Thai Noodle Soup with Chicken

The machinery of cancer has started. Appointments, consultations, insurance calls, second opinions. I spent three hours on the phone with my insurance company on Monday, navigating a menu system designed by someone who has never been sick and never been scared and has certainly never had to explain to an automated voice that yes, I would like to speak to a human being, because I have cancer and I need to know if my mastectomy is covered and I cannot have this conversation with a robot.

I met my surgeon on Wednesday — Dr. Sarah Kendall at St. Luke's. She is small, direct, and radiates the kind of competence that makes you want to hand her your life and say "fix it." She explained the procedure: bilateral mastectomy, meaning both breasts, even though the cancer is only in the left. I chose both because I cannot live with the anxiety of waiting for the other one to betray me. If my body is going to try to kill me, I'd like to remove as many opportunities as possible.

Dr. Kendall drew diagrams. She explained timelines. She talked about reconstruction options — "not now, later, when you're ready, no rush." She was thorough and kind and she did not sugarcoat. The surgery is October 18. Three weeks from now. Three weeks to prepare for someone to cut open my chest and remove parts of me that I have had since I was twelve years old, parts that fed my children, parts that are mine. Were mine.

I told the clinic. Dr. Pham was steady — he said, "Take whatever time you need," and I said, "I'll need six weeks minimum," and he said, "Take more if you need it," and I almost broke down right there in his office but I didn't because I was at work and Dawson women do not cry at work. We cry in cars and on kitchen floors and in showers where no one can hear us. We do not cry at work.

Mason knows something is wrong. He's five, not stupid. He asked me why I'm on the phone so much. I said, "Mama has a doctor thing she needs to take care of." He said, "Are you sick?" I said, "A little bit, but the doctors are going to fix it." He said, "Like when you fix the sick dogs at work?" I said, "Exactly like that." He nodded, satisfied. I hope it's that simple. I pray it's that simple.

Lily is three and oblivious, which is a gift. She is concerned primarily with horses, goldfish crackers, and whether or not she can wear her rain boots to bed (she cannot, but she tries every night). Her world is small and safe and I would keep it that way forever if I could.

I made soup this week. A big pot of chicken noodle — homemade broth, carrots, celery, egg noodles, the whole thing simmered for two hours until the house smelled like being taken care of. I made it because I needed to feel my hands do something useful, something healing. Chicken soup doesn't cure cancer. I know that. But it cures the feeling of helplessness, at least for the two hours it takes to make it, and right now I will take any cure I can get.

The chicken noodle soup I made that week was my version of this — I needed something that simmered, something that required tending, something that made the house smell like safety while everything outside it felt like it was on fire. This Thai noodle soup has become my go-to when I need that same medicine: it’s deeply fragrant, it takes just enough time and attention to quiet the noise in your head, and the broth alone feels like it’s doing something good. You can make it on an ordinary Tuesday or on the worst week of your life — either way, it’ll hold you.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4–6

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs or breasts
8 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 can (13.5 oz) full-fat coconut milk
6 oz rice noodles (medium width)
1 tablespoon coconut oil or vegetable oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
2 stalks lemongrass, bruised and cut into 3-inch pieces
2 tablespoons fish sauce (or soy sauce for a milder flavor)
1 tablespoon red curry paste
1 tablespoon brown sugar or honey
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 1 large lime)
2 cups baby bok choy, roughly chopped, or fresh spinach
1 cup shredded carrots
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
3 green onions, thinly sliced
Lime wedges, sliced chili, and extra cilantro for serving

Instructions

Poach the chicken. Place chicken in a medium saucepan, cover with cold water, and bring to a gentle boil. Reduce heat and simmer 15–18 minutes, until cooked through. Remove chicken, let rest 5 minutes, then shred with two forks. Reserve or discard poaching liquid.
Build the base. In a large Dutch oven or soup pot, heat oil over medium heat. Add garlic, ginger, and lemongrass and cook, stirring frequently, for 2 minutes until fragrant. Add the red curry paste and stir to coat, cooking another 1 minute.
Add the broth and coconut milk. Pour in chicken broth and coconut milk. Stir in fish sauce and brown sugar. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat. Add the bruised lemongrass pieces and let the broth simmer uncovered for 10 minutes to develop flavor. Remove and discard the lemongrass.
Cook the noodles. Add rice noodles directly to the simmering broth and cook according to package directions, usually 4–6 minutes, until just tender. Do not overcook — they will continue to soften in the hot broth.
Add vegetables and chicken. Stir in the shredded carrots and bok choy and cook 2 minutes until just wilted. Add the shredded chicken and stir to combine. Taste and adjust seasoning — add more fish sauce for saltiness, lime juice for brightness, or a pinch more curry paste for heat.
Finish and serve. Remove from heat and stir in lime juice, cilantro, and green onions. Ladle into bowls and serve immediately with lime wedges, sliced fresh chili, and extra cilantro on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Thai Noodle Soup with Chicken — The Soup That Held Me Together