Account of life with cancer manages to stay upbeat
'Cancer or not, you still have to walk the dog," Lynn Hoffman reminds us in his latest book, Radiation Days: The Rollicking, Lighthearted Story of a Man and His Cancer.
The Rollicking, Lighthearted Story of a Man and His Cancer
By Lynn Hoffman
Skyhorse Publishing. 224 pp. $24.95 hardcover
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Reviewed by Evi Heilbrunn
'Cancer or not, you still have to walk the dog," Lynn Hoffman reminds us in his latest book,
Radiation Days: The Rollicking, Lighthearted Story of a Man and His Cancer
.
His subtitle suggests the massive uplifting tone one needs to sell a memoir on stage IV throat cancer. But Hoffman, 69, a longtime Philadelphia food writer, proves good company for the verbal repast he serves up.
Hoffman explains his cancer was born out of human papillomavirus (HPV), the most frequently sexually transmitted infection, with more than 40 types, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and also one that most infected patients do not even realize they have. A small percentage of men and women end up getting throat or ovarian cancer each year.
Though two vaccines now exist to prevent HPV, it was well after Hoffman's preteen years, when they are typically administered. Both must be given before exposure to the virus. The CDC estimates that every year, the vaccine could prevent 21,000 HPV-related cancers. Though the statistical odds of surviving throat cancer are high - about 80 percent go into remission, says Hoffman - a fight against cancer, regardless of survival rates, is still a major event.
Radiation Days documents Hoffman's battle. The food and wine connoisseur, who has been a culinary arts teacher for 15 years, suddenly faced an inability to enjoy food, let alone taste and swallow it. Red wines became unbearable, and eating was replaced almost exclusively by nutritional shakes like Ensure, of which he says "the vanilla version is the least offensive."
A positive attitude, a good sense of humor, and writing carried Hoffman through.
As a chef, Hoffman experimented with the foods he could eat. He shares one of his favorite recipes in a chapter called "Chocolate Mousse for the Recently Radioactive," which he calls a great treat for those who can and can't eat solid food.
As a writer and poet, Hoffman relies on food imagery to paint a portrait of his disease. "My zest for life has been sprinkled on top of risotto and served at someone else's table," is how he describes a bad day.
What does it mean to live when you're facing a deadline? Hoffman reminds us that "Death is your friend; he tells you to be alive."
But how does it feel to have cancer? "You are now a battlefield for a particularly ugly kind of war between tumors and chemists, and, frankly, my dear, neither side gives a rat's ass about you," he writes. "So you are invaded, bombarded, poked, sampled, and trampled."
In between, there is a whole lot of waiting. A biopsy done on Monday may mean not knowing the results until a week or so later, a period Hoffman often found hard to bear.
Hoffman's playful approach to such a serious topic makes it manageable. The book lends itself to quick consumption, with short and sweet chapters that make it the perfect companion for the doctor's waiting room.
Poems are sprinkled throughout: "Say what you'll do and do what you say," he advises in the poem "Kitchen Philosophies: "The rest is all compost and gets carted away."
Other poems help give perspective into the emotional toll of living with a potentially fatal illness.
Those looking for a positive spin on cancer will find this book worth the read.
Hoffman leaves us with two important pieces of advice. Faced with death, it's important to focus on the now, but also to relish "memories of present beauty."
Walking his dog in Carpenter's Woods in Mount Airy gave Hoffman enough joy to hold on for another day.
Hoffman did survive. His sense of taste has almost returned, but swallowing is still difficult, so he's on a vegetarian diet with fish.
But in his chapter on "How to Beat Cancer," he reminds us no one ever really does win. "You may live through it, buddy-buddy, but you sure don't beat it," he warns. Instead, it's all about finding a way to live past the idea of your own death.
Looking back, Hoffman told me "having the cancer kind of keeps me a little more alive."