A Quick Two Years

It’s been two years since my cancer was excised from my right boob.  Excised.  I really like that word…sort of brings Linda Blair and her spinning head with green vomit scene to memory.  And THAT my friends is what going through breast cancer treatment is like.  An exorcism.

Two years later, and I am in full on menopause.  I've been tested and it is scientific fact that I’m all dried up.  I think that is exactly what the lab results had printed out.  Hormonal diagnosis:  all dried up. 

My hair is thinning to the point of needing a comb over.  You know how the smart balding men just shave their heads to hide/own the fact that there is an issue?  Brilliant in my opinion and so I've joined the company of Dr. Phil, Gandhi, Telly Savales and Elmer Fudd.  Oh, and let’s not forget Brittney Spears during her freak out moment. 

Memory issues, also known as “Chemo Brain”, are my main concern.  At least it is when I remember that it’s a problem.  There are times when I can’t comprehend a Dr. Seuss book, let alone my boss’s direction.  “Tell me again” is a phrase that I use often, which is sometimes followed by, “again…say it again”.  My least favorite part is when I get the eye roll in response.  I know it’s frustrating to talk to a floating balloon, but sometimes that is what my head is.  Sadly, I have to say, “get used to it” because according to my doctor, it’s a slow process to recover from.  I've got another year of this brain fog.  The chemo kills off the cancer cells, but it also kills off the healthy cells.  Healthy cells that used to make sense of the words Green Eggs and Ham, now just scramble up and leave me thinking, “I should buy eggs.”

I'm also very fat.  I am putting some of this on the chemo brain, because I honestly think that I forget that I need to diet.  I'll be 100% focused and then *poof* a piece of chocolate is in my mouth.  Shit...I'm on a diet...shit...where did these cookies come from?  Oh, who wants birthday cake?  Me!  Shit, no...I don't.  Why don't I?  Sure, cut me a slice.  It's a battle that I have to conquer.  My mother tells me that I'm fat.  I see it in the mirror.  My primary care doctor tells me that my GERD will go away if I lose 20 pounds and the workplace biometric screener lady told me, just yesterday, that I need to lose 4 inches off of my waist.  Okay, okay, okay...I get it.  I'll focus!

Do I smell bacon?

Surely, I’m thankful to just be here free and clear of the BigC and I know that had it been 75 years ago, my sisters in this fight would be thrilled to have a dried up uterus, chrome dome and vague memories of what just happened 10 minutes ago.  

See you back here soon if I can remember my log in information.

Fat and the Big C

I checked in for my appointment this morning and the receptionist at Club Cancer says, “I really like your hair!”
  
Thoughts that run through my head:

• You really like that I have hair?  
• You really like the style of my hair?
• Is she implying that the dye job that I did all by myself isn't as bad as she’d have expected from a recovering cancer patient?
• Does she say this to every woman that walks into the Club that has hair?  If so, how would she tell the difference between those with wigs and those that are natural?  

I decided that I was over thinking the comment and forced out a simple, “thank you”.  I was going to toss in that I also had a nicely shaped head, but figured that there was no reason to rehash the past.

My appointment today was just the regular 3 month check-in.  Weight, blood pressure, blood work and then coffee talk with the Oncologist.  I mentioned that I'm still having the hot flashes and he gave me that sympathetic look that he's so good at.  Basically, this is just something that I have to live with while I'm on the medication.  If I want the best odds of keeping the cancer at bay, then I need to live with the hot flashes.  

Bite the bullet and sweat it out Sister.

Speaking of keeping the big C away, I read about a study this past week that was done on 7,000 breast cancer patients.  Get this...carrying extra fat increases your risk of getting the blasted disease back.  You get it cut out of you, you take the chemo treatment, you get fat from the chemo treatment, you fry your boob, you gain more weight from the awfulness of it all...and then this horrid fat turns around and stings you where it hurts most.  

From the study:
This study found that despite optimal treatment, including chemotherapy and hormonal therapy, the increased body mass index -- which usually corresponds to the body's fat content -- significantly increased women's risk of cancer recurrence and death. Additionally, the more obese the patient is, the more likely they are to have breast recurrence and death from this cancer.

Whoa Nelly.

After reading the full article, I am highly motivated to drop the fat.  I can't get this disease back.  My mother would kill me.

To all the members of Club Chemo!  If you have extra pounds, please join me in this effort to lose the fat and increase your life span.  

xoxo