Or in this case fatter. I've gained about 13 pounds since my diagnosis which doesn't sound too bad until you consider that it's 10 percent of my total body weight. My doctors say that it's common during chemotherapy to gain weight. You eat differently. You're not as active. The steroid increases both your appetite and fluid retention. They also say that you need a lot of calories for your healthy cells to recover each week. So I'm told to eat guilt free for now. No dieting. I had to go buy some fat pants to have something to wear to work. I haven't had a chance to get new pocketed bras, so I have that really attractive back fat thing going on. The eyebrows that survived the adriamycin are now thinning on the taxol. I've got about 6 eyelashes total which makes it really hard to give Midori butterfly kisses.
In other news, I had round nine of chemo today which is part of the reason I can't seem to sleep now. The nurses had trouble getting the needle in my port today. I guess the port is on the small side and lower than usual so they tend to have some issues with it. It's basically in my breast tissue on my right/only breast, so breasts being wobbly, the port moves a bit. You have to be willing to man handle it a little in order to hold it still and find your way to the center of it. Some weeks it's a breeze, but don't count on it. Eight needle sticks, three nurses, (including the nurse of last resort from a distant floor), a bunch of bloody gauze, and a bra with a golf ball size blood stain later, they had it in. Being a staunch anti-needle, anti-site-of-blood person, it was less than a good time. They apologized probably a dozen times to which I said it was really okay a dozen times. I did learn a good laundry tip. Hydrogen peroxide takes blood right out of clothing. It's really true.
I go around with a brave face, but I'm always about two clicks away from bursting into tears, the exception being when I'm already crying. I'm pleased I've managed to avoid crying when Midori is around. It's funny how I put on this front for work/church/family/friends, and then I come on here and broadcast my feelings to the whole world, including work/church/family/friends/complete strangers. Still the next time you see me and say, "so how are you doing?" I will tell you that I'm good. In the same breath I will ask how you're doing. If you don't take the opportunity to talk about yourself, if you probe for a more detailed report about my life, I will tell you that this course of chemo is a walk in the park compared to the last one. That's usually enough to turn the conversation elsewhere.
I truly appreciate people's concern and especially their prayers. It's not that I want to withdraw and shut people out. It's just that if I open that door a crack, if I tell you it's a struggle, I will likely burst into tears, and that's generally not appropriate for a family get together/worship service/wedding/work elevator. (I've seen what happens to people's careers when the openly demonstrate their personal struggles.) So I have to take into account people's comfort, what's socially acceptable, what's going to protect my future and my family, and somehow balance that against a simultaneous need for company and solitude in my valley and my desire to be an authentic person. It's exhausting. So I medicate with ice cream.
