Do Not Get Between a Man and His Pizza

"Trish.  This is Robert.  I am calling you and need you to call me back right away.  It seems they won't let me have any pizza.  They showed me a piece of paper that says I can't have red sauce.  Why do you not want me to have red sauce?  Why don't you want me to have pizza?  I want to know why you did that, Trish.  I want to know.  Call me back right away."

Uh oh.  This is the second time in as many weeks that Robert told me The Home didn't let him eat pizza.  I assumed the first instance was due to The Home putting him on a diet again without telling me.  I can usually talk Robert into things so he doesn't get upset by changes in his routine but I have to be notified about any proposed changes first.  (Although telling him he can only have 1 piece of bacon when Joe, his neighbor at the breakfast table, can eat 3 is quite the tough sell).  The diet thing didn't really work out a year ago and his pants size has, thankfully, leveled off (anyone need jeans size 32, 34, 36 & 38??), so I'm not too keen on trying another diet.  After our card game on that first No Pizza For You Day, I talked to the CNA who informed me that Robert did have pizza a few days ago.  Oh, okay, Robert is known to mix up his details and days sometimes so maybe he just wanted a LOT of pizza and they said he couldn't have more.  I didn't think anything more about it.

But then Robert called accusing me of somehow affecting his pizza eating.  I called Robert back to explain that I did not tell The Home he can't have red sauce!  I told him I would immediately call the nurse and figure out what the problem is.  Robert was very, very appreciative.  So appreciative that I suspected he thought I would straighten out the whole pizza problem and someone would immediately come into his room with a piping hot Combination Pizza just for him.  Well, I'll deal with that expectation when I call him back.

I called and talked to the nurse on duty who said The Home did in fact have a note in Robert's file that he was allergic to red sauce.  "We offered Robert a sandwich instead of the pizza but he didn't want that."  Really?  A sandwich when everyone else is eating pizza?  Please.  Think of Robert as a child at Chucky Cheese -- all the other kids are eating pizza and he gets a PB&J.  That's just not even nice. 

The nurse told me that he had heard Robert had thrown up after eating something with red sauce and so the dietician decided to restrict his diet.  The Home didn't inform me of this change (or of the vomiting for that matter) and I politely told the nice nurse that they shouldn't be changing Robert's diet without talking with me.  Of course, the nurse knows this and had assumed the No Red Sauce directive was instituted after talking with me.  Nope.  Robert is not allergic to red sauce.  The man has an iron stomach and can eat anything put in front of him (which is why I have an overabundance of mens jeans).  The nurse promised to remove the note from Robert's file and allow him to eat pizza the next time they had it.

I called Robert back to tell him it had all been straightened out and he can have pizza the next time.  I also promised him pizza the next time he comes over to my house.  This promise of so much Future Pizza made him very, very happy. 

Let's just hope this doesn't lead to even bigger pants . . .