That Time I Got Real Classy

There comes a time in a woman’s life when it might be time to say goodbye to skinny jeans. Trouble is, I’m not sure what to move on to. Tracksuit pants, long skirts, a muumuu? Your suggestions are most welcome.

20kg’s of post cancery treatment goodness has resulted in me jumping around my bathroom trying to wriggle skinny denim up over my thighs and butt.  Maybe I could start a new craze? Compression denim or leggings that look like jeans. Um… no, just no!

This climb into muffin top city all began with steroids through chemo. The scales jumped up 8kgs within a matter of months. Then with Tamoxifen came another 8kgs. Then Zolodex put me into menopause and began my foray into tuck shop lady arms. Throw into the equation, an 80 percent reduction in pre treatment exercise from all of the pains and strains I’ve had since breast cancer treatment, the mutant ovaries, bone pain. Oh and cheese and, and, and donuts.  (Note to self: don’t forget to pick up those lemon curd donuts from one of our cities finest pastry chefs).

Now the scales in our bathroom just shout “Computer says no!”

It’s really hard to believe I was fitter and healthier at the conclusion of my year of treatment. Hell I even did a sprint distance triathlon.

The recent months have been great though. There have been interstate trips with girlfriends and catching up with dear friends in the big smoke along with much calmer times at home.The pelvis was completely sorted with surgery and Zolodex. The mental health is much improved thanks to an anti-D which has miraculously lifted me out of the misery I was hurling at myself and my family. The crazed menopausal rants, the crying over burnt toast, gone.  The feeling of being overwhelmed by everything in life. The creeping thoughts that I was a burden on my family and they perhaps would be better off without me. Totally irrational. And thankfully all gone.  Just like turning off a tap. Depression is such an asshole but with treatment it’s great to finally feel like myself again.

And yet here I am, grappling with the ridiculous dilemma of moving on from skinny jeans. Wriggling, jumping, bending in ways I shouldn’t. Getting dressed should NEVER be this hard. So hard, that I hurt my back pulling these suckers up.

Even before that event, I have been having escalating spinal and shoulder pain in the last month. It’s been waking me at night and getting worse.  At night I shift in bed about 300 times, the strongest analgesics I had in the cupboard were not helping. There has been explosive migraines. The classy contortionist effort to get dressed a week ago did not help, the neck and spinal pain worsened.  I could not sleep AT ALL.

Friday night saw me shuffle into the hospital emergency department in my pyjamas. Classy.  It saw me lay on the cold floor in emergency because I could not bare the pain of sitting. Classy.  It saw me fill two vomit bags which a distressed Mr Cool carried round with him for a good while. Classy. That excruciating, motherfucking pain was worse than natural childbirth. At least you get the joy of baby at the end of that.

After being assessed, I left with a bucket load of narcotics and thanked Buddha they actually work, provided I keep up the schedule. My bed side table resembles the collection of a drug addict.  Totally classy.

Something is responsible for the pinched nerves in my neck. This could be my joints crying out for oestrogen. Or it could be disc degeneration, impinged nerves, or many other things.

So today I’m off for a CT scan to see about these pinched nerves in my neck or something more sinister….. more sinister……… more sinister.

Sorry, that was just the echo from my ‘highly traumatised by cancer’ subconscious.

P.S.  Mr Cool got a spot in the Hawaii Ironman Triathlon World Championships in October and we are all so thrilled for him!   A lifelong dream is finally coming to fruition.   Better get shopping for some bright muumuus as George Costanza is doing Hawaii. Woop Woop!

Muumuu heaven.