Seriously- my shoes weigh 27 pounds, I promise!

That is what I told my oncology nurse at my last appointment. See, I was on the scale- that heartless bitch wrapped in metal- and I was seeing numbers I had never seen before. The nurse laughed- real easy for her, she didn't pop the button on a pair of pants that week. She reminded me that breast cancer patients gain up to 15 pounds on average in chemo. Thanks again. I'm right on schedule to gain about 30.

I was never a super skinny chick. I used to have some rock hard muscles...Okay, that was when I was like 19, but can't we all live the dream? Since coming back to land (ie. McDonalds, constant snacks in the fridge, living with a boy) I have struggled with my weight in a way I never though I would. I never used to worry about it. My college roommates used to bitch that I could toss back a double cheeseburger (and about 15 kahlua and creams) and not bat an eye.

Alas, those days are gone. I was in pretty decent shape when I got married. Then of course, I let myself go :) Actually, I blame working at a car dealership with a bunch of smelly boys 12 hours a day. There was always bad food to order. I buy, you fly- and I flew baby!

Right around the time I first went to the doctor, I was getting a bit upset at myself for being the fattest I had ever been (don't worry, I have since shown myself that this is not the case). I proceeded to get my ass in gear and lost like 10 pounds. I was very pleased with myself. I was having healthy relationships with broccoli and asparagus. (before you make any comments about what those veggies do to your body, don't bother, my husband's made them already)

Then I found out I had cancer. Diet over. Stress eating? Check. Not enough energy to cook well? Check. Maria wants McNuggets? Check and check. I gained all the weight back. Then I harvested my eggs and became a human hen house. I thought the worst has passed. Oh, no, Karma Kitty says. I would like you to be bigger. On chemo, the only thing that seems to make my stomach feel okay is to fill it with things. It could also be the steroids or the fact my hormones are all sorts of fucked up. If I was blue I'd be like that chick on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Someone pop me, please.

I sort of wish I had been one of those people who actually LOST weight because they had cancer. I imagine myself in heroine chic, meth induced, nicole ritchie sunglasses with my bald head. Not so, I'm afraid. I have kissed my chin goodbye again.

While I greet this unfortunate set of circumstances with jokes and black humor, I have to admit, seriously for a second, that this is the worst thing to me about having cancer. At least right now. The hair- fuck it, it'll grow back. And yes, I will lose the weight- I hope. But I'll have to work at it. And dammit, I sort of believe I shouldn't have to work at it. Haven't I worked enough? Until then, I look at closet where none of my clothes fit- not even my fat jeans. I see my squishy profile in the mirror and it's a reminder f how shitty this is. I remember how hot I once was- not cuz I was skinny, but just because I was hot. I was a force to be reckoned with. I walked in a room and people noticed- although perhaps it was more for my loud mouth and fabulous stories. Now all I feel like people notice is the chubby chick who has cancer. No amount of Burberry hats will cover that up. I feel a bit like I've lost my mojo. Like it's somewhere in there, but my ass is so big you can't see it.

And at the risk of sounding bitchy- it's easy for everyone to say, "don't worry about it. You'll be fine. Just focus on getting well." yada yada. Easy for you to say. You don't have ten pairs of size 6 shorts taunting you as you're about to move to HOTlanta.

Wow. Shitty post, huh? Maybe Dairy Queen will make it better.