When I was five my dad discovered his cholesterol was super high, so he changed his lifestyle right away. My mom started serving dry chicken nearly every night for dinner, and I started eating over at my friends’ houses every chance I got. It’s really a shame because back in the day she’d make some mean dishes like lasagna and chocolate chip cookies. She still makes fabulous honey cake and potato latkes. It’s just that fucking chicken that gets to me.

When I was 10 I started getting cholesterol tests during my yearly checkups. I hated them, but the smiley face sticker the nurse gave me when it was over made it worthwhile. In the 8th grade my cholesterol was 208, which is considered high, and I voluntarily went on a low-fat diet for one year. It’s fucking nuts that a 13 year-old kid would do this, but since both my parents had high cholesterol, I thought it was necessary.

The only two times I ordered pizza that year I said, “I’d like a half-cheese pizza, please.”

“What do you mean ‘half-cheese pizza’?” the Pizza Hut employee asked.

“When the pizza is made, only put half the normal amount of cheese on.”

In the summer of ’98 my family went on vacation to Hershey Park. After riding through the chocolate factory we were all given free Hershey’s Kisses. “I’m not allowed to eat these,” I said as I gave them to my brother. An hour later I couldn’t take it anymore and guzzled two pints of chocolate milk.

One of the best things to come out of cancer was my parents’ newfound lack of concern over my fat and cholesterol intake. Many cancer patients lose weight, and they didn’t want that to happen to me. Not only were my parents willing to buy me high-fat foods, they basically shoved them down my throat. If they had the ability to inject lipids straight into my vein, they probably would (although Cinnabon tends to do that naturally).

During cancer #1 my immune system was normal every third week, so my brother would come home from college and we would all go out to dinner. We always went to a steakhouse because of the high concentration of iron in meat. “We need to stuff you full of steak to boost your hemoglobin,” my mom always said. One night I attempted to eat a 16 ounce steak at Outback Steakhouse. It felt like death.

The permission to become a fatass was my gift. Thanks cancer.