Forget chemotherapy, its cake therapy that’s helping to get me through this.
I used to have such a healthy diet and look where that got me – diagnosed with cancer for the second time.
Now I’m treating myself to whatever I fancy. If only I didn’t need the evil chemo cocktail every few weeks then I’d being able to properly enjoy this.
Cake tends to feature most days, okay, every day.
When I’m not stuck in bed and sometimes even when I am, friends and family come over. Much of the time, I’m feeling sick, in pain or too exhausted to leave the house.
Many of my visitors come with cake. And I love it.
I’ve had white chocolate éclairs topped with multi-coloured sparkles. Cupcakes decorated by my god daughter and perfect meringues made by my aunt.
Then there are my chemo coffee sessions. I think I must have tried every type of muffin sold in the hospital. The ones with the lemon curd in the middle have to be the best.
Am I worried about what this is doing to my waistline? Not so much.
After the first session of chemo, I accidentally lost a stone (just over 6 kilos) without any effort. Now there’s something I never thought I’d say! So I have to be careful about not losing too much. Plus if I get ill my weight could plummet dangerously.
As a result of the surgery, my body can’t cope very well with many of the healthy foods like fruit and vegetables that I used to eat. I’ve been told that I should only have small amounts of these things. But cake is absolutely fine.
I don’t just get given them. I’ve starting baking.
As I’m stuck at home lots of the time, it feels comforting to be able to create something when there’s so little that I’m able to do. It’s not since school that I’ve made a cake and it certainly beats watching daytime TV.
I wait until I’m feeling well enough and then start cooking. I’ve only managed to knock up a few cakes so far. One them was a sticky ginger loaf. It wasn’t too bad and gave me a rare sense of achievement.
Anyway I had to eat it as it was packed with ginger and so helped to ease my nausea. Now that’s my kind of chemo-busting-cake therapy.