Motherhood helped me get over my mastectomy

It’s been five and a half years since my mastectomy without recostruction. I’ve practically forgotten what it was like to have tender breasts once a month, or pay attention to cleavage– make sure it’s there when needed and not when it’s not. I’m chill about it now, but this is very recent.

I admit that I had a lot of anger up until I became pregnant. I was stuck in anger. In a big way, too. I can be the most confident woman but put a naked girl in front of me (movie, etc.) while my partner is nearby and I go from 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye! I know why I was angry: doctors were reluctant to perform ANY type of reconstruction on me due to the radiation damage to my skin. It meant a 70 percent chance of complications if I went ahead with it. What I wasn’t prepared for was how long I would be stuck in the “anger” phase of my grieving.

When I got pregnant I realized I won’t be breast feeding. It didn’t bother me so much. I may have had a symbolic cry to grieve over that aspect. It’s after my daughter was born and I was immersed in mommy world that I believe the transformation happened. I naturally drifted out of cancer/mastectomy world, which consumed me more than I care to admit, and into mommy world where I was called to duty. Sure, in mommy world I had even more constant reminders of breasts. A day didn’t go by without being asked by other moms if I’m breast feeding or watching other moms breast feed. But breasts were now de-sexualized. I was finally seeing them for what they were made for and not from a man’s perspective, which is how I viewed them constantly.

Lately the dreams have stopped– those of self-regenerating breasts; dreaming of waking up and, surprise: breasts! or how the surgeons “left some” behind. My preoccupation with my breastlesness is almost non-existent, as in weeks go by and I don’t think about it. I proudly walk around naked in front of my baby girl, who is almost two, and it feels great to teach her pride in her body.

In order to survive I may have removed a number of body parts and organs that made me a woman, but I’ll never go back to thinking that less of me is a lesser me.

I’m beautiful in my way
‘cuz G-D makes no mistakes
I’m on the right track baby,
I was born this way
…I was born to survive
(Lady Gaga, Born This Way)

What’s the rush? It’s only cancer

Please read Unbroken Home: the challenges of being a single parent first and then please come back.

It has been a while since I’ve written. Sadly, I’m divorced now and a single-parent.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I got here. There were the usual interpersonal dysfunctions but there were tell-tale behaviors I chose to ignore early on. That’s where I’m stuck. I’ve made some solid decisions that have propelled me from illness to survivorship and yet I failed to chose the perfect life-long friend and mate? how?!

It’s really simple. I let fear guide the most important decision I can make. I was rushing. Rushing to get married because I wanted to be married before I died; rushing to the altar because I wanted my dying grandfather to see me marry, which he didn’t as he passed a week before the wedding.

I know the school of thought that says there are no mistakes and everything is for a reason. We have a beautiful 19-month old baby girl and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But ignoring serious signs of trouble when you’re dating is just bad decision-making. Oh, yes, it was a decision! I didn’t want to die alone at any cost.

But now, I’m back at square one and breaking free from an abusive relationship (and mending a broken heart) has proven to be more mentally challenging than battling cancer. Taking time to heal, being grateful, being present, and practicing patience– lessons, it would appear, I’m learning by hook or by crook.

While searching for support, I was surprised at just how many survivor single moms and divorced ladies are out there. Moreover, those who have had multiple cancers and have several children to care for alone; G-D bless them!

On one hand this experience has made us strong but it also left some of us more vulnerable than before. Still, I have to give myself kudos for getting out of an abusive relationship before it completely wiped my identity and altered my daughter at the core.

Reading the essay Unbroken Home reaffirms that I am not alone in life or in parenting.

I hope you’ll slow down, too, and know that no matter what, you are not alone.

Gluttony, guilt, and eternal life: meditation for the days of atonement

I’m going to die, one day, but first I want to become a centenarian. Is that even possible as a cancer survivor?! I want to be with my Daniella (now 15 months old) for as long as is humanly possible. I simply never want to leave her. I also want to beat the odds.

Now more than ever, with a looming divorce and single-parenthood I feel the pressure to take better care of myself. A cancer survivor becoming the primary caregiver – all me – all by myself – all the time- no one to take over nights, early mornings or when I’m sick. I know it’s been done. But I’m tired. I’m so tired. And when I’m tired I worry. I worry about how this stress will play out in my body, on my heavily beaten body. The toll of chemotherapy, radiation, stress of making life-altering decisions, surgeries, and on and on.

Understand, I have gone back to my old ways. For too long now I haven’t watched what I eat, drink, do or not do with anti-cancer vengeance like I used to.

The guilt alone is enough to cause disease. Argh! I’m being being too hard on myself. It’s just that I have struggled so hard for it to not be cancer that takes me in the end but if it has to be then much much later, please. But no one knows how they were meant to go and when. On Yom Kippur I will be reciting the ancient prayer Unetanneh Tokef which contemplates “…who will die at his predestined time and who before his time; who by water and who by fire, who by sword, who by beast, who by famine, who by thirst, who by storm, who by plague, who by strangulation, and who by stoning.” Well, I don’t like any of these ways. And again, I’m back at square one.

One day I will have to leave this planet and my Daniella. Will three cups of green tea, eight cups of water, eight hours of sleep, SPF 30, 30 minutes of moderate exercise, flossing, two tablespoons of olive oil, and five-to-ten a day, really allow me to stick around longer?

Missing the point, am I? Perhaps I should heed the spiritual lifeline at the end of the prayer “… But repentance, prayer, and charity remove the evil of the Decree!”

Soon it will be the Hebrew month of Elul, also known as days of atonement. In preparation for the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashannah) I will attempt to review all my known sins and wrong-doings that have likely imprinted themselves in my body at a cellular level. Thankfully this damage may be reversible with repentance. I’ve never actually taken a spiritual stock of my progress, but this year I will sit with a pen and paper and make a list of my transgressions against my fellow man and those against G-D. If not now, when? Right. I will share my list with you and endeavor that it complement any consistent or transient lifestyle efforts that I make to bring about healing.

The month of Elul and the countdown to the Day of Atonement begins Wednesday, August 31.

In the meantime, please enjoy this modern-day version of Unetanneh Tokef by Israeli composer Yair Rosenblum. First performed at a memorial for 11 soldiers from kibbutz Beit Hashita who fell during the 1973 Yom Kippur war, it is often played on Israeli radio during the High Holidays.

Radical mastectomy, radical breakup: how I learned to let go when the time was right

Springtime, 2005. I miraculously recovered from breast cancer just three years prior but I hadn’t dated anyone seriously. I must be ready now, I thought. I was beginning to think long-term again. I’ve done the stupid, immature, save-him, change-him, mother-him relationships and I was ready for something serious. I even began loving my smaller radiated breast. But, breast cancer came knocking again and this time both breasts would have to go.

Maybe you’ve been there: you’ve had breast conserving surgery but your breast is scarred; you’ve had edema after radiation, so your breast has shrunk and became leathery; you’ve had a uni-lateral mastectomy so now you’re a little uneven; or you’ve had bi-lateral mastectomy so his pectorals are now bigger than yours. Will a man sexually accept me as I am? Will he still love me with less breast, fewer breasts, or none at all?

Photo by bzhmatth's photostream

These kind of crippling thoughts clouded my decision to have a prophylactic double mastectomy. It was the second “new” breast cancer for me and I didn’t want to go for a third or a re-occurrence. So it would appear that I was still plagued with insecurity, but there was only one right thing to do and that was to have the surgery. Concurrently, I was dating someone for the first time since my cancer diagnosis at age 27. Although not marriage-material, it was still comforting to have him tell me how beautiful I am and that it wouldn’t matter if I did or didn’t have any breasts– a statement I gladly grasped onto. The surgery was successful; I was elated that a weight had lifted off my chest, figuratively. All I had to do was rest and heal. But, four days post-op, while I still had staples sealing my surgical incision and pools of blood and puss collecting in drains on both sides of my chest, he broke up with me. Why? I don’t know; just because. I cried and cried, I sank into a depression, and attributed it all to my lack of breasts. How wrong was I?!

First of all, not everything is about breasts. Wait, let me repeat that: not everything is about breasts! Secondly, he was clearly not for me if he could hurt me at such a vulnerable time (my mom still has a bounty on his head.) But, the critical mistake was how I handled and coped with the situation. Instead of letting go I foolishly held on to the relationship long after its natural life and my health paid the price.

In her blog, The happy children of unhappy endings, Terri Wingham talks about a Martha Beck Article Making Your Goodbyes Good, about how we should probably allow certain organic endings in our life to happen without attempting resuscitation or resurrection.

It took me five months to regain my strength after what should have been an easy break-up simply because I had allowed myself to sink so deeply. After that I vowed to let go of anyone venomous or anything poisonous in my life and I’ve done it! My prophylactic mastectomy (and hysterectomy in 2010) are not just proof that I’ve gotten good at cutting off body parts to ward-off disease, rather they are a testament to how much I am trying to hold onto dear life! Radical breakups have become a necessity in my life, just as much as the radical mastectomy and hysterectomy.

A month prior to my diagnosis in 2002, I had resigned from a job that I had spent years studying for and working at. Ironically it had been at a health club as a fitness coordinator and personal trainer, but something didn’t jive with my energy and I began to suffer to the point of anguish. For over a year I would tell my family over and over, “I hate this job. It’s going to make me sick!” At hindsight, the cancer was probably already present in the body for months or years but I can’t help but wonder whether it would have exploded when it did and as fast as it did had I promptly heeded the voice telling me to quit?

I am now at a similar juncture professionally. The company which I worked at for six years has new owners and a new administration and I do not mesh with their ways even though I always give them 100 percent. Fortunately, the decision is a no-brainer by now.

Easier said than done? You know better than anyone that life is short, so why not give your energy to what you love and whoever loves you. Let people and events serve their purpose. If it doesn’t seem like they had any, create a purpose for them.
Make them a springboard to your next higher adventure.

I would like to thank evil-boyfriend and creativity-suppressing-corporate-bureaucrat-boss for the lessons you’ve taught me. Life is pushing me in a different direction and it feels life-affirming swimming with the current.

Irridescent snails, flying ninjas, and self-regenerating breasts

Cancer Dreams…

The night following my first chemo session I had a dream that a very slow iridescent red snail was slowly moving in space and everything in its path turned to love, beauty, and health. I have no idea what it meant but it was vivid, colorful, and empowering since I knew the snail represented an ally and possibly my own body cells.

The same night my next dream was of lightning-fast ninjas flying through the air thrashing their swords right and left – fighting hard! They were so swift and efficient. I sensed that my job was to stay asleep so they can get the job done. In the morning I was impressed with how physically powerful the dreams were and what a fight we put on!

I never had more powerful dreams as I did on the first night of chemotherapy.

Since my prophylactic mastectomy in 2005 (no breast reconstruction), at least a few times per year I dream about my non-existent breasts. I dream about them often whenever the decision whether to have a breast reconstruction is back on the table or if I had just seen a breast-oriented movie like Superbad, Knocked Up or various other guy movies. I dream that my breasts grew back, that the surgeons never took them off, that they left one breast, and even that they left a part of the breast with or without the nipple (it varies). In my dream I am so excited at the discovery of a breast that my first waking thought is “Yippee,” until I fully awake a few seconds later to have reality sink in. The funny thing is that I get disappointed each time to discover that I still have no breasts; sometimes it feels like I want it so badly that it should alter reality and the laws of physics and simply manifest!

Whenever I do appear in my dreams now, I still picture myself with my phantom breasts. They just never leave me; or maybe that’s just how we’re wired to think of ourselves –whole.

Part 2: Sex without breasts

Sex without breasts exists.

Following my double mastectomy I was still single. I dated a breasts-guy which eventually failed due to non-breasts related matters. In the end I married an ass-guy.

When we started dating, my husband didn’t know I had cancer or a mastectomy. My bra was padded with prosthetic breast forms and when he tried to “go there”, I gently asked him not to. He respected that. So, these days I make sure I keep up my appearance and always play up how much I love myself and my body in front of him, even when I don’t feel sexy or, worse, when I feel fat! It works. We’ve been together for five years (that’s five years with no breast for him) and he still finds me sexy.

Again, KEEPER!

I admit I miss my breasts a lot! I actually dream that I still have them, that they grew back, that I had only one removed or that they left some behind. I also wondered once or twice if my husband ever missed fondling breasts but i try not think about that since I can’t get a reconstruction. So we do lots of other things in the bedroom and I play up other assets like my buttocks and my hair. By the way, other than the actual surgery site which is numb, the rest of my chest and neck areas are still prime arousal real estate.

So ladies, breasts or no, love your body or at least pretend you do until you do and even if you never get there. Never ever call yourself fat or ugly in front of your man. You’ll both come to believe it. And don’t ask him if you look fat. If you hate your ass just stand in front of the mirror, lean in closer, turn around to reveal your ass-et, sigh, and say “I’m just too hot!”. That to him is an invitation to concur and just enjoy what ensues because sex without breasts is just like regular sex – it’s as spectacular as you make it.

Um…it’s kind of nice to sweat the small things again

So I’m 9 years out and considered cured.
With all the talk about cancer changing my life – yes, that’s absolutely true. I AM a stay-at-home mom largely due to having cancer scare me twice! BUT, about three years after the cancer I started becoming complacent again to some degree about wellness, and fitness and started sweating the small stuff again. At first I beat myself up for it: bad cancer survivor! Bad survivor! Today I just realized that it’s a right of passage: from serving in cancerland for so many years back to being a civilian. Seriously, I don’t always have to hold my composure when some a-hole cuts me off in traffic or smile at the person ahead of me at the grocery store who decided to pay their $100 bill with money from their piggy bank.

By the same token I also realize that being around to have my neighbour’s teenage son blast music and smoke pot in his car under my bedroom window at 2 a.m. is a privilege.

Part 1: Dating without breasts

Dating without breasts is just like dating with breasts, that is until you decide to go to second base, which ought to wait a while under any circumstances.

All dating rules apply when you begin dating. Generally, speaking about your illness or lack thereof (remission) is not necessary on the first few dates. There are plenty of interesting topics and other questions that should occupy the two of you before you reveal your health histories, unless you have a terminal illness with a few weeks or months to live, which may affect the future of the relationship. Even then, you are NOT the illness.

The same thing applies toward discussion of previous relationships and your recent dating experiences– just don’t.

Why would you NOT reveal that you had breast cancer or had lumpectomy/mastectomy? Well, because you haven’t even decided if you like each other yet. You barely know him so how would you feel if he told you right off the bat that he has small penis or a hairy back? So don’t feel like you need to disclose either. You will not be considered dishonest when you reveal your “secret” even if you wear prosthesis and he thinks that you have breasts.

Following the first cancer and breast conserving surgery (lumpectomy) I didn’t date much since my self-esteem was pretty low and so I chose to focus mainly on my hobbies. When I did finally date someone three years later, by then my radiated breast had shrunk, became hard and leathery but surprisingly that didn’t seem to bother the next suitor. Just as I thought a shrunken breast was a tough sell, I had to undergo my mastectomy. Then I got dumped.

Yes, I was sad but this time I wouldn’t let the mastectomy define me. I could not have have immediate reconstruction due to the radiation damage so I had fun shopping for prosthetic breasts. I tried on different breast sizes and realised that for dating I would stay true to what G-D had given me (B cup) so that “they” wouldn’t steal the show. I was thinking that once I got married, I would buy us some different sizes just for fun; if I wanted I could be a D cup in the bedroom and a B cup in the boardroom.

Ladies, don’t jump to second base so quickly. Take your time. When you get further ahead, you can gently ask the guy to “not go there” with his hands. Tell him you don’t feel comfortable just yet. He ought to respect your wish. You still don’t have to discuss it if he asks about it. That’s for when you feel comfortable. I didn’t tell my husband until a month and a half into the relationship. When we did smooch (I couldn’t help it, he was too hot) I just kept my bra on and he couldn’t tell. I only revealed it to him once I saw we genuinely liked each other.

I never had reconstructive surgery since my risk for complication is too high. So, I now look at breasts as a bonus not a necessity. Consequently, neither are ovaries, fallopian tube, or a uterus (which I now don’t have either.) The way I think about it is that lots of women have small breasts or are flat chested and they have no problems attracting men; similarly, there are plenty of voluptuous women having trouble finding a mate. It’s all a state of mind. Think of all the confident and sexy sophisticated women out there like Sophia Lauren and do as they do. If you just don’t “feel” sexy; fake it until you do and eventually you will. Catch yourself when you think “I’m fat/ugly” or worse, when you’re about to tell him that, and say “I’m just so gorgeous” as you pout your lips and bat your eye lashes. You’ll feel very Betty Boop.

THE BIG REVEAL…

So, how do you do the big reveal? Well, after the lumpectomy I didn’t bother mentioning cancer to anyone I dated unless we became intimate and then it was just a short sentence because there was not much to it – just a funny looking breast. About the mastectomy I told one guy on our second date while we were having a deep discussion but I don’t think he minded since that was followed by an all-night smoochathon. With my husband, however, I waited since I liked him very much and I was afraid he may reject me. I had gone on a trip and we were chatting on the phone one night when he had brought it up gently, “how come you won’t let me touch you; you look perfectly proportionate.” I declined to answer, again, and instead I sent him a short and sweet email (I know, unconventional, but it worked).  I wanted to downplay the disease and mastectomy since I didn’t want him to be afraid of it and at the same time boost his ego, so I commended him on his intuition. Here is the email that awaited him first thing in the morning:

*****

Dear G,

Your intuition is correct – I did have surgery. Last year I was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a double mastectomy.

I am fine fine fine now!!! Enjoying life. It’s behind me. So, don’t worry about it.

Hugs,

J

*****

To which he replied a couple of hours later:

Just come back here already.
I miss you.

*****

I knew I found myself a keeper!

When push comes

We’ve all heard it before on Oprah and Dr. Phil – you have to be your own advocate these days; don’t be shy or you may pay the price.

As I was talking on the phone one evening in 2002 (age 27), I folded my arms across my chest while I held the phone in the crux of my neck. After a few moments it dawned on me that I was touching something really round, hard and solid on the side of my boob. I casually went to the mirror and lifted my shirt. There was something protruding from my B-cup breast and the skin was yellowish/purple. Must be a bruise. I asked my mom to feel it and she looked at me in horror and said “first thing tomorrow morning, you call and get it seen by a doctor.” I thought okay. In the morning I tried calling my gynecologist but they were not going to see me for two more weeks. I began phoning everyone on the Yellow Pages, mainly because my mother had called me five times already to remind me to get a checkup. Everywhere I called I said that I felt a HUGE lump in my breast – I acted like it was urgent and awful to try to improve my chances of getting an appointment quickly – but to no avail, my acting did not work. Two to four weeks was the typical wait time. I thought, no biggie; I took the earliest appointment I got. My mom did not, and thank G-D she didn’t. She somehow spoke to someone at the hospital, who spoke to someone, who got me an appointment to see a doctor within 30 minutes. [Thanks Mom! Thanks Helena!] Anyhow, as we entered the corridors of the Oncology department (I was not sure what Oncology meant) I realised to my horror that we were in the Cancer department. I wasn’t sure what this bump in my breast had anything to do with Cancer and I was very uncomfortable and felt out-of-place while waiting in the corridor with bald people. The doctor took an aspiration of the “thing” and told me it was probably a Fibroadenoma. But this was no ordinary doctor; this was a senior surgical oncologist who had seen and felt tumors forever. At hindsight, he must have know right away that it was Cancer. There was no mistaking it – the “rock” hard immovable lump, discoloration and how you couldn’t aspirate it, with no pain involved, were all hints that it was cancer. “I’m not worried, but since it’s so big, we’ll take it out anyway,” he said. I walked out of the office with an appointment slip for surgery the next day… hence, the doctor knew, but he wouldn’t worry me until he had all the biopsy results and knew which  beast he was dealing with and what treatment options to provide me with… Lesson learned: when the matter is urgent (and lumps in the breast are a priority), get a clinical exam as quickly as possible, ANY WAY you can. Call everyone in the Yellow Pages, go to a walk-in clinic, call a friend who knows a friend, go sit in the waiting room of your gynecologist and wait to be seen, call every day to see if there are any cancellations. push your way in to be seen this week! Don’t put it off to next week or next month because you will be prone to forget or even dismiss the matter.

The lump ended up being almost 6 centimetre cancerous tumour, stage 2, with 4 out of 16 nodes positive and the sentinel node grossly metastatic, with almost perforated margins! A two- to four-week wait may have made a difference in my survival outcome. I’m here 8 years thanks to my mother’s persistence!

Over the course of the following years I learned to push to be seen when it was important. I’m not a hypochondriac but thanks to the fact that I was an advocate for my health, i was saved twice. The second time was when I asked to have the best follow-up screening. It wasn’t available at my hospital but I inquired and went elsewhere – had I not inquired would I have been offered it?? So, at the second hospital I joined a study examining which imaging techniques were the best at detection of early breast cancer. Three years, 3 mammograms, 6 ultrasounds, 3 CT-Scans, 3 MRIs, and 6 clinical exams later, I was called back to the office to be told that a new cancer had been detected in the other breast. I would later find out that it had been detected as DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma Insitu) or in other words, pre-cancerous stage Zero. What a relief;  what a miracle! Thank goodness I had bothered to ask and actively sought follow-up treatment for myself. I now saved my own life!

Here’s my advice:

Do not be shy, do not feel pushy or bossy – do what you have to do. Be polite but be firm.

ASK! Ask to be seen quickly. Ask if there is anything earlier. Ask to be placed on waiting list. Ask if you can call every day to see if there are cancellations (do it regardless). Ask if they know someone else who will see your faster. Show you mean business. If you don’t ask you don’t get.

Use and develop an arsenal. Do a favour for a friend today so one day they can return a favour and maybe help save your life or the life of a loved one.

Network. Use your connections .

Don’t be scared to find out “the awful truth”. Cancers detected early have decent outcomes.

Most importantly, regardless of what the experts say, I would definitely examine my own breasts once a month. You have to get to know them, ladies. You have to know which lumps are typical and which aren’t. For sure, get a doctor to examine them once a year in addition to your own exams.

Find out your family’s health history and what diseases you are prone or susceptible to so you can be monitored properly.

Feel free to add your own stories, tips and advice here.

BRCA mutation: not the end of the world

Last week I did a “very brave” thing according to all the nurses and doctors. I had a prophylactic hysterectomy (removal of uterus) and oophorectomy (removal of ovaries) in order to, hopefully, one day play with my grandchildren. My daughter is now 5 1/2 months old.

I don’t think I’m brave. I did what had to be done, sooner rather than later because I am a carrier of the BRCA mutation. Do you consider it brave to remove both breasts, ovaries, fallopian tubes, and uterus in order to potentially avoid life-threatening disease one day? I think it’s my job as a mother to ensure my good mental and physical health for my family. Don’t get me wrong; this was a really tough and heartbreaking decision to actively put an end to my fertility. I want you to know that at age 36, I could only reach an 80% yes and 20% undecided decision. That’s the best I could do. I knew that I would never be ready for this surgery at this age; that as long as I was young and healthy I would think that maybe I could “get away with” having more kids at this risky age. I knew that was a dangerous road though, and to travel down that road is a gamble more than a calculated decision. So, I would wait for closure after surgery. Fortunately I didn’t have to wait long for surgery nor closure; just as I was waiting to be taken to the OR, I stared at a picture of my sleeping angel with a devilish smile on her lips, and it literally dawned on me that I would get to see a zillion of her milestones and not just a few hundred. It meant the chance at 1st day of school, high school graduation, university graduation and watching her search and find her calling and place in the world, watching people fall in love with her, give her away under a canopy (G-D Willing) and bear children and maybe even see them to grade 1 like my grandparents did. It’s not much to ask, but it is much to ask for carriers of the BRCA mutation.

Don’t think that I didn’t feel self-pity for the girl who will have no breasts or fertility organs – I’ve practically removed everything that makes me a woman. Thankfully I still have a vagina, clitoris, and beautiful long hair (on my head people!) so I can still orgasm and feel Victoria Secret sexy no matter what. Ultimately it’s all in our heads and you know it! So I had to quickly get rid of that argument and make amends. This could all be fixed with a little positive self talk, exercise, makeup and cute bra (fitted for silicone prostheses) and bikini undies… it helps that hubby is an ass man…

So you see, I am not brave at all. It was actually fear that motivated me to take out the organs. The payoff is an incredible feeling of liberation. I literally have new lease on life. I can stop thinking Cancer and start living like a typical person with “normal” mortality risks. Finally!

Ironically, all mutations have evolved in order for the host to survive better and longer but we’re unsure what exactly the BRCA mutation was meant to empower us with; we only know the side effect was that it left us completely unarmed to battle breast and ovarian cancers. Maybe one day we’ll find out that I could never get arthritis or measles or maybe I could eat ice cream without ever gaining weight…