There’s a chance you won’t like me a few sentences from now.

I’ve lost almost 40 pounds this year, but I haven’t been trying.

Some of you know I have regular blood tests – and not because you’re my doctor. One day I may regret speaking so openly about myself. So much for my dream of one day being named ambassdor to Iceland. Although they’ve always given me a clean bill on the cancer front, they’re setting off klaxons on the metabolism front. Alright, it’s really not that bad, but I like the word klaxon.

Red meats are off the menu, as are many sugars and starches. I carefully track the foods I eat on a dandy little app on my phone. That’s how I know. Eight pm rolls around and I’m often WAY under my recommended calorie intake for the day. Many nights I’m breaking out the snacks just to get within a couple hundred calories of where I should be. And I’m not hungry.

I’m not starving myself. I eat little (healthy) snacks throughout the day. My doctor was surprised by my weight loss, but not alarmed, so maybe I shouldn’t worry. But 40 pounds? My weight got a little out of control after I got out of the hospital two years ago, but I wasn’t close to obese. Now twenty percent of my body is gone. What if there was something in that fifth I liked?

I’m going to need more reassurance from my doctor the next time I see her. Don’t get me started with the insurance problems I’m having with my oncologist. I’ve cancelled my last two appointments waiting for the contract to be finalized between my insurance company and his new practice. Cheryl’s gonna have a nervous breakdown and order me to pay the damn bill as a self-pay patient.

Oops! I guess I got started.

People who know my history come up to me with concern in their eyes. “Are you ok? You look like you’ve lost a lot of weight.” I’m not sure how to answer. Do I tell them the truth? “I think I’m ok, and I appretiate the concern and all, but you’re freaking me out a little.”