Kylie Minogue has a strange effect on me. I was never a Neighbours fan, and definitely not a fan of her music, but nonetheless I experience a little frisson of national pride when I hear about her success. But since being diagnosed with cancer, Ms Minogue has become a symbol of survival for me. A small irrational part of my brain thinks if Kylie is still alive then I will survive too and if she can endure tamoxifen, then so can I.
Apparently I am not the only one. A quick google will reveal any number of bloggers and journalists referring to Kylie’s ordeal in the context of their own experience with breast cancer. Last year Kylie celebrated 10 years since diagnosis, a truly significant milestone.
Clearly I should have taken the issue of weight gain on tamoxifen as seriously as Ms Minogue obviously did.
Now back to me and my efforts to shed the tamoxi-pounds.
According to Women’s Health Magazine1, this week I should be anxious for affirmation such as my husband saying “A think you look a little more toned, dear.” but, alas, although I think I can see a suggestion of a waist starting to appear, I fear that third party affirmation will not be forthcoming.
And to make matters worse, although my weight dropped below the 58kg mark on Saturday, but Monday it was right back up where I started, presumably because of all the salty food I ate, but I shall not concede defeat yet. 10 weeks to Christmas.