Cancer cuisine . . .

So, a big goal of ours here is to fatten up our li'l Bobby, so he's got more muscle, strength and yes, even more fat on his frame, to face the days ahead as a fighting machine. Feel kind of like Hansel and Gretel, plotting to escape the wicked witch . . . no, let's change that analogy to . . . ummmm . . . lessee here . . . OK! I got it! Rocky Balboa! Yeah, that's it! And, our underdog hero is getting ready to pound the crap out of Apollo Creed!!! No wait—not Apollo—he was cool, and he became Rocky's friend! Lessee . . . (run over to Google to brush up on the Rocky saga . . ) okay, I'm back! Our villain is Drago, the super-creepy evil Russian fighter who looks like a Rock'em Sock'em robot!!! GOOOOOO, Rocky-Bob-oa!!! (Crowd roars!!!!! ROCKY BOB-OA! ROCKY BOB-OA! ROCKY BOB-OA!!) . . . Yes, everyone. This is what my poor husband has to live with . . . every day. . . hours on end. As if cancer isn't enough. . .

So, it's a little disconcerting that my husband weighs as much as I do these days. Maybe even a few pounds less, thanks to the holidays, when I was engaging in a little stress eating . . . pretty sure Christmas cookies replaced all fruit and vegetables in my diet during the months of November and December. I'm a little worried that we're going to end up looking like one of those couples you see at the State Fair—tubby wife waddling hand-in-hand with scrawny hubby . . . she, with a death-grip on a deep-fried Snickers-on-a-Stick . . . could be worse things, I suppose. But, I digress. As usual.

This food thing is going to pose a challenge, as often, Bob's appetite isn't present and accounted for, so we need to come up with recipes and foods to entice it out of him. Before, he was one of those annoying SOB's with "a hollow leg;" he'd eat like a horse, didn't matter what the food, and still maintain a lean bod, to the envy of women (especially his wife) and men alike. Now, his appetite comes and goes. He gets hungry, but doesn't eat near the volume of food he used to pack away. Some of this might be medication-related, some is probably pain interfering with his appetite.

We know what kinds of foods he needs to eat, to load up on calories to gain weight (right now, cholesterol be damned; he's never had high cholesterol, so really, that has never been a big concern, just a minor one, since his heart attack), he chugs an Ensure at least once or twice a day, but getting those rich, high-calorie foods in him is the challenge. He's never been much of a junk-food, processed food kind of guy. Except for the occasional Ho-Ho's, or bag of jalapeno cheddar Cheetos, he's the poster-child for the Atkin's diet. Meat, meat, meat. Cheese, cheese, cheese. Bacon, bacon, bacon. A few fruits and veggies for color, a few potatoes or rice here and there, to stick it all together, but all in all, a serious carnivore. And now even those foods are tough to get in him these days. We had a nice conversation this morning, about amping up his food/calorie intake; he knows he has to do it. It's just finding a way that works, that's going to take some work. Our plan right now is smaller meals, many smaller, calorie-dense meals, throughout the day. And if that plan doesn't work, we try something else.

Alas, if only he had his wife's sweet tooth. I'm a living testament to power of refined sugar products and their almost over-night ability to make jeans fit just a tad snug. I like to tell myself it's an ancient survival mechanism kicking in, helping me get through this particularly barbaric winter, but in the wee hours of the night, when it's just me and my conscious in the darkness, I know it's the Christmas cookies. Oh, yeah. And my lack of willpower.

So, this a.m., I made a fontina cheese and shrimp scramble for breakfast. A shout-out goes to Cousin Erin for that idea! I was at my sister, Jill's, surprise 40th b-day party last night—which was a surprise, btw! Way to go, Jade!—and I think all guests went home with leftover shrimp as a parting gift. And we thought we were going to run out of food . . . anyhoo, Erin had suggested the shrimp and cheese omelet idea, and I ran with it this a.m. I added fresh spinach to mine, to begin the re-introduction of produce into my diet. Could have used a Christmas spritz on top . . . Bob devoured his eggs and shrimp—yea! He's not too fond of spinach these days, as it just doesn't sit well with him (good lord, sound like an old lady there . . . I'm sure more body function chit-chat will arise as we go along. . . get used to it, huh?), but he really dug the egg-shrimp-cheese combo and almost licked his plate clean. Sorry doggies!

This afternoon, I'm going to try a new recipe Bob got from his mom—something with hamburger, Stove Top stuffing, green beans, cream of 'shroom soup, cheese maybe?—a take on a classic "hot dish," good ol' fashioned comfort food, soul food, stick-to-your-ribs kind of grub. Maybe some ice cream for desert (him, not me).

So, that's that. Our little baby step for the day. Get more food into Bob. If anyone has any ideas/recipes for some good, high-calorie, tasty grub, please toss 'em our way! As I said, he's not big on sweets, so maybe more meat, cheese, potatoes, bread kind of stuff. But, see, what'll happen, is, he'll say something like, "Oh, why did you say no sweets? I'm really craving brownies! I'd just love a big ol, crusty brownie right now . . ." so, then I'll make a big ol' pan of brownies, and he'll have one. JUST one. And leave the rest to torment me.

(All of this may sound irreverent, inane blabbering, but see, last night, in the wee hours when I couldn't sleep, I was lying on the couch, in the dark, and started a blog that went on and on about the sheer and utter unfairness of this whole situation, and how I'm ridiculously under-qualified to help my husband, and why would God possibly have a hand in dumping this much adversity—serious adversity—three times on a person as good as Bob, and how hypocritical would it be to start begging and bartering to God to spare my husband from any more anguish in life, to put a little on me, to lighten his load . . . and as I'm becoming more and more confused and frustrated and down-right pissed off, I get an e-mail from Bob's sister, Nancy, with the subject, "Sofa king slow." When I opened it, I read her short message:

OMG I am sitting here, can't sleep... and it FINALLY HITS ME! I'm not sure who the genius wordsmith is (Ok, I know it's you, Jen), but that is marvelous! Sofa king... so fucking... amazing

yes, I'm sofa king slow

and life is sofa king unfair

and now... finally... in the middle of the night- I get it.

Smilin' through my tears!

It is the funniest thing, and it's all I can do to contain my laughter because I didn't want to wake Bob. Shortly after, he shuffled out of the bedroom and said, "My sister is sofa king slow . . ."He was awake, and had just gotten Nancy's message, too. (I e-mailed her back to let her know I can't take credit for Sofa King—was an old SNL skit). The three of us, all awake, all connected, all kind of zoning in on each other's vibes. It's that kind of stuff that moves me. That kind of stuff that makes me feel so connected, so entwined with so many people, and their many thoughts, prayers, acts of kindness, however they may come, even with a seemingly innocuous e-mail . . .

Right now, there's no place for me to sit and philosophize, analyze, question, rant or rave about what's going on. It's wasted energy, and there's a time and place for all that, at some point, but not now. Right now, I can't formulate a prayer. I'm having a hard time talking to God. Not mad at God, just don't have anything to say in the face of this huge thing. Leaves me speechless in that arena. Right now, I need these other connections, real-live connections, with real-live friends, family, even people we barely know, to buoy us, to keep us afloat. A big piece of this is laughter. Humor. It may not be religion, but maybe . . . maybe it's how God, or whatever higher power is in charge (kind a feels like none, right now), feels is going to work best for us. Amen.)