Or, if your boyfriend's dad cooked you a delicious meal and you could barely cut the marinated and perfectly grilled chicken apart without being repulsed by it?
You probably wouldn't rush to your doctor's office demanding tests because you're exhibiting very typical symptoms of a life-threatening illness.
No, you would probably be happy you're not eating that much (your ass has shrunk two whole dress sizes!), and that you're saving a ton of money because you would be spending evenings at home on your gloriously comfortable couch.
It's been a whole year since I lived that life, and I'm still in disbelief that those were symptoms of cancer. Only in retrospect am I able to fully understand how differently my body was behaving.
Last week (like most weeks), I ate like a pig. Monday, my boyfriend's dad cooked a meal much like the one I was repulsed by one short year ago - steak, chicken thighs, ribs and sausages - and I gobbled up every meaty bit. Later in the week, his family ordered hoards of Thai food (when you're dating a chef your relationship and your appetite go hand-in-hand), and I had to stop myself after two full platefuls.
As mentioned in previous postings, my body is demonstrating all the symptoms of an increased appetite (yup, I'm back up two dress sizes). But, I'm not too worried. My pig-like appetite is a sign that my body is functioning properly, and keeping itself nourished and energized.
At least for now, I'm not depriving my body of anything my appetite desires. I might have looked damn good in a bikini one year ago, but like my boyfriend says, "I like you better without a tumour in your chest".