The Ten Best Foods I Ate As A Cancer Patient (Unserious)
When something is better than nothing, a subjective look at the foods that did the job
The general consensus was that last week’s post was a touch sad, so this week let’s take a break from pondering mortality and enjoy a good old-fashioned Top 10 List. See, I listen to reader feedback! (Which I always appreciate). And as always, Good Marrow is a reader-supported newsletter, which you can support by subscribing for free or sharing with any and all who might enjoy reading.
Part and parcel of being a cancer patient is usually prolonged stays in a hospital. Could be days, weeks, or nights. I previously calculated that I’ve had around 438 hospital meals, so in the spirit of giving some nonsensical advice, below is my top 10 ranking of foods I consumed while living in a hospital.
Some general rules though. First, these choices are mainly based off of inpatient stays at major comprehensive cancer hospitals, which tend to have entire programs devoted to curating menus and diets to patients who desperately need to eat. They are the sort of places that give you a menu to order off of, the illusion of choice being its own sort of remedy when stuck in a hospital room. In short, this is a highly subjective list.
Secondly, we’re operating largely under a “no dietary restrictions” moment. Lord knows chemo wrecks absolute havoc on the GI system and a maybe funnier version of this post is simply ten empty slots… But let’s entertain ourselves and imagine this is one of those good stretches of time. Also, we’re eating anything and everything we can— no dodging sugar or any naturopathic diets someone somewhere tried once that cured them.
1. Spaghetti
I’ve already waxed poetic about the eternal upsides of spaghetti, but in a numeric ranking we will put it at its proper position at the top of the list. Sure there are superior versions of sauce and pasta, but much in the way that spaghetti might be one of the first things you learn how to cook— it’s hard to mess up, which makes it perfect for the hospital. The only downside is that the acidity of the marinara might do some damage if you’re having some acid reflux from chemo, so make sure you pre-med with that protonix you’re probably already on.
2. Chicken Salad Sandwich
A bit of protein in the chicken, some much needed calories contained within the bread, and a lubricated “salad” via mayonnaise helps it all go down easier than something just made with cold cuts. I’ve nibbled on hundreds of these in those waning afternoon hours between finally taking a shower and deciding whether or not to take a second nap by 3pm.
It is also the perfect vehicle to demonstrate to your medical staff that you are in fact eating. Like a cartoon, your sandwich will disappear with each bite marking your progress. And if you eat an entire half, oh baby, now you’re really an overachiever. Egg or tuna salad work as well, but the smell of eggs and tuna are just… Less ideal sometimes, you know?
3. Quesadilla
Another dinner time heavy hitter, much of the key to my hospital meal survival was to never stray too far from what an eight year old might blow on their Friday night dinner order at Chili’s. But its bronze placement on this list depends on one’s tolerance to dairy. I did fairly well with it but know that some patients spend enough time in the bathroom. That being said, the simple combination of cheese and bread filled the stomach, and if you throw some chicken in there… You might just be able to close your eyes and imagine yourself back at home, depleted of groceries and eating this simple creation over your sink.
It also notches major points for retaining its relative tastiness in the long journey from the hospital kitchen to a patient’s room. Akin to the kind of person able to pop off a six hour cross-country flight and re-enter normal life without a coffee, shower, or a pep talk in the mirror— the quesadilla is shockingly, knowingly reliable.
4. Chicken Noodle Soup
You could sub this entry for any clean broth based soup. Here the placement is more one of subtraction than specificity. I stayed away from tomato soups or spicy soups or chunky soups. A simple clean broth with a carb, floating canned vegetable, and chunk of chicken (the same kind used in every single chicken-based item) became an A + B = C equation I would chase when reading through soups of the day.
Liquids generally win over solids but the kitchen’s need to offer a rotating menu of soups meant that I was at the whim of whatever one hundred gallon vat they were popping on any given day. And absolutely, whatever you do— do not go with a clam chowder. The lighter, less fishy corn chowder might sound like a tempting altrnative, but these are only acceptable orders if you will be handing it directly to a visiting family member or friend who will be eating it for you. Trust me.
5. Nothing Meal
Coming in at dead middle is probably my most often ordered meal. It is a delightful breakfast, lunch, or dinner of absolutely nothing. Just tight-lipped mouthfuls of oxygen. Because some days the cancer wins and the only way to win back is to put absolutely nothing into your body to anger it.
Because you live in a semi-surveilled state, someone will call or come to your room and remind you that you really should order something— and so the nothing meal becomes a good opportunity to do some reconnaissance. With nothing to lose, I might send for a plate of the beef stroganoff or tofu pad thai, if not to see what it looked like, but to give that mad chef in the basement a chance to pop off and whip up one of the crazy specials I’m sure no one was ordering.
6. Home-cooked Meal
The only thing better, but slightly worse, than the nothing meal is the home cooked meal. It is objectively tastier than the nothing meal, but it is sometimes a sad reminder of times when it has tasted better— fresh out of the kitchen, surrounded by friends and family at home, in a time of non-sickness, not transported in tupperware, etc..
But the home-cooked meal is necessary. Despite the 20% tax on flavor and feeling, it leverages a 100% bonus on feeling cared for. Someone knows that you are sick and lonely and stuck in a hospital, and no matter if it’s your favorite meal or a weird lasagna some family friend whipped up and sent up to your room— the world is a little smaller when you eat all or just a bite of someone’s home-cooked meal.
7. Fruit Plate and Cottage Cheese
A wild card pick coming in at number seven, I have never before in my life enjoyed cottage cheese except for when I was undergoing treatment. In all honesty, I have always found it to be pretty revolting. But they say your taste buds change with chemo— and apparently mine lost their damn mind.
This became a sort of breakfast and lunch intermediary. I felt good about eating the fruit and the semi-sweetness of the strawberries made taste-sense against the richness of the cottage cheese. Maybe it’s because bone marrow transplant’s engender the idea of re-birthdays and have a pseudo-newborn quality to the whole endeavor so I reverted to enjoying an adult version of baby food. Who knows. I have never eaten it since.
8. Surf and Turf (Steak and Langoustine)
This is a cheat. When I was first diagnosed I was eventually transferred to USC’s Norris Comprehensive Cancer Center and while I uniformly disapprove at the sky-high, probably-criminal cost of health care in this country… At least these guys had the decency to charge everyone an arm and a leg and then offer “Steak” and “Lobster” every Friday for inpatients.
It was ludicrous. But it was good. I felt guilty eating what I could of it… But it was pretty good. I don’t know if it’s their wealthy clientele or some mega-million donor, and I would certainly hope that an overly-proportionate amount of their cash flow is going towards research, treatment, or generally anything else— But some small part of me still thinks… You know what, good for you. Cancer patients deserve to be wined and dined too.
9. Absolutely Anything When On Steroids
If you have cancer and are undergoing any kind of treatment, there is a good chance that you will be on steroids at some point, likely prednisone. With images of skeletal cancer patients in my mind, I was shocked to begin my prednisone regimen and suddenly have a ravenous hunger. I took down double orders of terrible scrambled eggs, wobbly pancakes, and limp bacon as I reckoned with the bizarre push-pull between an insatiable appetite and growing nausea.
It’s fun for awhile, especially when you’re in a hospital that is happy to plump you up in an all-you-can-eat buffet sort of way— but what goes up must come down. The digestive system is an unhappy place during treatment and coming off of a cruise ship diet and heading straight for weeks of expelling is its own sort of hellish whiplash.
10. Pork Colorado
Coming dead last, and mostly as a joke, is this odd entity. Appearing once, and only once, on the specials menu of my hospital, my wife and I thought it was a funny enough name and decided to order it. I like to imagine it as one in a series of dishes named after “Protein + US state”. Have you ever tried Chicken Arizona? Beef Connecticut? Maybe a little Trout Michigan?
It ended up being a spicier and soupier pulled pork sandwich minus the bun and was surprisingly tasty. But given its dangerous proximity to chili, I knew better than to swallow anymore than two bites of it. Chalk it up to needing to find any sort of entertainment to pass the time. But while recently in Colorado, we did not find any instances of its namesake dish.
Honorable Mentions
Ginger Ale
Cool, refreshing, calming for the tummy, and capable of getting bad tastes out of the mouth, they should install a tap in every patient’s room.
The Never Eaten Banana
Perfect for leaving on your hospital table for days at a time. A great conversation piece and/or ice breaker for you and the rotating nurses as they ask over and over if you want to keep it— and of course you do. You’ll eat it eventually. (You never will). But eventually it will disappear, which is the perfect time to order another one.
The Utility Cookie (Oatmeal Raisin for me)
More of a form of currency than an edible item, it comes soft and slightly undercooked, like any cafeteria-made cookie in the entire United States of America. These are great to have around as gifts to anyone who visits you. Since the hospital is now your home, and let’s be honest, it’s a home that no one really wants to come visit— it’s good to have a couple of these around (and still in their plastic sleeves) so you can fulfill your hosting duties and have a little snack for whoever graces your presence
Sensory Activation: Things I Was Into This Week
World Blood Cancer Day
Today is World Blood Cancer Day. Or at least I think it is. It might be a manufactured holiday by a nonprofit known as Delete Blood Cancer based out of Germany. Blood Cancer month is in September with a Leukemia day set for September 4th and the big umbrella World Cancer Day is in February. Good thing you, dear readers, get reminded about cancer from me every Tuesday at 10AM.
All kidding aside, the intentions are good. Here is the US link to become a bone marrow donor. They will mail you a kit with a mouth swab and if you’re a match— allowing you the chance to save someone’s life— they will contact you. From there, the decision is up to you. I hope you say yes.
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed what you read, please Like, Comment, or Share— it helps boost visibility of the newsletter and is a nice acknowledgement from the void. But most of all, I would love to hear from whoever is reading.
No congee?
We get fed lunch during infusions (if you're there all day), big full plates of Portuguese food. And it always comes with a blended veggie soup and fruit. We get to choose fish (blargh), meat, or the veg option which is always terrible. The hospital kitchen teeters on the edge of being good but somehow always makes one part flavorless and gross. At home, in the days after chemo, I tend to eat like a 3-year-old. Recently I've wanted a lot of ice cream.