I’m defo blaming the steroids for my sudden weight gain. Although, I have eaten like an absolute monster for the last 4 weeks. Constantly feeling the need to treat myself and convincing myself I 100% deserve a pizza. Well, with that and a year in lockdown sat on my arse, this shit has caught up on me.
I thought there’s no time like the present, too well, treat myself! This time to a new wardrobe. I literally emptied every drawer and cupboard and tried on every item of clothing I owned. If it didn’t fit, it went the journey. I got rid of every sock that didn’t have a partner and my ‘comfy knickers’ with holes. I then spend the next 24 hour trawling boohoo.com for new everything.
All of a sudden, it’s hotter than the surface on the sun in England and instead of getting half naked and basking in it, I’ve got to stay in the shade with my factor 50 and a bloody hat. Fuming. This calls for an array of linen shirts and cover ups that mean I’m not melting, nor show any skin. Thank the lord for skinny tan and a good mitt to give me a fake tan of dreams this year.
To off set the fact that I spent hundreds of pounds in the space of a day to refill my drawers, I did give 5 large bin bags of clothes to charity. Goodbye size 8 jeans. If only I could blame the cancer for them being replaced with items 3 sizes bigger. Between the pandemic and the breast cancer I’m offsetting the blame elsewhere. If there’s any time to treat yourself to a full new wardrobe it’s most certainly now.
My second chemo cycle looms tomorrow. I really didn’t want to ever look like a cancer patient. But with my bloated moon face and shiny bald head that’s becoming harder. However, I certainly don’t need to feel like one. Never underestimate the power of putting on a pair of new skinny jeans and a nice top. I’m ready for you chemotherapy.
