Touching the Shadows by Bruce Nygren

Author:Bruce Nygren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2010-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

9

Was That Just a Bad Dream?

Summer 1997

IN JULY, A WEEK BEFORE the last of Racinda’s four chemotherapy treatments, the two of us drove to North Dakota for my high school reunion.

Before we left, her white blood count was low as a result of the previous treatment. She felt fine, but the deficiency reduced the ability of her immune system to fight infection. The doctor warned us to be cautious but gave permission for the trip.

Just the two of us on a car trip alone—this was odd. The kids, busy with jobs, friends, and the latest movies, no longer were subcontractors on call to their parental architects.

On the road we remembered the time when it was just us—making our schedule on the fly, doing “our thing.” As the car hummed across the reaches of Nebraska, bugs splattering in Technicolor on the windshield, Racinda and I caught up on topics ignored for months during the cancer ordeal. We dined on food and drink from a backseat cooler. Eating choices would be adjusted on this trip.

With treatment nearly complete, Racinda’s mind-set on the cancer was proactive: If there was anything that might help prevent a recurrence, she would try it. Her old diet was one of the first casualties of the before-cancer life.

This pained me because I liked what I ate. The family menu had evolved from the full-fat to the low-fat approach—that was okay. We ate more chickens than cows and had fruits and veggies most meals. I’d never met a cheese-laden casserole, sweet roll, bread, brownie, cookie, pie, or cake for which I didn’t feel rapport. What was wrong with solid Midwestern farm fare?

Not too much—until cancer showed up.

Racinda was convinced that diet plays a leading role in breast cancer. She did not ask the rest of the family to abandon nearly all meat and milk products, but her enthusiasm for turning out the good old meals was gone.

Before long we were shopping for groceries in a store that seemed more New Age cathedral than market. The organic goods were healthy, but on early visits I gagged on the incense.

The store definitely had ambience and flair. One entire section held rows of bottles of natural pills and potions with names like Bladderwrack and Bugleweed Motherwort Supreme. A book section included titles like The Tofu Tollbooth, Tissue Cleansing Through Bowel Management, and Treat Your Face Like a Salad. I couldn’t find fried chicken in the deli, but they had plenty of Saag Baag and tofu burritos. The employees were the most intriguing aspect, friendly and mostly young people apparently frozen in time during the sixties and revived thirty years later. The hair, the clothes, the tie-dye, the relaxed perspective—this was, like man, hippieville.

Racinda’s wholesale diet change triggered mourning for me. I realized fast how much junk food meant to me. I didn’t begrudge Racinda’s desire to use new food and preparation techniques as a weapon against disease. But I grieved that we would no longer go together for barbecue and beans or even freely accept dinner invitations from friends.

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