Transition

“You look fantastic!” “You are so skinny!” It was 2010, and I was going through my first of many chemotherapy treatments. I didn’t tell anyone except my family. Maybe two people at my job knew? Maybe. These were the reactions I was getting from people who had no idea why my body was betraying me. Yes, I was skinny. Well, I should say I was small. I’ve never been a skinny person. I have curves and lots of tits and ass. It’s just how I’m built. And, to be fair, these people really had no idea what was going on in my life. I tend to make jokes about stuff and just carry on. To be around me, you might think I’m outgoing. I’m not. I’m awkward, and I try to cover it up with humor. So, when I was diagnosed with cancer, I went straight for the avoidance tactics and the humor.

Fast forward to today. I am cancer free. I don’t say that lightly. I know how fortunate and lucky I am. I also know that it can come back at any time. There is no doctor that can tell me for sure that I will not die from this disease. Most days I don’t think about that. I live. The past 18 months have been a time when my body has tried to heal. There are some things that will never go away, like the scars from surgery. My immune system, which is still kind of wonky. My fears. I don’t want to die. Who in the hell does? My husband’s fears. My sister’s fears. I know all of that is there.

I am no longer skinny or small. I’m me. My body was/is healing and wants to be healthy again. I want it to be healthy again. At first, I was so excited that I could actually taste food and keep it down that I went a little nuts. A box of Kraft macaroni and cheese does not a healthy meal make. Even when you cut up little tiny cheese hot dogs in it. But, it sure was tasty! The weight has come back on. My hair has grown. There are days that I don’t know who this woman is anymore. I was so used to living with cancer and while it is a happy transition, it is still a transition.

I open the doors to my extra closet and stare at the cancer clothes. They are small—miniature—not mine. There are people in my life who don’t understand why I don’t fit into those clothes anymore. There are some people who have actually asked about it. Then there are those who snicker behind my back about it, and I still hear them. As shallow as it sounds, this has been hard, as well. It does not overshadow the fact that I have beat cancer. It’s just another step in this craziness that no one signs up for.

I have a support system like no other. My husband, my sister, my mom and dad, my workout peeps, my new work peeps—some of these people probably have no idea that they are a part of my support system. They all serve a purpose in helping me keep Marching Fourth. And I would not be true to myself if I didn’t say to those people that are snickering behind my back, fuck you.