Sharing a delicious meal we could all enjoy made me feel like a normal person. I could sit down and eat with everyone. Then there’s the conversation at mealtime. I didn’t feel isolated. A lot of days I couldn’t go out, so people would come to me. It always helped.
—Shannon McGowan, lung cancer survivor
Caregivers literally give comfort, aid, and sustenance to a person in need. Taken to its highest level, caregiving defines a loving relationship: You care about the person you’re supporting because you know they truly care about you. When we’re talking about friends and family acting as caregivers, it’s easy to assume that such a role comes naturally. Perhaps it does, but cancer has a way of throwing up emotional roadblocks that inhibit the caregiving process. Lowering those barriers, improving communication, and doing what needs to be done so that, from a culinary viewpoint, you’re really caregiving. You’ve read Shannon’s words above. Joining together over the table, sharing our days, and honoring each other’s presence over a wonderful meal is always life affirming. These moments take on treasured poignancy (or just some much-needed normalcy!) when someone is going through cancer as a patient or a caregiver.
Whether you’re a friend, family member, or concerned acquaintance, becoming an effective culinary caregiver means pushing past the emotions that inhibit you from reaching out. Fear, pride, guilt, embarrassment: anything that gets in the way of common sense and clear conversation needs to take a hike. Pick up the phone, send an email, hire a blimp to do a flyover, walk across the den, do whatever you have to do, but please let that special someone know that you want to bring them a bite to eat. If you are that special someone used to being the family caregiver, accepting help can be especially difficult. My suggestion is to see gestures of support as loving gifts and an opportunity to gently guide your caregivers in making you the foods you truly need.
Caregivers greatly benefit from such guidance. Cooking for someone with cancer isn’t the same as cooking for someone who is healthy. Cancer and its treatments may wreak havoc on your friend’s taste buds, digestion, and energy. One week they won’t want to touch food, and the next week they’ll eat like a linebacker. Sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason to these appetite swings, which can prove frustrating to caregivers. It may be disappointing when you show up at the front door with their usual favorite meal and they look at it as if it were a platter of live octopi. If someone has had chemo within the last day or two, they probably can’t handle your prize-winning Tuna Noodle Mexicali Bake. That’s not to say they don’t want nourishment—they do—but they are apt to want something far lighter, such as a few sips of warm tea or broth.
I’ve found the best way for caregivers to ride through a patient’s highs and lows is to lower their expectations and stay flexible. Don’t expect a patient to eat on a regular schedule. The concepts of breakfast, lunch, and dinner time no longer apply. Anytime a cancer patient wants to eat anything consider that great news, even if it’s the same item for days on end. As for finishing off a dish, that’s not going to happen when you cook for someone with cancer. At least not all the time. People with end-stage cancer may hardly be able to eat, yet many of them still want to enjoy food. A hospice nurse told me that some of her clients like to just nibble on tiny portions of their favorite foods. It may seem like a waste of time to cook for someone in this state. I assure you it’s not.
When deciding what to cook, you must be flexible. This means making sure the person you’re caring for has lots of different meals on hand, everything from extremely light fare (soups) to something more hearty (veggies, poultry, and the like). Most of the recipes in this book store well in the fridge or freezer in individual containers, ready to be reheated and served in a flash, with all of their delightful original flavors intact. My goal when I cook for someone dealing with cancer is pretty simple: no matter what they may want (outside of a Snickers bar), they’ll be able to look in their freezer or fridge after I’ve gone and find something that satisfies.
Of course, that’s a lot to ask from one caregiver. That’s why I suggest that friends and family build a culinary support team before cancer treatment begins. That gives caregivers time to implement a plan and allows the word to get out to the community. The response may overwhelm you—it comes from all points on one’s social, business, and family map—and everyone can contribute to ensuring that someone with cancer is well fed.
There are two good reasons to cast a wide net when putting together a culinary team. Such caregiving may go on for some time. Having a large support system means that no one gets burned out emotionally or physically. People can come and go as their schedule allows. Another reason to have a big team is to split up chores. Not everyone wants to be a cook. One family I know had a friend who kept them well stocked in paper goods from a local Costco. Another family included a sister who didn’t cook but loved going to the farmers’ market. Guess who did the shopping for them? Dividing the cooking chores, coming up with a designated chopper, finding a volunteer for dish washing duties … it all goes more smoothly when everyone feels like they’re part of a healing team.
Such a team does more than support; it allows someone who is sick to participate as little or as much as they want in the process. Shannon McGowan, whose comments led off this chapter, told me how much it meant to her to have friends come over and cook in her kitchen. It was a way for Shannon to judge her own recovery. Sometimes she could barely lift her head off the couch and watch. Then came the day when she wanted to do more. Though still weakened and barely able to walk, her friends knew what to do with Shannon. They led her into the kitchen, sat her down, and laid a small cutting board on her lap. On the board was fresh basil from her garden. Shannon’s job—and it took every ounce of her strength—was to tightly roll and cut the basil as a garnish for braised artichokes. In that moment, in her kitchen, in her mind, Shannon was not a cancer patient; she was a cook whipping up a wonderful meal with—and for—her friends. At a time when so much was out of her control, this was something in her control, sharing something she cherishes with those who cherish her.
Two final thoughts for caregivers: The first is to take care of you, too. Caregiving is draining. The better you look after yourself, the more energy you’ll have for others. The second thought especially pertains to people who don’t cook, yet still want to be culinary caregivers. You can be simply by creating a pleasant environment for someone to enjoy a meal. So many cancer patients describe their life during chemo as flat, dull, and full of shades of gray. Want to make a difference in their life? Bring over fresh flowers, or a bright beautiful bowl they can eat soup in. See where I’m going here? Be creative; find those things that nourish your own soul and bring them to the kitchen of someone who is going through a tough time. You’ll be amazed at how much healing power they have.
