The Weight

When chemotherapy knocked out my desire and the taste for alcohol, many carbohydrates, and sugar, particularly chocolate, several women on both sides of my family said: “Oh, you’re going to lose weight!” This is, for middle aged women, an unqualified good result, no matter how you get it. They weren’t being flippant. It is a silver lining, let’s say.

The goal of the medical team is for the patient not to lose weight, but I was at the time about 25 lbs overweight. In ten weeks I have lost 15 lbs. I am still a healthy weight. And all my “numbers” are good, and I am eating a very healthy diet: mostly lean meat, nuts, fruits and vegetables. Weight is not something I’m worried about at all.

But one of the not-silver-lining effects of chemotherapy is that you lose muscle. Despite all this protein, I have seen my body sort of collapse, particularly my breasts and stomach. Even before fatigue made me less active, the muscle mass was going, my body was changing in a way I didn’t like.

There is a lot of discussion with and among breast cancer patients on the loss, or maiming, of their breasts, and what this means in terms of identity for women. A large part of the feminist project has been the question of prosthetics– is it vanity? Is it empowerment? Is it “right” or “wrong” to be defined by one’s breasts? For me, the key moment on this issue was on a hike in Yosemite in 2001.

Doris Lake (not Yosemite)

My first husband and I were being guided by an older couple who had once lived in the Park– he was a very early climbing guide and she was the first female ranger to carry a gun in the Park. In other words, they were both fierce and strong. They led us into a hidden granite space that was sun-filled and had water running through it. A collection of very fit, young backpackers and others “in the know” were there swimming. The woman guiding us was a breast cancer survivor of maybe a few years. As we lay there on the rocks she said, “I just don’t think I want to take off my top and swim.” I said something like: “That’s totally understandable. And you don’t have to.”

It was clear to me that this was a political decision for her– she felt she should make a statement. She should be brave. She should announce the strength of her altered body to these young women. And it is likely they would have affirmed her– even told her she was brave. Or not. I was glad she decided to just relax.

During chemo, your bald head announces your condition. But what about afterward?

I am still focused on health. I will have three weeks or so off between chemotherapy and surgery. In that time, I will try to get especially some of my abdominal muscles back, to help with healing.

The last time I lost weight (the whole 25 lbs and more) was after my divorce. In my anger and helplessness I walked stairs at the beach every day, more and more sets. I didn’t just lose weight, I transformed my body. And I didn’t like that either. I didn’t recognize myself, and I thought I looked like a rather desperate divorcee trying to attract a man. I tried to enjoy the weight loss, but “sexy clothes” were really not for me. Men complimented me. That’s never been my identity. It didn’t feel authentic.

This week my parents were here helping out, and my mother cleaned my bathroom. She carefully set up my Yoga Joe’s along the edge of the tub. She got them all right– the proud warrior, the brave warrior, the tree, the headstand– except one. I had to laugh when I saw him, the downward facing dog yoga Joe, sitting there reaching joyfully to the sky. He looked like a little kid. Stretching.