Mourning the loss

When I was 39 years old, I was finally able to stick with a diet and exercise routine that put me on track to being my fittest ever. As I approached the big 4-0, I was deteremined to look and feel my best. By the time I hit that milestone birthday, I was 43 pounds lighter and stronger than I'd ever been.

I recall this story because this goal was very difficult to obtain. My metabolism has always been terrible and I had to be careful about every little morsel I ate. I also exercised four to five times a week. I went to bed hungry often. And most of the time I abstained from delicious treats and drank very little alcohol.

I was very proud of my accomplishment. I even bought a bikini (for the first time) to wear on my 40th birthday celebratory tropical vacation.

On the weekend, I mourned the loss of that Tina. Late one night, when I couldn't sleep, I wept because, realistically, I'll never be that fit, strong or thin again. I'd just spent a week feeling nauseous, weak, sick, bitchy and tired (and was still feeling that way) so I cried bitter tears. I'm angry I'll never be that person again.

When I mentioned this loss to a friend, she stopped my lament to remind me she likes this Tina better, both personally and emotionally. She reminded me of how much she's learned from my struggle about living life to the fullest, not taking things for granted, focusing on the important things in life and telling people you care about them.

I paused and agreed that, I too, like the person I've become because of cancer better. Her words reminded me to focus on the positives my journey with this horrendous disease has given me. They're gifts. Since I was feeling terrible - both physically and mentally - I couldn't see past my current state to remember what I've gained. It's so easy to forget the good when you're feeling bad.

Of course, it doesn't help that currently my face is covered in chemo acne (think teenage acne), I'm bald, my eyebrows are sparse and only about six eyelashes grace each eye. Yup, full Yoda mode is almost here. I'm also pale and have bags under my eyes. I'm getting these weird red dots on my forehead, and I'm bloated, pudgey and swollen. Some days my eyes are dull from the side effects. I avoid looking in the mirror because I feel ugly. It's such a big difference from the body I'd worked so hard to achieve just a few short years ago.

I'm still incredibly sad I've physically lost the old Tina; the one who was strong, healthy and felt almost invincible. While I can work my butt off to gain some of the strength and fitness back when I'm done treatment, I've almost accepted I'll never return to the physical person I was when I turned 40. My scarred, battered and menopausal body (and months of toxic chemicals and inactivity) make it almost impossible.

I still hate what this disease has made me physically, but I've got to remember the good things I've learned and gained. I've got to focus on the positive. As Michael always says, he's happy with me any way I am because I'm still here and living life.

It will take time, but I'm sure I'll slowly accept the new me. I'm easier on myself these days. I'm sure I'll feel better when I have hair again. Until then, I have to remember to focus on the gains I've achieved emotionally, spiritually and mentally. And while it won't be easy, especially during the bad post-chemo days, I'll have to focus on the positives of my tango with cancer.

Tina