Sucking Bloody Pennies

Today marks one week since my first Chemo treatment. Today is also the first day I’ve gone back to bed after everyone else left the house. I woke up at the normal time, roused the kids, made coffee, had a bagel. After Shawnna, et al. left for school I fed the dogs, and sat sipping a second cup while continuing to navigate the flowing torrent of Sondheim remembrances. Then, in an instant, I just felt like crap – queasy and completely sapped of energy. So, I went back to bed. I have felt mildly queasy all week, but this was more pronounced. So much so, that I no longer wished to remain upright, and upright I did not remain.

While we tend to think of side-effects as manifesting physically, there are some that take up psychological space, as well. I'm not talking about the mental and emotional toll Cancer can take on a person and his family, rather the physical symptoms that edge their way into the psyche thereby becoming metaphysical. For me, such symptoms are the ones relating to food. It has never been more clear to me that food is so much more than mere fuel for the body.

Since treatment, I often find myself ravenously hungry, but have virtually no appetite. While that may seem incongruous, it is the right and perfect description of my experience over the past week. The day after Thanksgiving, for example, I made myself a leftover turkey sandwich, one of the most vaunted meals on our collective culinary calendar. There was nothing Dagwood-esque about this sam'mich. I resisted my Semitic nature and built a utilitarian, midday amuse bouche. It was the most diffident of sandwiches - just a couple of slices of turkey breast, slivers of tomato, and Thousand Island dressing on some modest breadstuff. My two Jewish uncle restauranteurs would have shuddered at the brevity of its fillings. "Such a shande!" (Thousand Island dressing is just this side of mayonnaise on the Goyische Condiment Scale. In fact, leftover turkey sandwiches remain the only true justification for the existence of Thousand Island dressing.) In a normal year, I would have piled chunked turkey breast and leg meat between two pieces of pumpernickel, salted it, Thousand Islanded it, and rejected the tomato slice as ostentation. This year, however, my two dogs enjoyed an equal percentage of sandwich as I, and probably more so. I am trying to adopt the 'smaller meals more frequently' approach, but it's just not my jam.

My other culinary symptom-in-residence is a complete upending of the palate. This is a well-known side-effect of Chemo, but one with which I was unaware before experiencing it first-hand. It consists of a simultaneous numbing and reprogramming of my taste buds. It’s as if I inadvertently burned my tongue on some hot soup, thereby dulling my ability to taste. At the same time, however, any perception of flavor that I do register smacks of sucking on a bloody penny. Food tastes so damn metallic that I should be breaking bread with Dave Mustaine. There are some notable exceptions - provisions that cut through the taste resistance:

Steel Cut Oats - I've been making this for breakfast most mornings, and question why anyone would ever bother with rolled oats. Unsweetened vanilla oat milk is my cooking liquid of choice, and I usually add an overripe banana. If no such banana is to be found, I'll throw in some raisins and chopped almonds. I crown the whole thing with a splash of maple syrup, which is odd because it's really the only the thing on which I eat maple syrup. Not atop waffles. Not atop pancakes. Shawnna even buys the Maple Cookies from Trader Joe's because they're the one cookie she can be assured will still be in the pantry when she wants one.

Smoothies - This is nothing new. Dalton and I go through smoothie phases every now and again. I did break down, however, and buy one of those blenders that comes with its own to-go cup attachment, the ironically named "Nutribullet" - the most nutritious of all the bullets! (I used to use our food processor, which was unnecessarily drippy.) Again, I use unsweetened vanilla oat milk as the base, and throw in some frozen fruit, half an avocado, a handful of baby spinach, and, if I'm feeling frisky, a little Kefir. There have also been occasions where I've added some tofu and/or peanut butter, but do so sparingly lest I'm accused of manufacturing bourgeois smoothies. We have a vat of protein powder, but it's made with Stevia, which I abhor, so I use it sparingly.

Pumpkin Curry Soup - This is da' bomb! Generally, I'm not a fan of squash or pumpkin soups. There's a sweetness to them that I don't appreciate, but I didn't even realize this one was made with pumpkin until I asked Shawnna what she used to thicken it. This soup is warm and spicy with crunchy bits of cauliflower, chickpeas and potatoes. It's kind of like a fleece blanket and some fuzzy wool socks, but you eat them! What's more, it cut through the mineral ore taking up residence on my tongue, and I actually tasted flavor! If the next several months present a steady diet of Indian and Thai food, I'm alright with that. This morning, when I was feeling a might poorly, I had a bowlful of this, and the ginger friendlied up my stomach. Click here if you want the recipe. Pumpkin Curry Soup, it's not just for Cancer anymore!

Tea - Never in my life would I have thought I'd become a tea drinker. I drink coffee. Black. Out of a mug. Like G-d intended. Lately, though, I've been finding comfort in a cup of tea. Not in the morning, and not simple black tea like they drink in Mother England, but an afternoon, or evening cuppa spicy, citrusy tea - see Celestial Seasoning's Bengal Spice, as an example. I even have the Bonavita Electric Gooseneck Kettle like a real live tea drinker! (Anyone reading this who knows former Children's Theatre of Charlotte Managing Director Linda Reynolds also knows why I smile whenever I use it.) Not only is it easy to brew up a spot of tea, but I find sipping on it to be comforting and warming, and these days "comforting and warming" seem to be the operative adjectives for Cancer cuisine.