Last night, at a reception for scientists in my field, I was asked FOUR times if I was pregnant. Or, rather, four people had decided that I WAS pregnant and that it would be appropriate to congratulate me on the good news.
Um, except that I’m NOT pregnant and never will be again. Can’t. Most women who undergo chemotherapy can’t conceive again without the aid of fertility treatments, and it’s dicey at that. But the fact remains that I’m not pregnant.
Matter of fact, I’m not even large.
We couldn’t figure this out (aside from the fact that I was wearing a kickly little trapeze shirt) until WD brought up the following point: immediately following a mastectomy, women are bound to have a profile similar to a pregnant woman (at some stage), since very few of us have tummies flat enough to withstand the wholesale removal of our breasts AND still have an hourglass figure.
Think about it for a minute.
It’s a wonder that more isn’t written about loss of self-esteem among cancer survivors. As it turns out, the complete loss of hair is only the beginning….