When my son graduated from high school and moved to a different city to attend college, I found myself with a lot of extra time on my hands. I was no longer attending school functions, Scout meetings, theater performances, martial arts practice, etc. My husband and I decided to join our local gym. At first, it was a struggle to get on a consistent schedule to go, but soon it became a part of our lives.
In 2019, I started to focus on my diet as well as my physical fitness. That is when the weight I was carrying started to fall off. I lost 30 pounds. As any woman who loses weight knows, one of the first places you lose weight is in your breasts. That wasn’t my desired outcome, but it was a reality.
It was the smaller breasts that allowed me to feel the lump that was residing in my left breast. I don’t know how long it was there, as I had skipped my mammogram the year before. I don’t know why I skipped it, other than being “too busy” to take the time to get it done. The year before that, I vaguely remember being told I had dense breasts. I didn’t really understand what that meant. I didn’t ask. And no one offered to give me more info.
In January 2020, I was in the best shape of my life. I was stronger than I had ever been. And I was also facing a breast cancer diagnosis. I was angry that doing something that was “healthy” led to a cancer diagnosis.
It took a while for me to turn that anger into gratefulness. I recovered from my mastectomy fairly quickly and I know it was because of how strong my body was at the time of surgery.
Post-surgery, I exercised as much as my surgeon would allow. And then the pandemic shut everything down, including my gym. I did what I could to stay fit at home but during and after chemotherapy, I put weight back on. And I felt weak. I felt tired. I didn’t want people to tell me that it was expected. I didn’t want to hear that my body was going through a lot. I didn’t want to be cheered up. I wanted to work out. I wanted my pre-mastectomy body and strength back.
At some point, after connecting with other survivors, I decided to get back to work. It’s been hard. The hormone therapy medication I take has given me a pudgy midsection. It seems no matter what I eat or how much I work out, that belly is there. My oncologist said it will take longer to go away, but it will if I keep doing the work. So I do.
This week at the gym, my favorite instructor said, “I see you, Veronica, you are doing good, I haven’t seen you modifying. You are getting there.” I wanted to cry. I was happy to be getting stronger. But I was also sad because I realized she had seen me modifying the movements. Not that modifying is bad, but just that I had to.
I want to be healthy. I want to be fit. I’m putting in the work to get there. And I hate cancer.
