours if put in the oven frozen. The neck and giblets were still tucked inside the cavity, frozen solid.

And then there was the "diarrhea loaf". A neighbor kindly brought over a meatloaf she'd made. I don't know if she had old hamburger that she thought she'd just use up or if she forgot to wash her hands before she made it. Either way, it made us incredibly sick, forcing us to spend the night in separate bathrooms.

Now I ask friends NOT to cook for us. If they really want to bring something I usually ask for fresh fruit or some breakfast foods or snacks. It's easy to order a pizza at 8 PM, but much harder to get breakfast delivered.

The moral of my little tale is simply this, "Please give your friends food, not food poisoning."