I see a big void in the books out there for cancer survivors. When you type “cancer” into Amazon, you get all sorts of how-to books, science books, and memoirs. The few fiction books that pop up are heart-wrenching tales. Cancer survivors know the severity and seriousness of the disease. Just because cancer is a member of the family, doesn’t mean life can’t be full of laughter and adventure. Why aren't there fiction books about cancer survivors that are happy? 

As a breast cancer survivor, chocolatier, and writer I decided to write just such a book for a new genre of fiction I’m calling “cancer lit.” Following in the footsteps of chick lit (humorous books about modern women) and farm lit (lighthearted tales of ditching the city for country life), cancer lit stories are fun, fast paced reads about people who have cancer. The stories demonstrate that cancer survivors—whether in treatment, in remission, or living with metastatic cancer (mets)—continue to live full and rich lives. "Chocolate Therapy Group" is my first book in this new genre. 

Jen believed one should never go to a new social situation without wine or chocolate. Tonight she brought both.

It didn't take long to drive to 19700 Rosemont Blvd. or to park. But she was still going to be late. How long had she been sitting in the car? Not that anyone would notice she was late or if she showed up at all. The only person who knew she was coming— besides her husband Adam—was the hostess Carly, but she didn't know what Jen looked like. For the tenth time today, Jen wished Claudette was with her.

Perhaps Jen could leave early. What was a respectable amount of time to stay at a cancer support group meeting: an hour? Half an hour?

The car door felt like it was made of lead as she kicked it open, using that force to propel herself out of the car and up the walkway to the door. As she knocked on the door, she found herself remembering the new cleaner she had just bought that claimed to make bathroom tile shine like new. 

Jen was still conjuring the potential wonders of her new tile cleanser when a woman with a loud royal blue and pink sweater, black slacks, and coordinated jewelry answered the door. "Hi. I'm Carly. You must be Jen. I'm so glad you could join us tonight.” Frozen by the woman’s perfect Welcome Monologue, and before Jen could decide whether to stay or run, Carly continued smoothly, “Jackets over there on the coat rack. Snacks in kitchen. We're meeting in the living room." She ended her perfect Welcome Monologue with the perfect hostess smile.

Trying to do her part as the Perfect Guest, Jen answered, “Thanks for inviting me to come tonight." Holding up her bottle of wine, “And where can I put this?"

"Oh." Carly muttered clenching her jaw. "We don't usually serve alcohol. Hmmmmm….. maybe put it in the kitchen with the rest of the beverages?" Carly turned and walked into the living room without looking back.

Less than a minute there and already she felt out of place. No wine for you, Jen thought. If Claudette had been here they could have had a good laugh now.  They would joke about the inappropriateness of wearing  pink and blue color blocked clothing after 30.  But Jen was here alone. She followed Carly into the living room still wearing her coat and still holding the wine.

Too large a group of women was crowded in the living-room with no empty seat among the couch, love seat and folding chairs scattered around the room. Jen didn’t recognize any of the women. Why would she? She was new to the area and to this group. Yet the scene was horribly familiar. There was the obligatory box of tissues on the coffee table and a few pamphlets with titles like "Questions to Ask Your Doctor" and "Diet and Exercise during Treatment." The woman speaking had a scarf on her head. The woman next to her had about a 1/4 inch of peach fuzz on her head -- the telltale sign of hair growing back.

Not in the mood for this and clenching her own teeth, Jen walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. Where would she find a cork screw?

As Jen opened a second drawer in her aimless rummaging for an opener, a voice behind her said, "Check the drawer to your left. I'll get wine glasses."

Jen turned to see a petite woman with shoulder length dark-brown hair in comfy jeans, a big, bulky purple sweater pulling two wine glasses out of a cupboard and placing them on the Perfect Granite Counter before Jen.

"I’m so glad you brought a bottle of wine. Every month I think these meetings would do better with wine. But Carly is against alcohol and as the hostess…." a shrug of her shoulders finished the sentence. Smiling, she added "I'm Sally Witcomb.”

Jen handed her a filled wine glass and introduced herself. They clinked glasses and sipped.

"There you are," boomed a voice from the door. "Why didn't you tell me there was wine?"

On que, Sally pulled down a another wine glass and Jen filled it.

“This,” Sally waved her hand with a flourish, “is Loralee Evans.”

Handing Loralee a glass, she introduced herself “Jen Bates” in what she hoped sounded strong and confident.  Feeling immediately uncomfortable with the silence, Jen added in a fast paced mumble  “nice to meet you.” Wishing she had something else, something smart or whitty, she hid behind her wine glass.  Why did she always feel awkward when meeting new people. 

Loralee took the glass and practically gulped the wine. Closing her eyes she murmured, "Lovely." Looking at the label, she read to herself a little too loudly “Bordeaux.” 

Then turning to look directly at Sally, “Does Miss High and Mighty know we're in the kitchen sipping a red Bordeaux?” 

Loralee now faced Jen, “Carly’s nice, but her militant approach to healthy eating is ridiculous.” Loralee took another sip of wine. “Don’t get me started on her stand on booze. ‘Alcohol is evil’ she uttered emphasizing the word “evil” for effect.  “She seems to have conveniently missed all the research on the healthy antioxidants in red wine.“

“Oh, Loralee,” Sally said in a soothing tone. “She means well."

"She's a judgmental bitch,” Loralee barked back. “With Carly, the war on cancer is waged in the kitchen.”  Turning back to Jen, “Last month she gave a lecture on the virtues of kale and quinoa. After that meeting I made Sally stop for a cheeseburger and fries.”

They all burst out laughing.

After a few more Carly stories, Loralee tried to squeeze one last drop of wine out of the bottle. "Looks like we're out. You know what, there’s an adorable wine bar on Mt Vernon Avenue. Let’s ditch this pity party and make a night of it."

 "We can't just leave." Sally grimaced in discomfort. Then seeing the total appeal of the alternative, she reconciled, “Well, at least we should say good bye.”

 “Why? For a dose of Carly guilt? I'll meet you outside." Loralee grabbed her coat and walked out the door. Jen followed her. Sally scooted back into the living room to say they were leaving and hustled out before Carly could reply.

There was no wait when they arrived at the wine bar. The hostess sat them at a large table in the back. She knew a girls-night-out when she saw one.

Between wine and giggles, they shared facts and anecdotes about themselves. Jen and her husband Adam had recently moved back from four years in Brussels. Before that she had worked in marketing, but couldn’t work while they lived abroad. Now she was back and it was all a bit weird.

Loralee was a Folklore Professor at George Washington University.  In addition to being the chair of the department and teaching, she researched the folklore of success.

Sally spoke mostly of family: her two children and her husband Cam.

By the time Jen thought to look at her watch, they had finished a bottle of Bordeaux and a cheese platter. When Loralee mentioned dessert, Jen pulled the box of chocolates from her purse and placed it on the table, "We can always eat these."

"What have we here?” Loralee pulled the white chocolate box was a spring flower ribbon adornment to her.

“Open it,” Jen offered.

While Loralee was opening the box Jen explained how she had learned to make chocolates while living in Brussels.

“You made these?” Loralee held a chocolate between her fingers. “You’re my new best friend" and popped the chocolate in her mouth.

While still chewing, she said with her full, “This salted caramel is to die for."  Pointing to a dark chocolate in the shape of a fan brushed with gold, she asked "What's in this one?"

“Ahh, That's salted caramel.”

Loralee took a bite and immediately had a look of bliss on her face.  "This is just sinful."

Jen loved nothing better than watching people enjoy her chocolates.

"You're very talented" Sally was finishing a chocolate and about ready to take another. "I'd love to learn how to make these.”

“Me too, me too,” Loralee bounced like a school girl.

“Really?” It never dawned on Jen to do a chocolate workshop now that she was back in the US. “I did a few chocolate workshops in Brussels" she responded.

"Then it's settled," Loralee proclaimed. "Next time we're making chocolates." And with that Loralee raised her glass.

"With wine, of course," Sally added clinking her glass with Loralee and Jen.

"To good cheer and chocolate,” Jen finished the toast.

Jen looked over the table one more time.  Her dining room table was now converted to a chocolate workshop with three workstations complete with chocolate making tools, utensils and ingredients.  

As she fussed with the placement of a bowl her husband Adam came up from behind and gave her a hug. Jen loved Adam's generosity of affection.  After 10 years of marriage he still kissed her every chance he could.  

She considered him ruggedly handsome: tall, well defined arms, and a cowboy swagger when he wore t-shirt and jeans.   However, the rugged metaphor ended there.  In matters of profession and politics he was a Northern California techie and liberal to the core.  

They were both from California: Adam from northern California and Jen was from Southern.  Unlike Adam who was happy to tell folks he was from California, Jen worked hard to hide her southern California roots.  She always figured it was a mistake that she grew up in the dessert.  She needed green spaces and four seasons.  She loved the lushness of  Northern Virginia.  Even when they lived in Brussels with all the rain, it didn’t bother her because the rain made sure everything stayed green.  No wonder green was her go-to color as she looked down at the green plastic trays lined with parchment on the table that later they’d be using as their work surface.

“It looks great.” Adam said while bending down to give her a quick kiss on the back of the head.  He knew better than to distract her while she was setting up.  Jen was a perfectionist  and wouldn’t  stop fussing until everything was perfect.

Why she was so nervous? She had made chocolate with lots of people. Somehow this was special. Sally and Loralee were new friends and she needed new friends.

”Stop worrying. The table looks great.  You have plenty of champagne and chocolate. What’s not to love?” Adam added in his most reassuring voice.

"I'll relax when things get started. I really like these women.” 

Adam hugged her again. "Have I told you how much I love you today?" As if knowing what she was thinking, Adam added “Claudette would be so proud of you.”

Jen smiled.  Claudette had been her friend and her mentor.  She was there for Jen throughout her cancer treatment.  Then just as Jen's treatment was ending, Claudette was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died within 6 months.  The pain of losing her still hung over Jen like a black cloud of grief.  

After a moment pause she responded, “Claudette always said that chocolate making was a gift.  I just hadn’t realized that it would be her gift to me.” 

Adam changed the subject.  He knew not to let Jen get lost in thinking about Claudette.  It tended to leave her in a fog of sadness. “Anything I can do?” 

"Would you open the champagne and put it in the bucket? They should be here any minute.”

“I’ll pour you a glass right now."

There was a knock at the door.  

Here we go, thought Jen.  She opened the front the door.

“We’re here,” Loralee announced in her southern sing-songy voice as she walked into the house like she belonged. 

Sally was right behind her.  She stopped upon entering and gave Jen a hug.   “We’re so happy to be here.” Her heartwarming smile put Jen at ease.

Adam walked in from the kitchen and introduced himself while handing out glasses of champagne.

“What a lovely way to welcome us into your home,” Sally tipped her glass to him.

“We aim to please.  I’m heading out now.  Have a great evening ladies.”

When Adam had left the room Loralee walked over to Jen.  “He’s a keeper.  Pours champagne and knows when to make an exit.  Does he have a brother?”

They all cracked up.  A good laugh was just what Jen needed to take the edge off.  

After pouring everyone a second glass of champagne, Jen invited the girls to sit at one of the workstations at the dining room table.  The table looked just the way she wanted: inviting, but organized. 

“Tonight we're going to make mendiants.” Jen explained as she pointed to a plate with four chocolates on it.  Mendiants are round quarter-sized disks with dried fruit and nuts on top. 

Loralee started to take one of the samples and stopped mid way. "I forgot to mention," Jen quickly interjected. “The samples are for tasting. Eat all you want." With that Loralee picked up one of the mendiants and popped it into her mouth. Sally took one as well, only she took a small bite  and then put it down on her plate.  

Still chewing, Loralee declared that if one was making chocolates calories didn’t count.  “Works for me,” Sally put the rest of her chocolate in her mouth.   

"This is going to be even better than I thought" Loralee announced as she claimed the last chocolate on the sample plate. 

Yes, it was even better than Jen thought.  This getting together to make chocolate just might be what she needed.   

Jen then gave them a tour of the supplies and utensils on the table. She then invited them to  join her in the kitchen to start prepping the chocolate through a process called tempering. 

“Temper-ing?  You mean chocolate has an attitude?” With that Loralee grabbed the champagne bottle to pour another glass only to find it empty.

“We can take care of that in the kitchen too,” Jen said pointing to the empty bottle.

The three of them walked into Jen's kitchen where she put a large plastic bowl filled with dark chocolate into the microwave. The kitchen was as open and airy as the dining room. 

Jen then explained that one prepares chocolate through a process of heating, cooling, and stirring  called tempering, not ‘temper’ as Loralee had joked.  Tempering gives chocolate its maximum aesthetic and utilitarian qualities.  When chocolate is properly tempered it has a shiny and glossy coloring and dries to a firm hardness that makes a crisp snapping sound when broken. When chocolate is not properly tempered, it looks dull and won’t harden.  [For step-by-step instructions on how to temper, go to Writing with Chocolate: Resources for the Home Chocolatier.]  

The microwave bell chimed and Jen took the bowl out and stirred the chocolate.  It was completely melted.  Jen used her infrared thermometer and took the temperature of the chocolate.  It was 45 degrees Celsius.  She had learned how to work with chocolate in Europe and still liked to measure in metrics.  

They would need to cool the dark chocolate to 31 degrees celsius (88 degrees f). She went on listing the ways to cool the chocolate.  You can pour the chocolate on a cool surface—such as a granite or marble table—and then stir it on the table until it is cooled.  You can cool the chocolate by adding un-melted chocolate to the warm chocolate to bring up the temperature, called seeding. Or you can just let the temperature cool on its own.  Which ever method you choose, she explained, you need to stir the chocolate.  The combination of time, temperature and motion constituted tempering. Tonight they would seed the chocolate because it was less messy and efficient.   Jen took the temperature of the chocolate.  It was 40 c.  She then added a cup of small chocolate pieces about the size of chocolate chips into the bowl and started stirring.

Loralee waisted no time asking Jen how she learned to make chocolate.

While stirring Jen told how she had played with chocolate for years but it wasn’t until she went to Brussels that she received her formal training as a chocolatier.

“I get the impression that chocolate and breast cancer are somehow connected for you,” Sally asked.

“Right you are.  When Adam and I moved to Brussels we had all sorts of plans of places we would go and wine and chocolate we’d try. Nowhere in our plans was the word cancer. But Cancer will always be a part of our Brussels experience.”

Jen paused.  “You’re not interested in this? We’re here to make chocolate.”

“Nothings wrong with a little sharing.” Sally said in her accepting and comforting style.  We all have a story to tell.  I believe there is an element of healing in telling one’s story.  I’d be honored if you’d share yours.”

Jen looked from Sally to Loralee. She made them promise that if she started to ramble they’d tell her to stop.  She didn’t want this to be about her.  They came to make chocolate. 

“It all started with my annual checkup.  As part of the appointment I had a mammogram and then an ultrasound (ultrasounds are standard operating procedure there for women with dense breasts). My ultrasound looked suspicious, so the doctors ordered a biopsy. The biopsy came back negative, but the doctors had me do all the tests again with an added MRI. 

“That’d never happen here,” Loralee confirmed.  “After the first negative biopsy they’d just tell you to come back in a year”

“It all came to a head when I got ‘the call.’”

Loralee and Sally both nodded.

“It was 8:30am in the morning.  We were on vacation in London and were still in our hotel room. The doctor began the conversation with “Mrs. Bates, you have cancer.” I went numb. I handed the phone to Adam.”

Looking directly at Loralee, she added “We went right to a pub for a stiff whiskey. We didn’t care it was morning. We were in London after all.”

"I remember when I got the call" Loralee offered. “There was a message on my voicemail to call the doctor. I don't know why, but I just knew the message was bad news.”

“I’ll never forget the day I got the news,” Sally took the floor. " I had just dropped Phoebe off at soccer practice and noticed I had a voicemail from the doctor’s office.  I was so distracted with dropping the kids off and doing errands that I didn’t think twice about the voicemail. I was still in the parking lot at the soccer field when the doctor got on the phone and told me I had cancer.  The gravity of what she said didn’t register.  I thanked her, made an appointment for the next day, and then went about my day. I think I went grocery shopping, picked up the dry cleaning. That night after the kids went to bed I told Cam. It was almost as if the shock of the news made me block it out.  Once I told Cam the water works started.”

Jen was stirring the chocolate and checking the temperature with her digital thermometer.  She went on that no matter how much she didn’t want to hear the words “you have cancer” she owed her diagnosis to the Belgian Health Care system practice of doing ultrasounds and following up when something looks suspicious. 

Once diagnosed she was in the hands of the good folks at Leuven Hospital under the leadership of Prof. Dr. Peters, or as her husband nicknamed him, The Godfather. This was the guy who made  the waters part at Leuven. He was the head of the department, her surgeon and her oncologist.

While Jen was stirring and talking, Loralee stuck her finger in the bowl and immediately put it in her mouth.

Lightly slapping Loralee’s hand, Sally playfully scolded her for using her finger.  Loralee gave a wink and then put her finger back in the bowl, only this time she got some chocolate on her chin as she tried to quickly put her chocolate coated finger in her mouth. 

“At least do it with a spoon.” Sally shook her head with fake distain.   Can you get one for me too?”

Jen gave Sally and Loralee each a spoon and poured a little chocolate in a bowl for them to nibble on while the chocolate was tempering.

“Go on Jen,” Sally said encouragingly.  Licking chocolate off her spoon.  “Tell us more about The Godfather.”

Jen then told one of her favorite Godfather stories.  How after her chemo she wanted her porta cath (a devise they put in my chest to make it easier to administer injections and take blood) removed. The protocol at Leuven was to keep it in for a year, but it bothered her and she wanted it out. The scheduler told her that even though it was January the soonest they could schedule her for the procedure was in April (4 months later). She went to the Godfather and made her case. He listened and then left the office.  He returned a few minutes later with a woman who he introduced as the person in charge of the procedures. She looked up from her calendar with an annoyed tone to her voice and asked, “Would Friday be soon enough for you?” 

“Oh my god, you were in Brussels the whole time.  Why didn’t you come home?”  Loralee asked.

Jen explained that it never came up.  The Godfather made her feel safe and the Belgium health care system with its focus on patient care was comforting.  Not that she hadn’t found great doctors since since moving back.  But until she experienced health care in Belgium, she never realized that the US system  wasn’t built with a focus on patient care.  

“Don’t I know it,” Loralee jumped in. “When I was diagnosed I actually interviewed several surgeons.  One of them had the gall to look at his watch about 5 minutes into my appointment.  I told him that I was the one running out of time and walked out.”

“You didn’t,” Sally tried to appear shocked. 

Jen took the temperature of the chocolate one last time.  It read 32 c.  “The chocolate’s ready.  Let’s go make mendiants.”

With that she led the group back to the dining room and sat them down at one of the workstations.

Jen demonstrated how to make mendiants.  They put a spoonful of chocolate about the size of a quarter to silver dollar on the parchment and then placed nuts or dried fruit on top.  She instructed them to only make three or four medallions before putting on the topping because you wanted to place the toppings on while the chocolate was still soft and hadn’t started to harden. 

When they had used up all the space on their tray, Jen stacked the trays in the refrigerator for the chocolate to set.  They continued making mendiants until all the trays were filled and stacked in the refrigerator to set.  

Jen went into the back room and came out with a box full of ribbons and paper flowers.  She also brought a sample of how they were going to pack and wrap the chocolates: a cellophane bags 3 inches wide and 9 inches tall filled two-thirds full of mendiants and tied at the top with a ribbon that was adorned with a paper flower embellishment.

“This is lovely,” Sally exclaimed with delight in her voice. She reached for the bag with blue paper flowers surrounded by yellow ribbon.  “Are we going to learn how to do this?”

“We are,” Jen replied.  “Belgian chocolates should always be beautifully wrapped.”

As they were making the ribbon adornments, Loralee asked Jen what kind of breast cancer she had.  

“Invasive lobular carcinoma (ILC).You know, the kind of breast cancer that you can't detect with a mammogram when you have dense breasts.”

“Oh my god.  Me too,” inserted Loralee.

Jen went on to say that her cancer had spread to her lymphnoids so her treatment consisted of surgery, then chemo, and then radiation: the trifecta as she liked to call it.  When she had her surgery, she didn’t really feel like a cancer patient.  She had had surgeries before.  Chemo was another story all together. 

Her chemotherapy consisted of 6 sessions: one every 3 weeks. What she learned was that when you go through chemo you feel crummy the first week; and then happy to be feeling better the second week, and almost yourself the third week. Just when you really feel good, you go in for another treatment. The second treatment is harder then the first because you still have chemo inside of you from the first treatment. So each treatment is harder than the previous one. Most things get easier the 2nd, 3rd, 4th time you go through it. But chemo is the opposite. This is something they didn’t tell her. 

“Cancer.  Real cancer is nothing like those made-for-tv movies,” Loralee jumped in.  “In tv movies everyone dies from cancer.  Well I haven’t died yet.”

“None of that,” Sally said defiantly. 

With a nod to Sally, Loralee continued, “In stead of worrying about dying,  we’re here drinking wine and making chocolate. This is way better than sitting in a room with tissues on every table.”

Jen placed the trays of chocolate on the table so they could begin filling the bags.

Loralee picked up one of the chocolates she was packing and ceremonially bit off a small pieces.  “A bold burst of chocolate followed by the subtle flavors of roasted almonds,” Loralee announced in her best pretentious voice.  After another mini bite and a moment of affected contemplation she added, “Just a hint of sweetness coming from the delicate placement of dried cranberries.”  

Sally and Jen called for more, more.  Loralee was  enjoying her chocolate critic performance.  She took a last bite and pronounced with an air of authority, “This is a little chocolate you can fun with.”  Sally and Jen gave Loralee a rousing applause.

“We have to do this again.” Loralee looked from Jen to Sally, “What are you guys doing over the next weeks?” Loralee asked as she filled a bag. “I, for one, will be ready to make more chocolate.”

_________

Chapter 2 Chocolate Lesson and Supplies: Click below for step-by-step information on the following.   The instructions will open in a separate window. [Eventually these will be live links on the Chocolate Therapy Group web site]

• Instructions - Tempering chocolate
• Instructions - Making Mendiants
• Instructions - Making ribbon adornments
• Supplies - Putting together a chocolate making starter kit
• Supplies - Where to purchase plastic candy bags online