Food Fatigue, Part One: The facts were these.
During radiation, when the only thing I could consume was water, one of my favorite daily activities was mindlessly watching episodes of The Great British Baking Show. I remember Joe asking me why I was watching it when I couldn’t eat any of what they were making, and I couldn’t really explain it. Obviously, Mary Berry is the ultimate calming presence, but why torture myself like that?
I’ve always loved cooking shows, watching the ingredients come together like magic to create something new. Even before all of this, I wasn’t much of a cook. I could get by but cooking and baking are not skills that come naturally to me. I’ve always envied people like my friend Kat, who seem to be able to Midas-touch food and instead of it turning into gold, it turns into MAGICALLY DELICIOUS MEALS that you never want to stop eating.
After surgery last year, because I was reliant on the PEG tube, I didn’t eat real food for nearly four months. At the time, it was a huge relief not to have to worry about feeding myself. I simply plugged myself into the nutrition machine several times a day and it fed me while I watched TV or read a book or BEST OF ALL took a nap.
When I got the tube out, at first it was fun, thinking about all the foods I could try. The wind went out of my sails almost immediately, however, the first time I tried foods I used to enjoy or that I thought would be easy to eat and A) I literally, physically could not eat them or B) they tasted like shit because of the side effects of radiation, which changes your taste buds for a period of time or forever. The first time I tried scrambled eggs, they tasted so disgusting to me that I had to spit them into the sink. Mashed potatoes? Same thing. The texture of applesauce made me gag. Ice cream was too cold. Anything slightly acidic, even tomato soup, was too spicy.
(Sidenote: I’ll probably never eat spicy things again, thanks to radiation. As someone who used to feel that you weren’t doing spicy food right if you weren’t tearing up, red-faced and sweating, while eating it, this hurts my heart on a daily basis.)
Even now that my taste buds have mostly returned to normal, the ACT of eating is so difficult that even if I’m not dreading mealtime, I’m definitely not looking forward to it. Sometimes doctors ask how eating is going (PRO TIP: they especially do this if you lose any weight). I usually reply with a very unenthusiastic “meh.”
As well-meaning as my doctors are, as much as they understand the WHY behind not wanting to eat, they don’t really get it. No one does, really, unless they’ve gone through a period of time where the physical and mental acts of eating required a great deal of energy, several times a day. It’s taken a lot of time to come to terms with the fact that eating will never be easy again, that I might never eat at a restaurant again (because even if there were things I COULD eat there, why would I pay extra to eat food I don’t enjoy?) and, to be honest, I’ve still not really accepted it.
To normal people (“Cancer Muggles,” as one group I’m in calls them), I’m sure it sounds like...just eat. Just put food in your mouth and swallow it. This is why I get frustrated with anyone who suggests I eat something that I physically can’t or try to suggest new foods or recipes to me. My gut reaction is always to respond with a cavalcade of curse words and mean names because GUESS WHAT my brain is not a nice person, but then I remember. People just don’t understand. They don’t know. Hell, I didn’t know, not really, before all of this. (If you want to get an idea of what it’s like, try to eat, well, ANYTHING without moving your tongue. Good luck.)
For some reason, though, I still find myself wanting to watch cooking shows. Or wanting to pause TV shows and movies when people are making or consuming food. “Could I eat that?” I think. “Could that go in a blender?” Or, more likely, “Wow, remember eating that? Siiiiiiiiiigh.”
Most of the time, this is fine, but sometimes it leads to a wave of melancholy, especially when it’s something I realize I’ll probably never eat again. Sometimes it’s just wistful, like when it’s dinnertime and I think about what I’d pick to eat if I COULD eat anything. Sometimes it’s the anger I mentioned above. Sometimes I literally dream about eating things I used to eat. In the dream, it’s always easy to eat again. But then I wake up and remember how things really are and I say goodbye again to pizza and burritos and chocolate cake and nachos and uncooked vegetables and Pad Thai and my beloved FREAKING PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES.
I know this sounds depressing and that’s because it is. My feelings about food are so complicated now. I’m so grateful that I still have the ability to eat ANYTHING, because I remember what it was like when that was impossible. But I get so angry sometimes, so sad, when people casually talk about eating or going out to eat or post their delicious meals on social media. Do you know how many social occasions revolve around food? SPOILER ALERT: basically all of them. And while I don’t want to willingly sit out on all future social gatherings, or expect people to just stop talking about food FULL STOP around me, when I try to picture sitting in a restaurant or at the Thanksgiving table, surrounded by people eating whatever they want while I silently sip my water and eat my...applesauce? Yogurt? Another freaking smoothie? It makes me want to Hulk-smash the imaginary table and all the food so no one else can eat it either.
Most of the time, when I’m feeling blue about cancer-related changes, I remind myself that things will get easier. But with food stuff? That’s likely not the case, so I’m still trying to come to terms with this new normal. If things improve? Great. But it’s never going to be like it was. It’s never going to be easy. I’m never going to be able to go anywhere without thinking about food in some capacity, whether it’s wondering if I can eat what’s available or what food I’ll need to eat before/during/after so I give my body the nutrition it selfishly demands EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
So, for now, I guess I’ll stick to eating in my dreams. (Just don’t tell my doctors, they prefer that I eat real food for some reason.)
(Stay tuned for Part Two, in which I completely contradict myself and ask for your food suggestions BUT WITH MANY CAVEATS.)