Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Heart Healthy Lifestyle

I didn't realize how quickly those three words "Heart Healthy Lifestyle" could send me into a spiral of self-loathing and shame.

I met with the radiologist today to discuss the radiation that will start about three weeks after my last chemo. I can go over all that was discussed later.

Right now I'm so wrapped up in his mention that after treatment I need to try and follow a heart healthy lifestyle. Not only will it help my heart in case there is damage from the radiation but it will also lower the chances of the cancer coming back. The chemo and the radiation will have already lowered it to less than 10% but did you know that fatties like me have a higher risk of developing triple negative breast cancer than non-fatties?

Today was the first time since my diagnosis that I felt like maybe, hell, probably this whole cancer thing is my fault. Never once have I thought that until today. And now I can't stop thinking about it.

See, I'm horrible about self-control. I don't like heart healthy foods. Protein is not my favorite thing. I could live on carbs...except, wait, obviously I can't since apparently my love of carbs and my gigantically fat body is why I got cancer in the first place.

I am also really bad about portion control. I tend to eat until I'm miserable. I know. Lovely. I'm a model of gross.

I don't enjoy exercise. It doesn't make me feel better, not physically nor emotionally. I know a lot of people get a lot of satisfaction out of working out. Good for them. I do not. I hate to breathe hard. I hate to sweat. I don't feel better, more energized after working out.

No wonder I'm fat and cancerous.




I know this is all a bunch of self-indulgent whining. I KNOW this. And yet it's what is going through my head right now. I can't help it and I'm trying to get it out because it's poison. I know it isn't helping that I feel like this. I know the fact that Tom made me a stupid sandwich this afternoon and that sandwich made me sad is so stupid. I ate the damn thing, though. I did tell him that I won't be eating dinner since I ate that fucking sandwich.

He tried to make me feel better by reminding me that tomorrow, March 1st, he's going on a diet. He wants to lose 15 pounds.

I told him, as gently as possible, "Sweetie. I love you very much. But you wanting to lose 15 pounds is not comparable AT ALL to my NEEDING to lose at least 50. So please, don't."

That man can stop eating bread and ice cream for a week and lose 15 pounds.

I can stop eating bread (I don't actually at that much bread) and GAIN weight.

Heart healthy lifestyle. What the hell does that even mean? I guess I have some googling to do. Damn it.

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