Life, interrupted
cancer is what happens when you're busy making other plans
In September,
published a piece I wrote about appreciating food. The original draft began with a dichotomy. I painted a picture of the sensual life I hope to be leading in Portugal next year and then, this cautionary tale, which was edited out of the final piece: (note - I didn’t mind that omission, which allowed for a slower build-up to my ultimate point).By the time you read this I will have turned 62 and I am going to let you in on a little secret. At this age, our parents are one fall away from disaster and we are one test result away from dream-crushing reality. I’ve seen the latter happen so many times to friends and acquaintances – men and women. One minute they’re all carpe diem, the next minute they are losing their hair from chemotherapy and putting on a brave face.
Welcome to my breast cancer diagnosis, which fittingly came during Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
At the time of this writing I don’t know much, other than that things move quickly once you get the nod. Coordinated care has kicked in and treatment is expected to start very soon.
Meanwhile, plans for Portugal have also kicked into high gear.
I once worked with a woman who said that all of life’s milestones involve paperwork. That is certainly proving true for me.
On the morning of biopsy day, we met over Zoom with a Portuguese lawyer so we could sign the myriad of documents required to open a bank account.
We have an early morning meeting with a Portuguese accountant scheduled this week on the day we will meet with my surgeon.
I am experiencing two parallel realities and they both involve a lot of paperwork.
It’s a slow and steady march to what I hope will be two successful outcomes.
Friends, of course, have been wonderfully supportive and several of them are breast cancer survivors. They are also great at helping me keep things in perspective and making me laugh.
The Best Thing I Ate This Week
Pear Clafoutis from Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Volume 1) by Julia Child
Shit news demands comfort food and luckily I had some on hand.
We had a visitor (and breast cancer survivor) for a few days and for her welcome dinner I made Claudia Roden’s chicken tagine with preserved lemons and olives and Julia Child’s classic clafoutis.
Clafoutis is “nursery food.” I’ve been having trouble sleeping and on more than one occasion have come down to the kitchen at 3 am and warmed up some clafoutis to lull me back to sleep.
Clafoutis is perfect for this time of year, when pears are coming into their own and there is a chill in the evening air. You don’t need to be sick or sad to enjoy it.
Bon appetit!
Much love and support on your journey, Alison. Your Womancake essay was a big hit with our readers, and I'm sure your singular voice will come through as you go through this experience (the text thread sums it up, I think!). Keep us posted, and know that we are listening with love.
So tonight, your “one fall away from disaster” father-in-law wobbled(bobbled?) his attempt to sit on his walker and slid onto the floor. He rested there for a short time before lumbering back onto the sofa, from where he rested again before giving it another, this time successful, go. Tonight I’ll read to him from Drew Gilpin Faust’s Necessary Trouble, more talk in’ bout my generation than his, but he’s giving it a go. So it goes on, slowly like that St. Petersburg tortoise, and we all try to remain upbeat if not standing up, and we eventually make it across the road. Which we’re sure you’ll do, too.
They have pears in Portugal, I hear. Take Julia with you. All will turn out well, as it should.