Pulse: Upon arrival, I checked for signs of life. Was there a healthy thrum of activity, like a waiting room on Monday morning, or was the place flatter than a post-call ECG? Did I need a reservation, or could I just walk in like I was on a Code Brown diaper run? The host—did they greet me with the enthusiasm of a fresh cup of coffee on a night shift, or the indifference of a toddler toward leafy greens?

Respirations: : Once seated, I disclosed my “chronic conditions”—gluten and dairy allergies—like a good patient history. My server’s reaction? Did they have that “I’ve got this” nurse confidence, or did they do the classic “let me check with the attending chef” consult? Was their allergy protocol as reassuring as a negative strep screen, or did I start prepping my steriods just in case?

Temperature: Time for clinical assessment of the food! Was the presentation as impressive as a perfectly charted SOAP note, or more like my kid’s play-dough experiment? Did my meal come with clear allergy bands—er, markers—so I knew it was safe to proceed? And when I peppered the staff with questions, did they respond like a seasoned charge nurse or give me the “Dr. Google” shoulder shrug? Most importantly, did my taste buds get the TLC they deserved, or was this another bland hospital meal?

Blood Pressure:Final assessment—did I stay normotensive, or did my anxiety spike with every bite? Was I relaxed enough to enjoy the meal, or did I feel like I was running a code with every forkful? At discharge (a.k.a. the check), was I already planning my next visit, or would I rather triage another toddler tantrum than return?

Dining out with allergies as a stay-at-home mom and Nurse Practitioner-in-hiatus is basically running a one-woman clinic—complete with risk assessment, consults, and a little wishful thinking for a follow-up visit. Chart complete!