Because it’s catchy and because it’s mostly true.

While I was not the one with cancer, caring for someone with cancer is an experience unlike anything else you will have to do in your life. With a child that had just started preschool and a husband who sometimes was too tired to use the bathroom, cancer did make me fat. Or, the stress from cancer rather. It seemed the only time I actually had to myself would be later in the evenings and, in the dark and the silence I would become unhinged. I’d cry, I’d shake and to make it stop, I would eat.

And I would eat what I wanted. Pizza, sour cream and onion chips and ice cream? Sure. In fact, that was a dinner that my son and I had while Jeff was in the hospital for a week. Proudest parenting moment? No. But it seemed all I could do at that moment.

So, in short, cancer (indirectly) made me fat. And while I have lost some of the weight (I’m still working on it!), I hope this blog will make me feel a bit lighter, even if no actual pounds are shed.