Beth, your post moved me deeply. The way you held onto joy through such difficulty and found quiet triumph in your peanut butter and jelly sandwich, touched me more than I can say. It’s a beautiful reminder for all of us not to take everyday pleasures for granted. I'm so pleased your sense of taste returned, along with your luminous creativity, for your watercolours feel full of life.
If I were asked that question today, I think I’d have to say sight as I’m deeply moved by the visual world and can't imagine life without it. I know I could adapt, but the thought of not seeing written words or the eyes of someone I love, tugs at something quiet within.
Whenever I see a blind person with their dog crossing a road, I find myself wondering what their world feels like and how much trust it takes.
Thanks so much for encouraging me to sit and reflect. I've enjoyed the musing.
I really appreciate your insightful comment. When a sense is stripped away -- even temporarily -- it truly is traumatic. Yes, that peanut butter and jelly sandwich felt like salvation to me. To this day, I savor the taste of foods, knowing that the sense of taste should not be taken for granted.
I am an avid reader and a visual artist, so at this point in my life, I agree with you that sight is ultra important. I can't imagine not reading and not creating art and not seeing my loved ones. These would be devastating to me. Of course, hearing is crucial, too, as I love music and can't imagine life without it.
Hi Beth, Like many others here, I didn’t know what chemo does to taste. I’m so glad you’ve regained your favorite sense - and now have another favorite. It’s fun to watch your painting! (And writing.)
Yes, chemo changing the sense of taste is really little-known, which gave me impetus to write this essay. Everyone seems to know about hair loss -- another highly traumatic event -- but losing the sense of taste is also devastating.
I am so glad you enjoy watching my paintings unfold! I so appreciate you!
I’m so glad you got your sense of taste back! Chemo affects the entire GI tract from beginning to end because those cells are so active. Ugh. Keep on painting- and keep on doing whatever it takes to find peace these days!
Hi Alene, I'm glad I can taste foods again, too! Yes, my entire GI tract during chemo was in a sad state of woe. Each day when I feel healthy is a good day.
Ah yes, peace. It's elusive these days, but I am continuing to paint. That's all we can do, my friend.
This article got me thinking about food not just as sustenance, but as a deeply embedded part of our memories and emotional landscape. When your sense of taste was "perverted," it wasn't just about nutrition; it was about a disruption to a whole layer of comfort, celebration, and connection that food provides. The way you described that peanut butter and jelly sandwich as "the most excellent... I have ever tasted" after chemo ended is so powerful. It wasn't just a sandwich; it was a return to normalcy, a reclamation of simple joy, and perhaps even a taste of hope. It makes me consider how much of our personal history and cultural identity is tied to the flavors and aromas we experience, and how profoundly disorienting it must be when that connection is severed, even temporarily.
You are right: food is a deep part of our inner and outer selves. I will never again take my sense of taste for granted. I never appreciated it, really, until it was gone. Now I slow down when I eat, savoring the taste and aroma of food and knowing how lucky I am to now taste foods.
When you say, "It wasn't just a sandwich; it was a return to normalcy, a reclamation of simple joy, and perhaps even a taste of hope," you are so right. When normalcy returned, I didn't even recognize it. The sense of taste is vital to our quality of life.
Ah yes, I relate. Chemo definitely affected my sense of taste too. I think I've blocked out some of those memories because I can't remember what foods I ended up eating. There were certain days in the cycle when food tasted better than other days. I do remember that one taste I sure missed was the taste of my morning coffee. I wrote a blog post on that one!
If I had to choose which sense would be hardest to lose, it would be my sight. I'm a very visual person too. Of course, I wouldn't want to give up any of them.
Your landscape watercolors are lovely. It seems you are making tremendous progress in such a short time. I especially like the mood of the one on the left. I think it's because it reminds me of wheatfields of which I have fond memories from my youth when I'd visit my grandparents in ND. My grandpa grew wheat, and I'll always remember driving around looking at his fields. Thank you for stirring up that memory with your art.
I agree that giving up any of our senses would be a great loss. I'm sorry your sense of taste was adversely affected by chemo also.
Thank you for your kind words about my watercolor mini-landscapes. Our art instructor really guided us step by step with each landscape, so I was able to feel confident and not as mystified by watercolors.
I'm so glad my wheatfield landscape evoked nice memories of your visiting your grandparents. That's the thing about all kinds of art, I find: creating human connections, emotions, and memories are really important.
Class has since ended, but I am planning to create a still life this week, and I'm really looking forward to it!
Oh Beth, I can't imagine what it must have been like to not have your taste buds activated. Being the foodie that I am, tasting things has literally gotten me through the day. I remember so well when my father was in decline, he would sit at the dining room table with us, take a few bites of food, and push his plate away. You could see that for a flash moment, he had that old expectation that food would still somehow taste the same, but week after week, month after month, his sense of taste was vanishing. "It all just tastes the same," he would declare then push his plate away. Towards the end, up until his heart attack, my father became a thin, gaunt, and frail figure--my mom would say he had lost his "appetite for living" and that seemed to be the case. Your post is once again a sobering reminder to take nothing for granted--even simple things, that taste of freshly made coffee in the morning, a spoon of yogurt and blueberries for breakfast--all so important to one's sense of simple joy. I'm relieved that your taste has returned Beth-thank you again for sharing this here.
Thank you for the courage to tell about your dad. I'm so sorry he suffered, and I felt so saddened when you say how he expected the food to taste good, but it no longer did for him.
You describe the taste of food as a "simple joy." You are right: food should be joyous, and if we are lucky enough to taste our food, then we are blessed. I no longer take my sense of taste for granted. When I'm having a bad day, I often think about the time when I was on chemo and how my taste buds betrayed me.
Oh Beth, twenty years later I still remember the unexpected kind of grief of losing the taste for life's simple pleasures, like drinking a cup of tea first thing in the morning. Your description brought me right back to that strange, metallic world and also to the joy of when flavour slowly returned.
Yes, isn't this metallic taste awful? I'm so glad you got your taste back and survived. You use the word "grief," and I believe this is such a fitting word for the loss of such a key sense. It is an experience that can never be forgotten.
You make a good argument for taste. One of my every morning great moments is that first sip of hot, sweet, black tea. I would feel off-kilter is that experience weren't part of my day. And my husband and I sometimes make papaya coconut milk ice cream, a truly delightful taste experience. I can see why ice cream was a go-to for you during chemo.
When I saw the watercolors at the bottom of the page, a question(s) popped into my mind. What does the image of the sun-drenched patch of tall grass, soaking up the sun, taste like? And what does the water swirling around the rocks in the clear water taste like?
Of course, I wasn't looking for literal taste . . . I imagined that the sun-drenched patch of tall grass tasted like crispy oven fries with some chopped Rosemary sprinkled onto them. The kind when you've left them in the oven just the right amount of time so that they have a shell of a crunch layer on the outside. And I think that the blue watercolor, would taste like sliced cold cucumbers and cold tomato halves with a little Basil.
You're right, taste is nuanced, it's heightened by experience or the present company one's in; it is part sensual and part imagined. And let's not forget that we often use the phrase, "it left a bad taste in my mouth" in our culture. Or we say, "she has good taste."
Fun read, Beth. Now I'll be thinking about taste for the rest of the day. Thanks and big hugs, my friend.
Your comment was mouth-watering: that papaya coconut milk ice cream sounds to die for. And I loved how you creatively pictured my mini-landscapes as possibly being on a menu of delicious food.
Of course, all of our senses are so vital to us. I do think taste is often underrated and thrown to the side. But the joy of being able to taste our food gives us so much quality of life.
You are right: the taste-related expressions you referred to are in our common vernacular. As always, I appreciate your insights, Stephanie. Thank you, dear friend and fellow creative!
I had never thought that losing one's sense of taste may be a side effect of chemotherapy. That would be difficult for me as well. As far as your watercolor paintings, you are making such great progress on it. I especially like the sunny one on the left. It's great that you are getting so much pleasure from it.
Yes, for some reason, people discuss side effects like losing their hair, which is very traumatic. The information on how chemo can wreak havoc on the sense of taste is less discussed, but also traumatic.
Thank you for your compliment on my watercolor mini-landscapes. Yes, I am feeling such pleasure and calm from watercoloring.
Beth, your post moved me deeply. The way you held onto joy through such difficulty and found quiet triumph in your peanut butter and jelly sandwich, touched me more than I can say. It’s a beautiful reminder for all of us not to take everyday pleasures for granted. I'm so pleased your sense of taste returned, along with your luminous creativity, for your watercolours feel full of life.
If I were asked that question today, I think I’d have to say sight as I’m deeply moved by the visual world and can't imagine life without it. I know I could adapt, but the thought of not seeing written words or the eyes of someone I love, tugs at something quiet within.
Whenever I see a blind person with their dog crossing a road, I find myself wondering what their world feels like and how much trust it takes.
Thanks so much for encouraging me to sit and reflect. I've enjoyed the musing.
Hi Deborah,
I really appreciate your insightful comment. When a sense is stripped away -- even temporarily -- it truly is traumatic. Yes, that peanut butter and jelly sandwich felt like salvation to me. To this day, I savor the taste of foods, knowing that the sense of taste should not be taken for granted.
I am an avid reader and a visual artist, so at this point in my life, I agree with you that sight is ultra important. I can't imagine not reading and not creating art and not seeing my loved ones. These would be devastating to me. Of course, hearing is crucial, too, as I love music and can't imagine life without it.
Hi Beth, Like many others here, I didn’t know what chemo does to taste. I’m so glad you’ve regained your favorite sense - and now have another favorite. It’s fun to watch your painting! (And writing.)
Hi Patty,
Yes, chemo changing the sense of taste is really little-known, which gave me impetus to write this essay. Everyone seems to know about hair loss -- another highly traumatic event -- but losing the sense of taste is also devastating.
I am so glad you enjoy watching my paintings unfold! I so appreciate you!
I’m so glad you got your sense of taste back! Chemo affects the entire GI tract from beginning to end because those cells are so active. Ugh. Keep on painting- and keep on doing whatever it takes to find peace these days!
Hi Alene, I'm glad I can taste foods again, too! Yes, my entire GI tract during chemo was in a sad state of woe. Each day when I feel healthy is a good day.
Ah yes, peace. It's elusive these days, but I am continuing to paint. That's all we can do, my friend.
This article got me thinking about food not just as sustenance, but as a deeply embedded part of our memories and emotional landscape. When your sense of taste was "perverted," it wasn't just about nutrition; it was about a disruption to a whole layer of comfort, celebration, and connection that food provides. The way you described that peanut butter and jelly sandwich as "the most excellent... I have ever tasted" after chemo ended is so powerful. It wasn't just a sandwich; it was a return to normalcy, a reclamation of simple joy, and perhaps even a taste of hope. It makes me consider how much of our personal history and cultural identity is tied to the flavors and aromas we experience, and how profoundly disorienting it must be when that connection is severed, even temporarily.
Hi Alex,
You are right: food is a deep part of our inner and outer selves. I will never again take my sense of taste for granted. I never appreciated it, really, until it was gone. Now I slow down when I eat, savoring the taste and aroma of food and knowing how lucky I am to now taste foods.
When you say, "It wasn't just a sandwich; it was a return to normalcy, a reclamation of simple joy, and perhaps even a taste of hope," you are so right. When normalcy returned, I didn't even recognize it. The sense of taste is vital to our quality of life.
Hi Beth,
Ah yes, I relate. Chemo definitely affected my sense of taste too. I think I've blocked out some of those memories because I can't remember what foods I ended up eating. There were certain days in the cycle when food tasted better than other days. I do remember that one taste I sure missed was the taste of my morning coffee. I wrote a blog post on that one!
If I had to choose which sense would be hardest to lose, it would be my sight. I'm a very visual person too. Of course, I wouldn't want to give up any of them.
Your landscape watercolors are lovely. It seems you are making tremendous progress in such a short time. I especially like the mood of the one on the left. I think it's because it reminds me of wheatfields of which I have fond memories from my youth when I'd visit my grandparents in ND. My grandpa grew wheat, and I'll always remember driving around looking at his fields. Thank you for stirring up that memory with your art.
I'm glad you continue to enjoy the class!
Hi Nancy,
I agree that giving up any of our senses would be a great loss. I'm sorry your sense of taste was adversely affected by chemo also.
Thank you for your kind words about my watercolor mini-landscapes. Our art instructor really guided us step by step with each landscape, so I was able to feel confident and not as mystified by watercolors.
I'm so glad my wheatfield landscape evoked nice memories of your visiting your grandparents. That's the thing about all kinds of art, I find: creating human connections, emotions, and memories are really important.
Class has since ended, but I am planning to create a still life this week, and I'm really looking forward to it!
Oh Beth, I can't imagine what it must have been like to not have your taste buds activated. Being the foodie that I am, tasting things has literally gotten me through the day. I remember so well when my father was in decline, he would sit at the dining room table with us, take a few bites of food, and push his plate away. You could see that for a flash moment, he had that old expectation that food would still somehow taste the same, but week after week, month after month, his sense of taste was vanishing. "It all just tastes the same," he would declare then push his plate away. Towards the end, up until his heart attack, my father became a thin, gaunt, and frail figure--my mom would say he had lost his "appetite for living" and that seemed to be the case. Your post is once again a sobering reminder to take nothing for granted--even simple things, that taste of freshly made coffee in the morning, a spoon of yogurt and blueberries for breakfast--all so important to one's sense of simple joy. I'm relieved that your taste has returned Beth-thank you again for sharing this here.
Hi Gerry,
Thank you for the courage to tell about your dad. I'm so sorry he suffered, and I felt so saddened when you say how he expected the food to taste good, but it no longer did for him.
You describe the taste of food as a "simple joy." You are right: food should be joyous, and if we are lucky enough to taste our food, then we are blessed. I no longer take my sense of taste for granted. When I'm having a bad day, I often think about the time when I was on chemo and how my taste buds betrayed me.
Oh Beth, twenty years later I still remember the unexpected kind of grief of losing the taste for life's simple pleasures, like drinking a cup of tea first thing in the morning. Your description brought me right back to that strange, metallic world and also to the joy of when flavour slowly returned.
Hi Marie,
Yes, isn't this metallic taste awful? I'm so glad you got your taste back and survived. You use the word "grief," and I believe this is such a fitting word for the loss of such a key sense. It is an experience that can never be forgotten.
You make a good argument for taste. One of my every morning great moments is that first sip of hot, sweet, black tea. I would feel off-kilter is that experience weren't part of my day. And my husband and I sometimes make papaya coconut milk ice cream, a truly delightful taste experience. I can see why ice cream was a go-to for you during chemo.
When I saw the watercolors at the bottom of the page, a question(s) popped into my mind. What does the image of the sun-drenched patch of tall grass, soaking up the sun, taste like? And what does the water swirling around the rocks in the clear water taste like?
Of course, I wasn't looking for literal taste . . . I imagined that the sun-drenched patch of tall grass tasted like crispy oven fries with some chopped Rosemary sprinkled onto them. The kind when you've left them in the oven just the right amount of time so that they have a shell of a crunch layer on the outside. And I think that the blue watercolor, would taste like sliced cold cucumbers and cold tomato halves with a little Basil.
You're right, taste is nuanced, it's heightened by experience or the present company one's in; it is part sensual and part imagined. And let's not forget that we often use the phrase, "it left a bad taste in my mouth" in our culture. Or we say, "she has good taste."
Fun read, Beth. Now I'll be thinking about taste for the rest of the day. Thanks and big hugs, my friend.
Hi Stephanie,
Your comment was mouth-watering: that papaya coconut milk ice cream sounds to die for. And I loved how you creatively pictured my mini-landscapes as possibly being on a menu of delicious food.
Of course, all of our senses are so vital to us. I do think taste is often underrated and thrown to the side. But the joy of being able to taste our food gives us so much quality of life.
You are right: the taste-related expressions you referred to are in our common vernacular. As always, I appreciate your insights, Stephanie. Thank you, dear friend and fellow creative!
Another great blog! I love that I keep learning new things about you. Looks like the watercolor class has been fun.
Hi Pam,
Thank you for your comment! I really love the watercolor class, and now I get to paint in oils and in watercolors. Very cool.
I hope you are doing well. :)
I had never thought that losing one's sense of taste may be a side effect of chemotherapy. That would be difficult for me as well. As far as your watercolor paintings, you are making such great progress on it. I especially like the sunny one on the left. It's great that you are getting so much pleasure from it.
Hi Nancy,
Yes, for some reason, people discuss side effects like losing their hair, which is very traumatic. The information on how chemo can wreak havoc on the sense of taste is less discussed, but also traumatic.
Thank you for your compliment on my watercolor mini-landscapes. Yes, I am feeling such pleasure and calm from watercoloring.
I cannot imagine losing my sense of taste. I'm happy you came through the cancer, Beth. Sending love and peace. 🧡❤️
Thank you so much, Rea, for your kind words. I'm glad I survived thus far, too.
Sending hugs.