For various personal and health reasons I have lost over 20 pounds, weighing in now at about 128 lb. After my recurrence eight years ago I gained considerable weight from the steroids pumped into me just before chemo and I were introduced. And overeating caused by stress and anxiety did not help the situation. Nor did chemically induced menopause. Nor the daily pill (with nasty side-effects) to prevent a recurrence.
My understanding is that weight gain is common among breast cancer patients who endure chemotherapy and hormonal therapy. Like a mom kangaroo with a roo in her pocket, my tummy waxed flabby. So large, in fact, that the fat cells inside could have been used for a TRAM flap to form a new left breast. But now I don’t have enough tissue for a breast reconstruction of any kind.
When others lose weight I overhear comments like, “Wow, you look great! How did you do it?” The person to whom the compliment is made answers that she went on a special diet or practiced portion control or exercised more. Those who react to the weight loss, while interested in the responses, probably won’t take up the advice. They just enjoy throwing out compliments as a friendly nod to our culture.
And then there are those with a breast cancer history.
After I lost my twenty-odd pounds, the first person to notice asked, “Jan, have you lost weight?” When I answered in the affirmative she followed up with the inevitable big-C remark, “Are you all right?”
When I complained to my oldest son that I couldn’t get away from my cancer, he said, “Mom, you have always been thin, so people now think you are too thin. They suspect you might be wasting away from a cancer recurrence or not eating enough protein. It’s nothing more than that.” But I have my doubts.
The first two people to ask if everything was all right actually had lost their husbands to cancer. I couldn’t get too upset over their concern for my health because their own personal experiences dictated this rote reaction. But more recently, because I have lost a further five pounds, some well-meaning friends are telling me I look downright unhealthy.
Anorexia is not a problem. If I had that disorder I would always view myself as too fat, even if I weighed under 100 pounds. I don’t fit that profile. My psyche tells me I’m at an ideal weight for my height and bone structure. Those skirts and pants that fit me well 20 years ago welcomed me as I took them off their dusty hangers in the closet to wear for the day. What a celebration when clothes and female engage in a classic stylish embrace! And my left arm swollen from lymphedema for so many years looks better than ever. Sometimes I don’t even wear my daily compression sleeve (but don’t tell my therapist–either one).
My theory is that many are not at ease about my new image because 60% of the American population is overweight. Anyone of normal weight is considered suspect. I’m sure I would look perfectly normal for my age to the natives of France and Germany. But I don’t want to move so far to fit in.
If only people didn’t know about my cancer history. They would think my weight loss was something to emulate. They would ask me my secret. What advice from what women’s magazine did I follow? What was my new exercise routine? Was my produce organic? Did I shun breads other than whole grain?
The truth of the matter is that I simply eat less. I have always been good about regular exercise, but my bingeing on candy never got under control. Until now. Until I decided I wanted to live longer. Until I decided that my swollen arm deserved better. Until I decided I cared about my appearance.
It’s as elementary as that. Now if the public would just get the memo.
Have you undergone intentional weight loss as a person with cancer? What observations were made about your new appearance?
For various personal and health reasons I have lost over 20 pounds, weighing in now at about 128 lb. After my recurrence eight years ago I gained considerable weight from the steroids pumped into me just before chemo and I were introduced. And overeating caused by stress and anxiety did not help the situation. Nor did chemically induced menopause. Nor the daily pill (with nasty side-effects) to prevent a recurrence.
My understanding is that weight gain is common among breast cancer patients who endure chemotherapy and hormonal therapy. Like a mom kangaroo with a roo in her pocket, my tummy waxed flabby. So large, in fact, that the fat cells inside could have been used for a TRAM flap to form a new left breast. But now I don’t have enough tissue for a breast reconstruction of any kind.
When others lose weight I overhear comments like, “Wow, you look great! How did you do it?” The person to whom the compliment is made answers that she went on a special diet or practiced portion control or exercised more. Those who react to the weight loss, while interested in the responses, probably won’t take up the advice. They just enjoy throwing out compliments as a friendly nod to our culture.
And then there are those with a breast cancer history.
After I lost my twenty-odd pounds, the first person to notice asked, “Jan, have you lost weight?” When I answered in the affirmative she followed up with the inevitable big-C remark, “Are you all right?”
When I complained to my oldest son that I couldn’t get away from my cancer, he said, “Mom, you have always been thin, so people now think you are too thin. They suspect you might be wasting away from a cancer recurrence or not eating enough protein. It’s nothing more than that.” But I have my doubts.
The first two people to ask if everything was all right actually had lost their husbands to cancer. I couldn’t get too upset over their concern for my health because their own personal experiences dictated this rote reaction. But more recently, because I have lost a further five pounds, some well-meaning friends are telling me I look downright unhealthy.
Anorexia is not a problem. If I had that disorder I would always view myself as too fat, even if I weighed under 100 pounds. I don’t fit that profile. My psyche tells me I’m at an ideal weight for my height and bone structure. Those skirts and pants that fit me well 20 years ago welcomed me as I took them off their dusty hangers in the closet to wear for the day. What a celebration when clothes and female engage in a classic stylish embrace! And my left arm swollen from lymphedema for so many years looks better than ever. Sometimes I don’t even wear my daily compression sleeve (but don’t tell my therapist–either one).
My theory is that many are not at ease about my new image because 60% of the American population is overweight. Anyone of normal weight is considered suspect. I’m sure I would look perfectly normal for my age to the natives of France and Germany. But I don’t want to move so far to fit in.
If only people didn’t know about my cancer history. They would think my weight loss was something to emulate. They would ask me my secret. What advice from what women’s magazine did I follow? What was my new exercise routine? Was my produce organic? Did I shun breads other than whole grain?
The truth of the matter is that I simply eat less. I have always been good about regular exercise, but my bingeing on candy never got under control. Until now. Until I decided I wanted to live longer. Until I decided that my swollen arm deserved better. Until I decided I cared about my appearance.
It’s as elementary as that. Now if the public would just get the memo.
Have you undergone intentional weight loss as a person with cancer? What observations were made about your new appearance?