As some readers know, in August I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had surgery in September, and my outlook is good—right now I am undergoing radiation treatment, but I will not need to have chemotherapy.

But for all of August and most of September, I was not what you would call “a good eater.” Not surprisingly, I was very nervous during that time, and it affected my appetite. All I wanted was bland food—plain chicken, plain fish, poached eggs on toast. Even the thought of anything spicy made me a little queasy.

The end of August, when I had an MRI, was my nadir. While the test is not painful, for someone like me, who is claustrophobic, it is a misery. For an hour or so after the test, I felt dizzy and disoriented, and I was shaken for the rest of the day. It just so happened that around the time of my MRI, I was reading Man & Time by J. B. Priestly, which is, as the title suggests, a book about the human concept of time. The night after my MRI, I read the section about precognition and dreams, and when I went to bed, I wondered what in the world I would dream about. Cancer? Death? Loved ones who have passed?

No, instead I dreamt I was making chili for my friends. Nice spicy chili in a rich tomato sauce. When I woke up, I felt refreshed and hopeful. It seemed that my unconscious was telling me something, that soon I’d be back to spicy eating, that maybe, even, I’d be all right. Right then and there I decided that after my surgery I would invite some of my friends over in the fall for a chili party. It would be a dream come true, so to speak.

Last Saturday was the day of the chili party, and what a day it was! My husband, Clif, and I each made a batch of chili. He likes it hot, and he made his using four Jalapeño peppers from Farmer Kev’s garden. I like mine not so hot and used hot pepper flakes instead. Both batches had sausage and ground beef as well as lots of black beans and kidney beans. In addition to cooking we cleaned, we moved furniture, and we brought out spare chairs.

Over twenty people came to the chili party in our little house in the big woods. And of course everyone brought something—more chili, salads, wine, desserts, corn bread, garlic bread, apples, pies, and cider. A real feast and a real celebration for me. I even made a little speech, recounting my dream and thanking everyone for coming to share this special day with me. And readers, I ate chili. My friend Kate Johnson’s chili—smooth, smoky, and full of white beans.

But one of the best parts of the day was the surprise concocted by my daughters Dee and Shannon. Dee lives in New York, and together the sisters conspired for Dee to come home, unbeknownst to me, for the chili party.

On the day of the party, Shannon called around noon and said, “We’re in Winthrop, just up the road from the house. You and Dad go into the kitchen. I have a surprise for you.”

“How mysterious!” I said, but naturally we did as she asked.

As Clif and I waited in the kitchen, Shannon and Mike came into the dining room followed by—ta da!—Dee.

“Wow!” I exclaimed, and Shannon later recounted how gratifying my reaction was.

It truly was a surprise and a wonderful day. Chili with family and friends. A return to spicy eating. And a feeling of hope as I go forward with my treatment.