Tag Archives: Obesity

Fattypuffs and Thinifers

I have always had issues with self control, and my weight has suffered as a consequence of that. For as long as I can remember, I have always been a heffer. I am less of a heffer than I was once, but a heffer I still am. Worst still, I am an immobile heffer. They are the worst.

Since last August, as well as the other stuff that I have had to come to grips with, I have dealt with fluctuations in my weight as a result of whatever treatment I am on. In the grand scheme of things, my weight is far, far, down on my list of where I should be directing my attention and concern, but I worry about my appearance and when I am in a position where my weight has increased as well as the diameter of my thighs, it cannot help but sit heavily on my thoughts. I am waddling.

As somebody who never weighed themselves, the constant stepping on the scales I get in the hospital, means that as well as feeling losses and gains on my jeans, I see it on a screen. Before I had cancer, my image of people with cancer, the stereotype I mean, was a pale, bald headed person who looked a little malnourished. I never associated ‘fat’ with cancer. I get the impression, that a lot of people think like this too, regardless of whether they admit to it, because I am constantly being told how well I look, and I think my girth goes someway towards this impression (and hair growth). In the clinic, I see many people who fit my old stereotype and I always wonder why I do not look like that.

I suppose, I did have more to lose in the first place.

In the initial stages of my treatment, it would be fair to say that I lost my appetite. I was not interested in food. Eating became something that I had to do, rather than something I wanted to do. Others would have to remind me that I had to eat, for I did indeed, have to eat. Not feeling hungry was alien to me. Never in my life had I ever experienced that sensation, and as a result, as one would expect, I lost weight. I lost two stones, though the majority of this was in the first month and two weeks of hospital, may explain some it. I appreciated the side effect.

On PADIMAC, I couldn’t really understand the concept of steroid cravings, I had them occasionally, but because my appetite was suppressed, I assume by the doxorubicin, it did not make that much difference. If I gorged one day, the next day I would forget, unintentionally, to have a meal or two. I remember in the lead up to Christmas, I decided to give in to all my glutinous desires, for my transplant was scheduled in February, and anticipating some weight loss there, I literally, stuffed by face. I know I did because I wrote a blog about it. My want of sweet goods and meat fat, did not do too much damage however, because come February’s dose of cyclophosphamide, I managed to lose some of those pounds I had gained.

How things have changed…

And then, I did not have a transplant and instead, I started VDT/VTD, with its steroids, thalidomide and fatigue. You put those three factors together and what you get in return is a 10kg weight gain in four months. It may be even more, for my short term memory is questionable. I am not surprised by the gain. I am lazy, mostly be default, and I am almost always hungry, which, I am afraid, I give in to. When I am not hungry, I am tired and if I do not want to be tired, something sweet will carry me for an extra few hours. In short, my inner self is always telling me to eat. I suppose, because I have been so focused on my treatment, I thought that it really didn’t matter if I had full fat milk or cream or cheesecake or tin of corned beef as a snack. I really have been a gluttonous pig. A dirty, fat, gluttonous pig.

Clearly, I am somewhat fixated on my weight gain, well, as much as I can be given my current circumstance. I probably could have exercised some more self control. My fixation has grown after the person trained in ladies’ bits and pieces made reference to it on Wednesday. She shamed me because I was right to be shamed.

As I have discovered thus far, a change in treatment, means a change in appetite. I figure, if I am going to shit out my immune system, I might as well push out a few pounds as well. It is wrong to think of a transplant as an ‘easy’ way to lose weight. I do not think anybody can say it is easy. A transplant is not a diet, I have been told that by the Medically Trained People. I did not purchase clothes in March anticipating the transplant diet and then get annoyed that I have not yet been able to wear them. I am not worried that I will now not lose any weight. No way. Not even. I would never be that vain.

In three weeks time, I may wish that I did not have the poopy side effects, but right now, if I have to have a transplant and I have to have cancer, my self esteem may as well benefit from it. Right? Surely? It’s only fair. My soon-to-be-bald head demands it.


P.S. And yes, I have made full use of my hospital waiting time today and a train journey.

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The Gluttonous Pig 🍔🍟🍗

If I have to be out of my bed right now*, I might as well use my time productively and productive to me, as I sit in the clinic waiting for my dose of thick bleach, is thinking about gluttony, specifically, my gluttony.

Two months ago, I was a rather smug, newly diagnosed healthy eating cancer patient. At the time, I believe I said that I would not give into steroid hunger and I would maintain my healthier than healthy diet no matter what. That’s right. No matter what. I laid down an imperative. An absolute. You may be able to tell from my despondent tone that in recent weeks, I have failed to keep my body pure with a simple diet of fibre and nuts. I admit it. I failed. I needed a sausage. I also needed caramel and rice pudding and crisps and cake and cheese.

This newly rediscovered need for food is strange. It’s purely functionary. This weekend for example, when I have not been sleeping, I have been a bottomless pit. Food has not touched the sides. It has not mattered what the food is, as long as the fat content is high. That’s my new motto. Hmmm high in fat.

I am slightly ashamed of myself. I have previously said that My Myeloma has given me an eating disorder and whilst this may be overshooting it, it has certainly made me think about what I am eating and why I am eating it. Evidentially, My Myeloma does not make me exercise self control. My Myeloma has given me the guilts. I should be making my body as healthy as it can possibly be and not feeding it clotted cream. Whilst I am on the subject, I must remember that extra thick double cream is not yogurt and should not be eaten as such.

This weekend, and over the last few weeks, I have been working on the assumption that any food is better than no food. If it were not for the junk, I would not be eating. At least, this is what I am telling myself. Fatty Jones.

To prove my point, please find below a list of all the food products which passed my mouth yesterday:

1 hardboiled egg
3 sausages
3 rashers of bacon
2 slices of bread
1.5 litres of orange juice
1 large packet of prawn crackers
1 regular packet of thai sensations
1 portion of mum’s braised pork and mushrooms
1 portion of egg fried rice from the takeaway
4.5 chicken wings

So, yes, purely functionary.


* I am no longer in the clinic. I have had a two hour nap since I started writing this blog. I just love sleep that much.

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