When I say cancer has rocked my fucking world, I am not joking. I wanna tit-punch those cells that decided they could not conform to my abnormalities and create their own super cell called-invasive ductile carcinoma….ah, but they beat me to the punch. fuckers
Boobs be gone. Cancer’s a whore.
tskfuckintsk on you cancer, ya bitch
What do you do?
You do normal shit.
All while knowing the cancer is there….seriously…. it’s at that forethought my of my brain at the mo and kinda hard to distract myself….
So here I am making dinner and shit. burning my veggie crumbles because I’m not paying attention and shit.
While I know this cancer will be out. I don’t & won’t know what my cancer treatment will entail, I know it’s going to be routine for the doctors….this puts me at ease….ever so slightly, but at ease nonetheless.
I will beat this bitch that is cancer, that will have taken my boobs and part of my logical sense, cause fuck you cancer.
But….Let’s not pat each others asses just yet kids, till I’m officially cleared and shit….ya know, as a precautionary measure and shit. Cancer treatments, whether they be hormone replacement, radiation, or chemotherapy–it’s going to be a hell of a drug.
When I tuck five into bed later this evening, he’ll touch my boob, asking ‘if this is this one’ and ‘have they gotten the sick out yet’…..No honey, is all I will be able to reply. He has only turned five weeks ago, what the hell does he know about cancer? In his mommy’s boobs, that he’s just now catching on used to feed and sustain him his first year of life?
I will weep on my husband’s shoulder tonight
I will wash my face. Brush my teeth
Fall asleep in the crook of my husband’s arm
Ya know normal shit
peace, love and root-beer floats