I'd like to start the new year with some important memories because it is these memories that are my inspiration for the work I do. As some of my readers know, when one of my children was very young he was diagnosed with cancer. During those years of treatment and post-treatment, I sat with many specialists, from oncologists to neurologists to endocrinologists to gastroenterologists and ophthalmologists. The chemotherapy made eating very difficult and there were weeks of extreme starvation due to nausea and no appetite followed by the need to re feed and re nourish. During this period while nutrition was of course extremely important, however even more important was just helping my child to eat. At that stage eating was a win and we were not so focused on what to eat.
I was no stranger to confronting conversations with the medical teams, as we had already fought childhood cancer. For years we had been told he had to eat more to make up for weight loss after recovering from cancer. A few years later came another serious illness called idiopathic benign hypertension which presented like a brain tumour. Apart from scary painful and frequent lumbar puncture's and medication, the other recommendation and instruction was that he must lose weight or was at risk of a heart attack or stroke. With the second illness, I was being told to starve my child. In the 1990s, withdrawing food seemed to be the only way weight loss was approached. Deep down I knew dieting was not a way to care for a very sick child.
As a practitioner, I now often reflect upon the role food plays around comfort, treats, and rewards. I recall how in the paediatric oncology wards I witnessed frantic, sad, scared parents feeding their child absolutely anything just to ensure they would eat. If it was twisties, so be it. Nutrition wasn't a consideration, as long as we fed our children something. I remember a particular child who loved the strong flavours of smoked oysters, because the chemo had affected their taste buds so much.
Later, when I was told we now needed to focus on weight loss, I was faced with an unexpected and confusing series of new challenges.
What do people typically take sick children in hospital other than toys? In our case it was lots of boxes of chocolates, cakes and biscuits. These gifts were being brought with the kindest of intentions. To bring a smile to a child's face, to cheer them up, to spoil them, to make them feel special. To try to remove some of the fear, even if only temporarily.
Their kind sentiments wrapped in food, communicated through the giving of sweet treats, were also for my other child. Siblings of sick children can feel neglected when all the attention is on the sick child. They learn to not ask for things. They get used to the family always being distracted and away in hospital for long stretches of time. So, lots of gifts were bestowed on my other child, just as the other sick children's siblings did too.
It was very hard to strike a balance between nutrition and treats. As a mother I felt so cruel saying to my family and friends that my children couldn't have these gifts of food. I was constantly aware that the specialists were telling me that weight loss was crucial to prevent a stroke or heart attack. I felt rude asking our caring and kind friends to not bring these foods. They often didn't understand, and would say things like, 'Oh go on, just one won't hurt.'
All these years later, I remember how food was also something that also represented safety, happiness, care and celebration for us. At home, away from the hospital, I was able to gain some control of the foods my son ate, which we all shared. We would all snuggle up together, and share some yummies without panic and fear.
There is usually always a story attached to people's relationship with food and eating. For some parents and care-givers food is as an expression of love and care, which sometimes tips over into food being a dominant form of communication. Some people have grown up with favourite foods being used as a bribe for good behaviour, or as a reward for an achievement. Food might have been used as a threat: a disliked food had to be eaten, or worse, children are made to go hungry, as a form of abuse and punishment.
I have worked with parents who grew up in war zones and refugee camps where food was scarce, and hunger and famine were rife. When they were finally safe in Australia, and food became accessible that they wanted to ensure their children would never go without. For them food represents many things: memories of happier times but also family members that didn't survive; the remaking of family and cultural identity, loss, grief, and safety.
Each of us tell a story about our relationship to food. Some of these stories are extreme, others are more ordinary. When a person presents with concerns about their weight, it is important to not rate their experience on a scale. Everyone's story, no matter what or why or where it originated, is valid and significant.
I felt a great deal of sadness around not being able to prevent my son's illnesses. I experienced much sadness and confusion around food and eating during those years of crisis. This is just one of the reasons I now advocate for anyone trying to manage the multi-layered complexity of their weight within the structure of a society that frequently blames the individual for their weight.
And on a lighter note, unless you know the friend or family member is not a fan or is allergic, chocolate is always a lovely gift.
Ginette Lenham January 2025 ©