Cooking after cancer

Somewhere between countless rounds of chemotherapy, I lost my passion. The physical and mental toll of toxic chemicals coursing through my veins made me a shell of the person I once was. Whereas before I was excited to imagine and create, I found myself dreading the "what's for dinner" decision every day. I ordered more takeout than I ever had in my life, which was delicious, but I felt a bit hollower. Cooking was just no longer a priority for me, and I admittedly gave myself too much grace to be lazy.

Once I discovered that I'd be in the hospital for several weeks for a stem cell transplant, I tried a little harder. Leading up to the procedure, I attempted to cultivate a sense of normalcy as much as possible. I tried new restaurants and attempted baking more, which was something I'd been historically bad at. It felt empowering, and I thought I could hold on to the feeling of productivity and pride in my work for a while. I found recipes I liked and got creative by making things like pumpkin sage beans, jelly donut focaccia, and beet crostini with goat cheese. I impressed my husband with perfectly cooked steaks and mini cheesecakes.

Unfortunately, I spent six weeks in the hospital that made me lethargic, and I had no access to a kitchen. It was here that I feel I officially lost my spark with no way to continue my craft. My days were largely spent sleeping. One night, I dreamt that I made a beautiful sourdough loaf. I woke up excited, thinking finally, I can get back into my craft. It would help me pass the time and fill my soul with a sense of purpose. My heart sank as my surroundings came into view, revealing not even a hot plate to create something delicious.

It didn't help that my taste changed. A common side effect of stem cell transplants, I experienced that food just simply didn't taste right. I once ordered pancakes during my stay — something that had historically been an acceptable menu item at the hospital cafeteria — and was shocked to discover that they now tasted like glue. It was hard to enjoy the idea of food, cooking or eating it, when many things disgusted me. I survived for a while on milkshakes and intravenous nutrition provided by my healthcare team. I knew my appetite was bad, and it's not like I could access a kitchen anyway. Over time, my skills began to fade, the once familiar rhythm of preparing meals slipping away. I couldn't muster the energy or inspiration to reclaim the joy of cooking, and it left me feeling disconnected from something that once brought me so much comfort.

Once I arrived home, the learning curve I had been navigating for years felt like it reset. Cooking was harder than I remembered, both physically and technically. I was constantly exhausted and found myself setting up a chair in the kitchen to sit in while I stirred the bechamel for macaroni and cheese. My hands shook when struggling to chop an onion. I couldn't distinguish which flavors would go well together. Not to mention, food still didn't taste the same. The thought of cooking something I likely wouldn't enjoy made me lose the motivation to cook altogether.

I knew I needed a change. I didn’t want to lose something that had once been such an essential part of my routine and passion. Slowly, I started to find a rhythm by starting with recipes that were a breeze. Sauteed chicken with rice, grilled cheese and tomato soup and anything that I could heat from frozen. Gradually, it became easier, and my patience for chopping, grating, and stirring for extended periods began to grow.

I have new goals in the kitchen now. It feels like starting from the beginning, but I think it's an okay place to start. I'm focusing on going slow, perfecting my technique and making things that I'm craving. As an added goal, I'd love to challenge myself with recipes that require technical skills and multiple niche ingredients. In time, I hope to earn the privilege of calling myself a home chef again, creating meals that excite others as much as the process excites me.

Cancer is a learning experience I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but I'm determined to not let it break me anymore. Life feels richer when you invest your time and effort into the things that bring you joy. While I get stronger, I'm determined to reignite my passion for creativity in the kitchen once and for all.