Digestive difficulties

This post is what the British call a whinge, which sounds even more petulant than a whine. But I have to admit, not everything is easy these days.
The problems run from my taste buds all the way down. One of the first, and sometimes only, symptoms of the cancer is weight loss. It feels almost un-American to lose weight without planning or trying, but since October I've lost nine pounds. I'm still within the normal range, and despite what the women's magazines say over and over again, losing those last few pounds does not automatically translate into happiness (or looking great in a bikini).
According to the oncologist, cancer cells tend to put out a protein which suppresses appetite. We could make a mint if we could separate the effect from the minor problem of its being attached to cancer. In any case, eating has gone from being a joy to a chore.
To add to this, chemo affects taste in odd ways. So far, I suddenly don't like shrimp, green olives, wine or coffee; the last is worst, because coffee is not just a beverage, but a social lubricant, a way of jump starting my brain, and a basic part of my identity. On the other hand, for the first time in years I'm drinking milk. A psychological retreat to childhood?
At the other end of the digestive tract is elimination. Or not, as the case may be. The nurses couldn't agree on whether the chemo would cause diarrhea or constipation. If they'd set up a pool, the ones who bet on constipation would have won big. Let me just say that I used to think that "shitting bricks" was a metaphor.