The Wrong Trousers?

I’ve been home from hospital for just over three months now. For the previous two years I’d had strict limits on what I could eat and how much I could eat. I was regularly crippled with bad gastric symptoms. After my stomach was successfully repositioned into my abdomen, I’ve been eating well and trying all sorts of foods that I couldn’t eat before. I’ve discovered that I can pretty much eat anything again. This is a delicious new freedom to enjoy and I have done so with little restraint. Before Xmas I had to go out and buy new trousers as none of my old ones fitted me. But when I went to put on my trousers today I found that I couldn’t do them up. I double-checked. Were they the wrong trousers? Unfortunately not, I’ve put on 12lbs and four inches around the waist since September. Even my new trousers don’t fit me anymore.

T says I shouldn’t worry. In a few months when I get back on the bike I will slim down again. I’m not so confident. The joy of being able to stuff any sort of food into your mouth without having to worry about the intense pains I used to get in my guts is very seductive. I have a particular weakness for German gingerbread pastries, called Lebkuchen, traditionally made in Nuremberg. They come in all sorts of varieties, with different shapes and fillings. Lidl have a good selection. They were selling them off after Xmas and we bought twelve packets. At the current rate of consumption I may need to send off to Germany for more soon.

In other news, my cold turkey seems to be finally over and I’m sleeping relatively normally again. The agitation and insomnia were quite an ordeal for the best part of two weeks. I’m going to be very wary of taking opioids for anything other than the short term in the future.

I’ve also just had my cancer surveillance scan. These are happening at four monthly intervals this year. The last one was in September, a couple of weeks before my surgery. Now I am again waiting for the results. Most people try and minimise this anxiety, saying ‘don’t worry, you’ll be fine’. But when you are waiting to hear the news your mind plays tricks on you and any strange pain becomes the throb of a new tumour.

I’ve had years of practice at this anxious waiting, but it doesn’t seem to get much easier. I’ve found that you have to grit your teeth and not ask too much of yourself. A date is set for your appointment with the Oncologist in the Cancer Centre. So you look towards this date and, one at a time, you tick the days off. I find myself trapped in a terrible emotional mix of hope and fear. Little by little I do my best to get through it. I growl, walk the dog and reach for another Lebkuchen.