The Final Royal Sacrifice

I got serious about dieting and exercising the week before the first hormone shot.

That week and the week of the shot I was focused. Lost four pounds in two weeks. Felt pretty damn good about myself.

Had me a new routine that was paying didvidends. I was King of The World. Determined to be the first human being in recorded history to lose weight during hormone therapy.

I kept cranking and really felt like I was shedding flesh. Weighed myself the week following the shot and I gained a pound. Couldn't fucking believe it. I had not changed anything - still eating like a bird and exercising religiously.

I should have known, though. Everybody kept harping on the weight gain thing - how it is almost impossible not to gain weight in this situation. And Dr. Feelgood made a comment up front that I thought was kind of weird - "You will feel the weight gain in your belly before you see it on the scale."

What?

Truth is, that week - even though I was absolutely convinced I was making progress - when I climbed into my car I felt fat. Felt uncomfortable in the seat. I dismissed it as the work of a Voodoo Priestess.

However this week it is getting worse. I can feel myself gaining weight. I can actually feel my belly expanding. It's kind of like that scene in "Tommy Boy" when Chris Farley is pigging out in the car and David Spade says "I can actually hear you getting fatter."

Again - I haven't changed a goddamn thing. Now my antennae are up, baby. This is going to be a serous battle.

I weigh myself once a week. On Tuesdays. I am not looking forward to next Tuesday.

I am eating no bread, no pasta, no potatos, no rice. I am eating meat. That is the highlight of my day. Oatmeal. Applesauce. Yogurt. Peanuts.

You get the picture. I only eat when my stomach growls and then I eat less than I normally would. And it's not really bothering me. When I decide to go psycho I go psycho. All in.

Question is "How psycho can I get?"

When Christian Bale was making the movie "The Machinist", he lost 55 pounds to get in character. He did it by subsisting on a diet of black coffee, one apple and one tin of tuna a day. Did this for four months.

So.............................................

Just kidding.

The Final Royal Sacrifice to be made is whiskey. When I spoke to the radiologist and we were discussing the effects of hormone therapy he asked "Do you drink?" I was truthful and he reacted as if alcohol was ricin.

I have cut back quite a bit but I am thinking I gotta go drastic. As my waistline expands regardless of diet and exercise, I got it into my head that whiskey is evil (temporarily). Like one sip of whiskey equals 8 pounds of weight gain.

Yesterday the only whiskey I drank was just before bed. And the amount was suitable for an infant.

I didn't die.

This cancer thing is a fluid situation. I will have to make adjustments. But I refuse to give up.

I picture myself coming out of this looking like Matthew McConaughey in "Magic Mike."

'Cause you gotta have goals.