I'm HOME!!!!

By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area

Happily back in my own kitchen on September 17th,, noshing on rugelach

Ricky Ricardo from “I Love Lucy” said this best back in the ’50s. There was never a truer statement coming out of my mouth. I have just completed a 15-month journey that I hope you won’t have to experience.

My story is about pain, fear, anxiety, grief, and gratitude. My experience began in June 2024. I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lymphoma, occupying a lymph gland between my esophagus (where your food travels down to your stomach) and my trachea (windpipe). I was admitted to Stanford Hospital for chemotherapy.  The good news is that the chemo worked immediately and so well that the tumor shrunk. The bad news was that it created a fistula (hole) between my two pipes. In lay terms, if it wasn’t repaired, everything that I ate or drank would go into my lungs and I would surely die.

This situation is often not survivable but thank goodness for the great medics at Stanford. They saved my life by inserting stents (tubular supports) in both my esophagus and trachea. This was basically like a finger in a dam. I was whisked away to the ICU where I was intubated, a tube down my throat to keep me breathing. I wasn’t able to swallow food or drink for 5 weeks. I had a suction in my mouth most of the time. I felt like I was going to drown.

The drowning aspect caused me great anxiety. I grew more anxious by the day. I was so bad off that my husband slept in my hospital room for moral support every night, with occasional relief from my son or my sister. I was also fearful being hooked up so many tubes and needles. Being on so many medications made every day and everything one big blur. I even had hallucinations at one point. I couldn’t separate what was a dream and what was real. A nightmare! To make matters worse, I lost the ability to speak. Nothing came out. My vocal cords were damaged during the ordeal. My kids were worried that they would never hear my voice again. When I was discharged, I had a long road ahead. I could barely utter sounds and I was too weak to sit up.

My devoted husband, Bob, sleeping in my hospital room

In September, I began a never-ending cycle of going to Stanford every month to have a bronchoscopy (a scope down the trachea to see what was happening). The procedure was done in a surgical suite and I was under sedation. This scenario went on twelve times through the upcoming months. I had a frequent flyer card! Sprinkled in were several endoscopies (scoping the esophagus). When the nurses start to recognize you, it’s not good. “You’re back again?” Now for the real kicker: for the next several months, I coughed incessantly. A violent cough, so much so that I fractured seven ribs.  Talk about pain, whoa!  Eating and drinking became problematic to say the least.  It triggered the cough to the next level. I lost over 30 pounds. It’s a tough way of dieting!

For most of those months, I basically just existed, not really living. I coughed, struggled to eat, didn’t go out or have visitors. I didn’t feel well and I was depressed about what was happening to me. I sat with my grief.

If things weren’t bad enough, in late December I literally almost drowned on dry land. I sprung a leak between the two pipes and the water I drank went into my lungs. My oxygen level was 65%,–it should be 100%. An ambulance took me to the ER. I spent another 10 days in the hospital, where they took out stents and put them back in, trying to see what would work. I also had pneumonia, which was a common ailment for me.

During the first few months of 2025, I went to physical therapy, watched a lot of TV, and basically vegetated. I felt like I lost a whole year of my golden years, time that we don’t get back. I sat with my loss and grief.

I managed to rally in April, May, and June 2025. I began to feel stronger and was able to go out. I started to cook again, even hosting overnight guests. The highlight of this time period was a European cruise as described in The Insider, August 1 issue. I actually felt pretty good, except the eating/drinking still triggered coughing.

Upon my return, I became very sick which began the domino effect of medical events. I had my final bronchoscopy where the surgeon informed me that he was going to insert a feeding tube in my stomach and I wouldn’t be able to eat or drink for 2 1/2 months. Let that sink in. He also informed me that I was going to have to have major surgery to fix the holes permanently.

On August 12, I had reconstructive surgery at Stanford. The surgeon warned me it was a rough recovery. She wasn’t wrong. I was an in-patient for two weeks, most of them filled with pain, anxiety, and fear. Was this going to really work? Was I going to be “normal” again?

Fast forward to today, September 16, when my surgeon told me the surgery was a success and I could start living again. And I’m cancer-free! I actually drank and didn’t cough. My first meal was a nod to my childhood, a comforting bowl of buttered noodles.

The real heroes of my story were the doctors and nurses at Stanford. They kept me alive and as comfortable as possible. Also, my husband, Bob, has been my saint. He drove me to all my appointments (an hour to an hour-and-a-half drive), he doled out my medications and fed me through my gastric feeding tube. He never complained or whined. My sisters were my supporting cast. And lastly, my devoted children, who drive five hours up from Los Angeles frequently and called me every day.

For this, I am grateful.

My first drink of water after 2 1/2 months

My first meal, a comforting childhood favorite, buttered noodles

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Bonnie Fishman attended the Cordon Bleu Cookery School in London. Later, she owned and operated Bonnie’s Patisserie in Southfield, Mich. and Bonnie’s Kitchen and Catering in Bloomfield Hills, Mich. She has taught cooking for over 35 years and created hundreds of recipes. She is now living in Northern California.