The Stranger in the Mirror (trigger warning - body image)

So I have cancer.

I’m still in the early stages of dealing with it, physically and mentally.  Honestly, I wouldn’t know if no one had told me. There were signs, but I thought they were something else. For the record, losing 50 pounds while drinking Frappuccinos regularly is not normal.

I would go days without a BM (sorry to be blunt, it’s a leftover from spending days using a bedpan provided by a total stranger). I thought it was because I wasn’t eating a lot. Oh, and I wasn’t eating a lot.

I can’t allow myself to play the What If game. I was getting regular checkups, and I was getting bloodwork done on a regular basis. You would think something unusual would have turned up somewhere, but it didn’t. If that didn’t set off an alarm, it was going to go undetected until now.

But as I said, I’m just starting to deal with the effects. And here’s the worst one so far: my body has become a stranger to me.

When I fell and went into the hospital, I weighed 187 pounds. When I left the hospital for the rehab center, I weighed 162 pounds. I have never weighed so little in my adult life.

Lying on my back for two weeks had done my body no favors. My muscles had wasted.

I didn’t get a look at myself until the rehab center. When I was finally able to get to the bathroom by myself using a walker, I finally got a look at myself. And I was horrified.

Skin was hanging off me. I could see my collarbone and ribs. I thought immediately of World War 2 documentaries. (I apologize to anyone finding that tasteless, but it’s the truth).

My midsection drooped. I had no more man boobs, and frankly ... there’s no more padding in my seat cushions. Sitting is now a difficult thing.

Skin draped off my arms like curtains. My biceps looked like cables in my thin arms.

I have never cared too much about my looks or body image. I only give enough thought to it to keep me from being arrested. But looking at myself in the mirror, I felt embarrassed.

It was ridiculous to feel that way, of course. It wasn’t my fault. No one was going to see me like this. Clothes would cover it up. But the stranger looking back at me made me uncomfortable. And knowing I’d have to live in that body was too much.

It’s gotten a little better. I don’t automatically flinch when I see myself in the mirror when I shower. But I still don’t like what I see. I’m hoping after I get some chemo behind me I’ll fill out again. And when my leg gets better I’ll get more exercise in to tone my body.

But for now I don’t recognize the person who looks back at me. And I miss the old guy.