The last post commented on friendly comments you get after chemo. Here's one on the honest observations. The kind only a child could make. Or an oddball.
During chemo, exercise consisted in a short walk to the grocery store, after which I fell asleep on the sofa. On bad days, I walked the length of my room before thinking "time for a nap."
When chemo ended, my energy returned. After four months of relative sloth, I was back at the gym on the cross trainer.
"You've changed your hair!" said an old guy I hadn't seen since before chemo. His face, a mask of horror, made me smile; I'm tired of people saying, "Oh, a new haircut!" or "your hair looks so punk!"
As if my steel-wool locks could possibly be intentional.
The next time I went to the gym, I'd just done my ten minutes on the cross-trainer when the old dude turned up again, looking me up in down.
"You know, I have to tell you something!" he said. "You've gained some weight!"
I didn't mention the common misconception that breast cancer patients waste away. Our waistlines expand. Maybe it's the lack of activity and the comfort food. Maybe it's the estrogen blockers and the consequent slowed metabolism. Maybe anything. Most of us gain at least two kilos.
"I've been sick," I said. Why didn't I just ignore him? No idea. He startled me. I hate gaining weight. I'm female.
"Did you change your diet or something?" Continued look of horror. "You used to be so skinny!"
"Uh, no. I guess I did gain around four kilos. I've been sick."
"Oh, but you look good!" said he. With the same expression.
"I will," I said to myself, "after a few months of the gym and no more Prosecco with dinner."
"That guy's been watching you a long time!" said my oldest friend. And we laughed.
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