The other day I was stopped in the street by a woman I’d never really met before. I was walking back from school with the boys and they had gone on ahead – as boys do – leaving me trailing in their wake. This woman was doing some gardening at the front of her house, which is not more than three minutes from my house. I’ve noticed her occasionally over the eleven years I’ve lived here, and nodded a greeting, but she’s never been on my social register. She actually put her hand out to stop me as I went past and said quite clearly ‘You’ve got breast cancer.’
After a moment of whoa – did she just say that? I said that yes I did and before I knew it she was telling me her own breast cancer story. While she told me, it came back to me (in my chemo fog brain) that I had seen her with a scarf on her head a while ago. Of course wearing a scarf on your head isn’t a definite sign of cancer but you know what I mean.
She told me all about her situation, then I told her about mine. We talked about reconstruction, types of tumours, how hideous chemo is and how the only way to manage it is to get your head down and get on with it. Then I realised the boys would have been so far ahead they might well be waiting outside our front door (most likely fighting because there would be nothing better for them to do) so we swapped names, shook hands and I took my leave.
I guessed that she’d been told about my cancer by someone in our little shop – anyone who lives round here knows if you want some news to get out you tell the ladies in there – and I had a feeling that she’d been looking out for me. I may have this totally wrong, of course, but it felt like she was reaching out so that she could tell me that everything would be ok. Not least because she had a full head of lovely hair – and it wasn’t grey.
The hubby asked me the other day if I’ve noticed people around and about wearing the signature headscarf, but I haven’t. I kind of thought I would, you know, with this cancer thing being so common, but I’ve been very much singular in my scarf wearing presence so far. So it was nice when this lady went out of her way to talk to me, it was a bit like we were both members of a club neither of us actually wanted to be members of.
Talking of being in clubs, it’s been impossible not to notice my rapidly increasing girth. From some angles (well, all) I look as if I am about six months pregnant. This has not particularly cheered me. Before the chemo started I was told that I’d lose at least a stone and my periods would stop – there’s an up side to everything I thought. Now let me tell you quite clearly that this has NOT happened. I have put on AT LEAST a stone (definitely more but writing it down makes it seem all too real) and my current period is now on it’s 16th day. Brilliant.
I am mostly blaming the anti nausea drugs (steroids which not only make me puffy and retain water but STARVING too) for the weight gain, and the chemo for the hormonal nightmare that is my menstruation. As you can imagine these things haven’t put me in the best of moods, indeed, for much of the last two weeks I’ve been in a very bad temper indeed. I was going to blog about my bad mood but then I went for some reflexology for the first time on Tuesday and it cheered me up no end, which is why this blog is a bit jumpy – I’m saving the bad mood one for another time.
Because of the weight gain I have had to think quite carefully about clothing – suddenly most of my wardrobe doesn’t fit. It was a sad morning when I couldn’t get my most favourite jeans over my bottom (youngest son found this hilarious) and had to resort to leggings (stretched indecently too far) and a long (previously baggy, now all too figure hugging) top to hide my shame. This depressed me.
I don’t mind the size so much, it’s more the fact that I like my clothes; I don’t particularly want to buy a load of new ones and what happens if I keep putting on weight anyway? I’ve got three more lots of chemo to go, imagine how huge my arse will be by the end of June?! I shudder at the thought. With this in mind, the baggy, patterned trouser is going to be my best friend this summer. Those, and Demis Roussos style kaftans.
There was an interesting article (link below) about how sales of sportswear for women are rapidly increasing – that women want to look as good for the boardroom as they do in the gym or while they’re running. I scoffed at the pictures of beautiful ladies looking svelte in their designer Lycra and thought about it quite carefully as I donned my own too-tight-for-my-liking running gear this morning. I looked lumpy, very lumpy, and I knew I would puff and pant and go red like a berry on my way around my usual 4.5K, which has become such a slog in the last couple of months.
I’ve never done running for weight loss, I’ve been lucky in that I’ve never really had to think about it before, and I’m certainly not running for weight loss now, but I have felt pretty self conscious about how I look when I’m plodding along. The worst thing is when a proper runner goes past me.
Until we had this warmer weather I ran with a wooly hat on. I would joke that it was so as not to scare people, but really it was because I didn’t want people to see my baldy head. Then on one particularly tough run I noticed a group of three quite obviously proper, fast, competitive women coming up behind me at a point where I was walking because my legs just wouldn’t go any quicker. They waved their casual hellos as they overtook me, their feet as light as deer. I didn’t think for a minute they were sneering at me but I still felt slow, chunky, crap and hot. So I took my hat off and cooled down.
The next time they went past me they didn’t behave any differently but I knew that they could see a physical reason for my turtle like pace and it made me feel a bit better. With the advent of the warmer weather I always run (plod) without my hat, it helps my self-esteem when elderly women walking their dogs lap me. God knows what I’ll use as an excuse for my slowness when I’m better.
Now, where are those chocolate nests I bought for the boys..?
https://www.justgiving.com/baldys-buddies/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-32301156
After a moment of whoa – did she just say that? I said that yes I did and before I knew it she was telling me her own breast cancer story. While she told me, it came back to me (in my chemo fog brain) that I had seen her with a scarf on her head a while ago. Of course wearing a scarf on your head isn’t a definite sign of cancer but you know what I mean.
She told me all about her situation, then I told her about mine. We talked about reconstruction, types of tumours, how hideous chemo is and how the only way to manage it is to get your head down and get on with it. Then I realised the boys would have been so far ahead they might well be waiting outside our front door (most likely fighting because there would be nothing better for them to do) so we swapped names, shook hands and I took my leave.
I guessed that she’d been told about my cancer by someone in our little shop – anyone who lives round here knows if you want some news to get out you tell the ladies in there – and I had a feeling that she’d been looking out for me. I may have this totally wrong, of course, but it felt like she was reaching out so that she could tell me that everything would be ok. Not least because she had a full head of lovely hair – and it wasn’t grey.
The hubby asked me the other day if I’ve noticed people around and about wearing the signature headscarf, but I haven’t. I kind of thought I would, you know, with this cancer thing being so common, but I’ve been very much singular in my scarf wearing presence so far. So it was nice when this lady went out of her way to talk to me, it was a bit like we were both members of a club neither of us actually wanted to be members of.
Talking of being in clubs, it’s been impossible not to notice my rapidly increasing girth. From some angles (well, all) I look as if I am about six months pregnant. This has not particularly cheered me. Before the chemo started I was told that I’d lose at least a stone and my periods would stop – there’s an up side to everything I thought. Now let me tell you quite clearly that this has NOT happened. I have put on AT LEAST a stone (definitely more but writing it down makes it seem all too real) and my current period is now on it’s 16th day. Brilliant.
I am mostly blaming the anti nausea drugs (steroids which not only make me puffy and retain water but STARVING too) for the weight gain, and the chemo for the hormonal nightmare that is my menstruation. As you can imagine these things haven’t put me in the best of moods, indeed, for much of the last two weeks I’ve been in a very bad temper indeed. I was going to blog about my bad mood but then I went for some reflexology for the first time on Tuesday and it cheered me up no end, which is why this blog is a bit jumpy – I’m saving the bad mood one for another time.
Because of the weight gain I have had to think quite carefully about clothing – suddenly most of my wardrobe doesn’t fit. It was a sad morning when I couldn’t get my most favourite jeans over my bottom (youngest son found this hilarious) and had to resort to leggings (stretched indecently too far) and a long (previously baggy, now all too figure hugging) top to hide my shame. This depressed me.
I don’t mind the size so much, it’s more the fact that I like my clothes; I don’t particularly want to buy a load of new ones and what happens if I keep putting on weight anyway? I’ve got three more lots of chemo to go, imagine how huge my arse will be by the end of June?! I shudder at the thought. With this in mind, the baggy, patterned trouser is going to be my best friend this summer. Those, and Demis Roussos style kaftans.
There was an interesting article (link below) about how sales of sportswear for women are rapidly increasing – that women want to look as good for the boardroom as they do in the gym or while they’re running. I scoffed at the pictures of beautiful ladies looking svelte in their designer Lycra and thought about it quite carefully as I donned my own too-tight-for-my-liking running gear this morning. I looked lumpy, very lumpy, and I knew I would puff and pant and go red like a berry on my way around my usual 4.5K, which has become such a slog in the last couple of months.
I’ve never done running for weight loss, I’ve been lucky in that I’ve never really had to think about it before, and I’m certainly not running for weight loss now, but I have felt pretty self conscious about how I look when I’m plodding along. The worst thing is when a proper runner goes past me.
Until we had this warmer weather I ran with a wooly hat on. I would joke that it was so as not to scare people, but really it was because I didn’t want people to see my baldy head. Then on one particularly tough run I noticed a group of three quite obviously proper, fast, competitive women coming up behind me at a point where I was walking because my legs just wouldn’t go any quicker. They waved their casual hellos as they overtook me, their feet as light as deer. I didn’t think for a minute they were sneering at me but I still felt slow, chunky, crap and hot. So I took my hat off and cooled down.
The next time they went past me they didn’t behave any differently but I knew that they could see a physical reason for my turtle like pace and it made me feel a bit better. With the advent of the warmer weather I always run (plod) without my hat, it helps my self-esteem when elderly women walking their dogs lap me. God knows what I’ll use as an excuse for my slowness when I’m better.
Now, where are those chocolate nests I bought for the boys..?
https://www.justgiving.com/baldys-buddies/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-32301156