adversity, or how cancer stalled my culinary dream

In 2008, at age the ripe age of 52, flush with a sufficient inheritance, I gave up the smoke and flames and sweat of a professional kitchen to travel the southern tier of states to learn as much as I could about a cuisine I felt was a part of my essence, something familiar. I learned a lot, met great cooks and chefs, ate far too much, fell in love with gumbo, and crawfish, and grits, and grits and shrimp. I ate grouper, and amberjack, and crabs in Georgia and Florida. My goal in having this gluttony of experieces, was to be able to return to the Pacific Northwest and put into play a company I named Seasonally Yours. I wanted to teach cooking classes, based on seasonal availability, for adults, children, and even families; do some small, intimate event catering, and, with old skills fined tuned from writing about everything on my trip, a bit of a freelance food writer and photographer.

During our five months on the road, traveling in an Fleetwood Jamboree, living in campgrounds and RV parks, cooking and tasting the most amazing food, I discovered what I chose to call then a mole that felt as if it had gone rogue. As soon as we returned home I had a biopsy done and was diagnosed with Stage 2B Melanoma.

I've had two surgeries, a year of thrice weekly Interfueron (chemotherapy) injections, more biopsies, more interfueron, and now should the need arise, a pill for possible future outbreaks. Something new for those of us who have the genetic marker for this type of cancer.

I have done as much preparation for my new incarnations in the culinary world as I could while living in the limbo that is active and moving cancer. I will, with luck, be able to start actively making my business a reality in the next few months. For nearly two years my health has been dead in the middle of the road to my having a thriving business up and running. Because of the cost of fighting cancer, my regular and retirement savings are nearly gone after not being able to hold a job during all this. Hence, this business will have to start on a shoe string.

How's that for adversity? And as much as adversity sucks, I think I may be stronger from the journey and the fight.

Regards,
Jai Carney
Portland, OR
"living like tomorrow was today"