The Tamoxifen Ten

You've heard of the "Freshman Fifteen" but have you heard of the "Tamoxifen Ten"?  Its real.  And it comes without any of the fun of the Freshman Fifteen.

I know, I know, gaining ten pounds shouldn't phase me after surviving cancer.  But it does.  Maybe it's because gaining one pound can literally get me fired from my job.  Or because the first thing my promotion board sees is a life-size photo of me (not my resume, not my evaluations, not a list of cases I've won, but my photo).  Maybe because I exist in a work culture in which women literally starve themselves for weeks before getting their official photo taken, to ensure the photo shows that critical "half-moon" of blue sky between our elbow and waist.  Maybe because one of the documents in the "how to prepare your promotion board file" is all about "weight gain and your official photo".    

No, I'm not a professional model.  I'm just in the Army.  And yes, the Army is actually that obsessed with women's body weight.  There isn't any tolerance for an extra pound or a too-thick waist.  Fuck how good you are at your job - what really matters is looking perfect in your uniform.

So the Tamoxifen Ten is really disturbing.  I just survived a bilateral mastectomy and 18 weeks of wish-I-was-dead chemo, but what keeps me awake at night is the ten pounds I've gained from taking the drug that's (supposedly) keeping me alive.

Here's where my a-ha moment comes in, though.  Last week, I was traveling for work.  Despite the 12 hour stressful work days, 0500 flights, and multiple midnight rodeos with emails and other case prep, I still made time to exercise.  At the expense of sleep and rest.  Because Tamoxifen Ten.  By the time I got home, I was so exhausted, I slept for two days.  Doug says I need adult supervision.  He's got a point.

When I almost passed out at the gym the other day, after starving myself and then pushing myself way too hard at the gym, I finally told Doug (with the appropriate level of messy crying) why I'm so focused on pushing so hard at the gym.  It's because I have a HUGE trial coming up in October and the Tamoxifen Ten means my uniform doesn't fit perfectly.  Which means that the jury/judge will not be able to see past my extra-ten-pounds, which ultimately could negatively affect my client.  (Don't believe me?  Remember, this is the same culture that literally fires people who are excellent at their job solely because they gain a pound or ten)

You know what Doug said?  He didn't say "well you better starve yourself until then".  Nope.  He said "we'll just buy you a new uniform that fits better".   In his best "duh" tone.

He said he didn't give a shit about what the Army wanted me to look like, he'd rather have me alive.

This is why I love this man.

So today, I'll just do yoga.  And I'll keep eating healthy so my body can keep repairing itself.  And even though I'll be saying "fuck you Tamoxifen" under my breath, I suppose I will just buy a better-fitting uniform before trial.  Because being alive, and being healthy is kinda important.

First haircut

I finally gave in and paid a professional to clean it up a bit....

She even spiked it up with fancy gel. Doug says this definitely isn't AR 670-1 compliant, but I beg to differ.  It's definitely an improvement from when Doug shaved it all off with his clippers outside the RV back in January!