Weighty Issues

Now that I have confessed my personal failures in a public place, it is probably time for me to get back to stuff like, you know, cancer. I mentioned in my previous post that I spent a fair amount of time with Dr. T and his PA, Pamela, over the past year, as part of the application process for PA school. I also spent a fair amount of time seeing them as a patient. (Yes, it was/is a bit awkward at times.)

I had been seeing Dr. T to get steroid injections to decrease the thickness of my abdominal scar. The injections worked well, and my scar has flattened significantly. Unfortunately, the injections also caused the skin around the scars to become white ( = hypopigmentation in medical speak). As much as I would like to have white skin in Donald Trump's America, alas, I am not white. LOL. It was actually fairly alarming for a while, but it is getting better now that I am no longer getting the injections. So, every 4-6 weeks on average, I drive 60 miles to see Dr. T, he tells me the scar is getting better, then says to come back in another 4-6 weeks. It's sort of a waste of time, and gas, but I'll admit that I'm sort of dreading the day when he says, 'I don't need to see you anymore. Have a nice life!' After sharing such an intense experience with him with my reconstructive surgery, then tagging along with him and Pamela through many clinical hours and through many surgeries over the summer, it's hard to imagine the day when he won't be part of my life. I wonder if doctors feel the same way about their patients. Will he miss seeing me?

At my last appointment, about a month ago, he and I and Pamela spent most of the time talking about my upcoming interview. Eventually he remarked that my scar was looking better, and so was my skin. Then he asked me, seemingly out of the blue, 'Have you been swimming?' I was sort of like, 'Huh? No.' I don't swim. WTF? Only later did I realize that the reason he thinks I swim is because when I was recovering from surgery, I kept asking him when I could get into the water. Since I didn't want to admit that I really just wanted to sit in the hot tub, I told him I wanted to swim. I mean, same difference, right? And now he thinks I swim - HAHAHA!!

He wrinkled his mouth into a disapproving knot, then remarked, 'You've lost a lot of weight.' Then he went on to say that I've always been on the lean side, but I can see your obliques. He then proceeded to lecture me about how I need to take care of myself, as he has in the past. This always makes me a little uneasy. It's true, I've lost weight - about 10 pounds since the beginning of my cancer ordeal. But it's not like I'm underweight or anything. I had 10 pounds to spare, LOL. In fact, I'm pretty sure I weigh more than Pamela, and I probably weigh about the same as Dr. T! And it's not like I'm purposely starving myself. Between work and shuttling kids around, I work crazy hard, and I grab snacks when I can, but I don't eat lunch on most days. Add into this insane levels of stress, and you have the recipe for losing weight and keeping it off. I guess?

The thing is, I enjoy being thin. What is not to enjoy about it? Ha. For most of my adult life, I hovered about five pounds above what I would consider my ideal weight. I used to joke that the only way I could get to my ideal weight was to not drink alcohol, and that wasn't worth it to me. Now, inexplicably, I'm a few pounds below that 'ideal' weight - and with literally no effort on my part. I mean, I've always tried to eat well and be active, but it's not like I diet or do any type of organized exercise routine. I heard so many stories of women gaining a lot of weight on tamoxifen, and I was honestly a little worried about what a 15-20 pound weight gain would be like for me. So to me, the fact that I've lost weight just seems like crazy good luck!

I try to honor my promise to Dr. T that I'll 'take care of myself' but if I must be completely honest, gaining weight is not at the top of my priority list, or even on my list at all. I mean, hello, the weight is going to come back and then some, at some point, right? It seems vain to revel in being thin, but at the same time, have I not been through enough in the past couple of years? Can I not just sit back and enjoy the fact that for whatever reason, cancer made me thinner? If I could not have cancer and not have hot flashes and cramps and constant bruising from the baby aspirins I have to take so that tamoxifen won't give me a blood clot, I'd trade the ten pounds in a heartbeat. But that's not possible, so I think it's fair for me to try to soak up the tiny ray of light granted to me by this small and temporary consolation prize.