Instant Pot Wild Rice Soup

The surgery was Tuesday, October 18. I checked into St. Luke's at 5:30 AM. The sky was still dark. Mom stayed home with the kids. Scott drove me. He carried my bag and held my hand in the elevator and didn't let go until the nurse said he had to. His hand was shaking. Mine was steady, which surprised me, because I was terrified, but terror and steadiness are not opposites. They can live in the same body at the same time. I know this because I was both.

Dr. Kendall came in before the surgery. She was calm and precise and she touched my arm and said, "We're going to take care of you." I nodded. The anesthesiologist explained what would happen. I nodded. Someone put an IV in my arm. I nodded. They wheeled me into the operating room and it was cold and bright and the ceiling was made of panels that I counted — sixteen — before the anesthesia pulled me under like a wave, and the last thing I thought was: I want to see my children again. Please let me see my children again.

I woke up and it was over. The surgery took four hours. Dr. Kendall said it went well — clean margins, no complications. I was in the hospital for three nights. The pain was significant — deep, aching, a hollowed-out feeling in my chest that medication dulled but didn't erase. I had drains, tubes, bandages, machines beeping. I looked down at my chest on the second day and saw flatness where there had been shape, and I cried. Not because I'm vain — I am not, and vanity is a luxury I cannot afford — but because my body had been altered without my consent. The cancer chose this. I didn't.

Scott came every day. He sat in the chair next to my bed and held my hand and didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, and for once his silence was the right response. Mom brought the kids on Wednesday. Mason brought me a drawing — "Mama in the hospital with the doctors fixing her" — stick figures in a building, crayon-bright, hopeful in the way only children's art can be. Lily brought me Hank's favorite toy, a squeaky bone, because she thought it would make me feel better. It did. It does.

I came home on Friday. Walking slowly, hunched, drains pinned to the inside of my shirt. Mom had the house clean and dinner ready — chicken soup, gentle food, the kind of food you make for someone who is healing. I sat on the couch and Lily climbed into my lap before anyone could stop her, and I winced and held her anyway because there are pains you endure and pains you accept, and the weight of your three-year-old on your broken chest is the second kind.

Brett called every day. Kyle called from Germany — he doesn't know yet, Mom and I agreed not to tell him until after the surgery because Kyle would have tried to fly home and there was nothing he could do. We'll tell him next week. Dad knows — Mom told him — and Dad's response was apparently to go quiet for a long time and then say, "She's a Dawson. She'll be fine." This is Gary's way of being terrified. I recognize it because it's my way too.

I didn't cook this week. Mom cooked. The freezer meals I made before surgery are starting to be deployed — beef stew on Wednesday, enchiladas on Thursday. My hands made that food two weeks ago, before surgery, before everything changed, and eating it now feels like receiving a gift from my past self, from the woman who stood in the kitchen and prepared because preparing was the only thing she could control.

The soup I’m sharing this week wasn’t made by me — it was made by the woman I was two weeks ago, the one who stood at the stove and cooked against her fear. Wild rice soup was one of those freezer meals, and it’s the one I keep thinking about: warm and filling and quietly sustaining, the kind of food that just takes care of you without asking anything in return. It felt right for a week when being taken care of was the only thing on the agenda. Here’s how past-me made it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs
1 cup uncooked wild rice blend, rinsed
3 medium carrots, peeled and diced
3 stalks celery, diced
1 medium yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
6 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 cup water
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp dried rosemary
1/2 tsp dried sage
1/2 tsp black pepper
1 tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
3 tbsp unsalted butter
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups whole milk or half-and-half
Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving

Instructions

Load the pot. Add the chicken, rinsed wild rice, carrots, celery, onion, garlic, chicken broth, water, thyme, rosemary, sage, salt, and pepper to the Instant Pot. Stir briefly to combine.
Pressure cook. Secure the lid and set the valve to sealing. Cook on HIGH pressure for 35 minutes. When the cycle finishes, allow a natural pressure release for 10 minutes, then carefully quick-release any remaining pressure.
Shred the chicken. Remove the chicken to a cutting board and shred it with two forks into bite-sized pieces. Set aside. The rice should be tender and the broth fragrant.
Make the cream base. Set the Instant Pot to SAUTE mode. In a small saucepan on the stove, melt the butter over medium heat. Whisk in the flour and cook for 1 minute until the mixture smells slightly nutty. Gradually whisk in the milk or half-and-half until smooth and thickened, about 3–4 minutes.
Combine and finish. Pour the cream mixture into the Instant Pot and stir well. Return the shredded chicken to the pot. Simmer on SAUTE for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the soup is creamy and fully combined. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
Serve or freeze. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh parsley. To freeze, cool completely and store in airtight containers or zip-top freezer bags for up to 3 months. Reheat gently on the stovetop over low heat, adding a splash of broth if needed to loosen.

Nutrition (per serving)

Instant Pot Wild Rice Soup — The Soup That Was Already Waiting When I Got Home