Our Little Cancer Foodie

I rue the day I bought these for a special occasion. Now, no cheaper cracker will do as far as Clio’s concerned.

One of the (many) unexpected challenges of having a child with cancer: Feeding her.

Clio has always been a picky eater. Despite our persistent efforts to get her to eat a more diverse diet, the only things we’ve ever been able to get her to eat with any regularity are pasta, white rice, rye bread, plain or sesame bagels, English muffins, quesadillas, crackers, pretzels, popcorn, yogurt, fruit, pizza, cheese (mozzarella or mild cheddar), peanut butter, and raisins. Hot dogs, chicken, bacon, and scrambled eggs also work — sometimes. And she indulges us in an occasional carrot stick or small piece of broccoli. And pickles. She likes pickles.

OK, that sounds like a lot, actually. But what the above doesn’t convey is that she is extremely picky when it comes to variations in texture, consistency and flavor. And cancer is really not helping matters.

She likes pasta, yes. But only certain shapes (despite our repeated insistence that IT’S ALL THE SAME THING) or even certain brands. She likes pretzel sticks, not pretzel twists. Only pizzas with the idea cheese-to-sauce-to-crust ratio will do, and if anything is “too crispy,” whether a hot dog or a quesadilla or a toasted bagel, she won’t touch it. She likes mac and cheese, but only the kind she had at a particular Panera once, in a particular mall about 45 minutes away. (We’ve never been back, and she pines for it like it’s a lost lover.)

And if all of this was exasperating before she had cancer, it’s ten times as exasperating now, because a.) Chemo seems to be affecting her sense of taste, making it much more sensitive and changeable over time. b.) Steroids make her crave very particular foods, and a lot of them — and get really, really upset when she doesn’t get them NOW.

Over the summer, when Clio was inpatient and on high dose steroids, she ate Buitoni pesto by the spoonful. (Yes, literally. It made for interesting poop…) Now, the only pesto she’ll eat is the kind I made from our basil plants last August and froze in little ice-cube shaped blocks. (How very Martha Stewart of me, yes?). She used to crave Cape Cod — and only Cape Cod — potato chips; now she has no interest in any potato chips whatsoever. She used to be happy with Cheezits, but now she wants Pepperidge Farm butter crackers. And Klausen pickles. (Oh, and notice how she likes the more expensive brands? This must be a steroid thing. Another cancer mom I know is dealing with the same thing with her son.)

Then again, sometimes she’s perfectly happy with generic saltines. And her current tortellini of choice is the frozen store-brand kind from Shaw’s. (When she’s on a pulse of steroids, she’d eat three bags a day of the stuff if we let her. We only let her eat two.)

All of this may seem trivial. I mean, what’s some finicky eating in the face of a life threatening disease, right?

And it’s true; mostly it’s just an inconvenience. An exaggerated version of what was a relatively minor problem to begin with.

But it’s one of those things where I am constantly wondering and second guessing: how much do we indulge this pickiness — choose our battles, realize that things are not exactly “normal” right now — and how much do we stand firm? Do we stick to the same rule we’ve always had at dinner (if you take a “no thank-you” bite of what’s on your plate and you don’t like it, you can have a piece of bread with butter, and some fruit for dessert, but you don’t get your own special meal)? Or do we loosen the rules a little bit, knowing Clio’s appetites are out of whack? And if we loosen the rules for her, do we do the same for Elsa?

Bottom line: What’s the cost-benefit analysis of keeping to our usual routine for the sake of keeping things as normal as possibles, vs. being more flexible for the sake of our sanity and the girls’ own happiness?

It’s not easy to tell a kid with cancer (or a kid whose world is being rocked by her sister’s illness, for that matter) that no, we’re not going to give you the exact foods you want, in the quantities you want, all the time.

Clio has so little control over what’s happening in her life right now. And food is so essential, so personal — and she’s so sensitive about it. In fact, I have always suspected, for various reasons, that she has a touch of sensory processing sensitivity.

Meanwhile, helping the girls eat well, and make smart choices, is important to me as a mother. And being a good mom is so much more complicated in general right now.

Oy.

I’m doing my best. Floundering along, muddling through. Sometimes it’s just really damned hard.

Now, excuse me while I go warm up the leftovers from last night’s dinner that the girls didn’t touch.