“Intake”* or the perils of maintaining a vigorous appetite when ravaged by brain cancer
I hand feed Anne all her meals now, since she’s nearly totally paralyzed, due to the ravages wreaked by her brain cancer (glioblastoma). Being a caregiver in this moment brings a mix of heartbreak and tenderness. There’s a sharp ache in watching someone you love lose such a basic ability, yet a deep sense of purpose in offering gentle care and connection through each spoonful. The act becomes a silent expression of love and resilience, even amidst the profound sadness.
Doling out hospital food, including the iconic mashed potato blob, is a culinary experience like no other. The taste would seem to be a subtle blend of salt, nostalgia, and mystery starch. The mashed potato blob is often served alongside meatloaf or some other protein puck that’s suspiciously rectangular and smothered in brown gravy, as if trying to hide from its own existence, a testament to the art of making ground beef taste like school cafeteria. Meanwhile, the Jell-O wobbles with the optimism of a patient awaiting discharge, and everything comes with an extra helping of nutritional intent, if not actual taste.
Yet Anne loves her hospital food, and has craved these luscious comestibles ever since she was felled by the nightmarish disease.
And this is a major reason why Anne’s state of disease has been deemed not “complex” enough for her to remain in palliative care: her “intake”, i.e. her ongoing, machinal devouring of all things lumpy and mushy, has served as a pretext for her transfer to the transitional advanced illness ward, where the care is by all accounts much less tender but the mashed potatoes are consistent, familiar glop.
*When oncologists speak of a cancer patient’s “intake,” they are referring to the patient’s nutritional, fluid, or caloric consumption, more specifically how much food and water the patient is eating and drinking. Anne is a phenomenal receptacle for hospital eats and treats, with copious amounts of liquids to wash it down.
The lead photo shows Anne savouring sweet potato bread prepared by a dear friend: a far cry from the daily institutional fare.
If you feel like keeping track of Anne’s cancer journey, I’m chronicling it in prose and poetry here:
https://robertmcbrydeauthor.com/news/
