Please Don’t Pop My Floaties

Just as I’m beginning to feel like myself & bouncing back to quote normal, my fucking hair begins falling the fuck out…. [ha, bouncing. If you recall from my earlier posts, you know I’m clumsy as fuck…so, it’s more like I’ve been falling into the walls again….Goddammit. Just another reminder of this journey & bullshit that goes along with.

Seriously though, I was feeling strong, before my hair began globing out in my fucking hands. My physical strength was almost 69 days prebilateral mastectomy  strong. I’d begun using light weights, the almost twice daily walks resumed, my napping want had subsided….a little anyway….point is I was feeling goddamned good.

The expanders are so uncomfortable people. Told you guys, I’m clumsy as fuck. And having big saline filled bags in my chest doesn’t help my grace. They’re situated more near my shoulders, like a goddamn football player wearing pads is what I feel like. [if you can visualize that]. I was told the expanders are not ‘very boob like’, no shit Doc Sherlock…. They’re hard & solid. Not squishy. They feel like I’ve got kids floaties installed in my chest. That’s how these bitches feel. I’d been trying to figure how to best articulate what they felt like….they feel like over-inflated floaties on/in my chest.

I’m hoping with the new tit exchange, the implants feel a little more comfy & I can fully embrace new body & all the hard work the doctors, myself and family have put into getting me healthy again. Now to quiet that noise in my head.  And motherfuck, just like my real boobs, these expanders are dif sizes too–the fuck? Really? How can that be? Goddamned plastic surgery….even those motherfuckers out for me while going through recovery….please? I was NatGeo before masecto & still uneven as fuck now. It’s a total esteem booster, I tell ya.

I was looking at sports bras the other day,  Little Badboob happens to asks if this is where I get my new boobs. No baby, I’m not getting my new boobs at Walmart….Thank fuck….lol

I registered my sweet baboo for kindergarten last week. It pleases me to know he’ll be entering school just as this nightmare will be wrapping up. By August, surgeries & shit should be way behind us…. Looking to the future we will be.

Chemo will give you diarrhea they say.
Buy Imodium they say.
Chemo will make you constipated they say.
Buy stool softener they say.

I started eating the Imodium’s at the first squirt of diarrhea, after chemo infusion number 1. Because you can’t have the Hershey Squirts while trying to life. Then kids, I’m so anti-poop I start eating Colace in hopes to give birth this a 12 pound bowel movement. Fuck me….It was like a playdough factory up in there….

The second chemo infusion was Friday. It went well enough. I guess. Can’t wait for the squirt fest to begin this time! Then lugging around that huge fucking chemopoo again in my belly. Oh joy! I kid you not, it smells like my innards have decayed folks. One med to fix this the other to fix that. They combine super fucking powers to fuck up your digestive track. Fun. Fun.

2

As I type this….I am bald, bloated & horribly malformed; a picture of perfection I am. I am never without Mr. Badboob’s hand, encouragement or kinds words. I’ve the support of hundreds you beautiful motherfuckers to cheer me on.

I’m not doing too bad at the mo. xx

 

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So, You’re Going Through Chemo?

Yup
Your hair is going to fall out?
Yup
That sucks
Pretty Much

today

So yes, I’ve been pretty much been waiting for that shit to fall out since my first chemo infusion 2/5/16.

Forward to day 14 after the first TC Chemotherapy Infusion aaaand my hair begins to fall the fuck out…right there in the fucking shower…sliding down my back….sliding down my legs….I knew it….You knew it….Those who will be undergoing chemo will experience it….watch the fuck out I say….yes the pubes…all the pube & pit hair too….I knew this phenomena would not happen the first day of chemofuckingtherapy. Day 13 they say the hair will begin to fall from the scalp. And of course, they called it.There was no way I could avoid losing m hair. I’d been sweating it and freaking out all week. Those who were there for me via text/talking to help talk me off the ledge, I appreciate you so very much. Sunday afternoon and fuck this shit! Mr. Badboob will you shave my head? Of course he obliged.

And holyfuck me
What a mindfuck
It looks decent enough
I look decent enough
You fuckers are all too sweet to excancer girl
with all your flattering comments & shit.
xoxo

Mouth Sores? Try Magic Mouthwash, they say. Magic mouthwash my goddamned ass. I had such high expectations in my mind regarding this magic mouthwash. I just knew it would relieve the burnt feeling my mouth has since receiving my first chemo infusion. I never actually got mouth sores. Rather, my mouth burned, like a motherfucker. It felt as if I’d sucked on a lemonhead for hours and my mouth got puckier burnt. For a few days last week, nothing could relieve it. Especially not that fucking devil’s mouthwash goddammit.We shall see how infusion number two affects me this Friday–oh happy, happy, fucking joy, joy.

At 56 days post mastectomy, I received my third expander fill. Another 90 cc’s. We talked of my volume, expectations & shit. I’m going small this time around. No more fucking NatGeo’s for me, thank you. And after living with the last fill this week, I’m honestly happy with my size now. But since there are expanders beneath my pecs, I won’t know how I will look after the new tit exchange later this spring [that’s big fucking source of anxiety too. obv]. They sit higher & wider than implants and it’s quite bizarre- they expanders are very booblike the plastic surgeon says–uhm, no shit buddy. My chest big & boxy–or at least feel that way-like a goddamned linebacker I am.

Positive – I did begin working out again this week. This is a huge accomplishment for me. As I’ve sat on my ass recovering long enough & I’m ready to feel toned & good again. Do you know that it’s possible to gain weight while on chemo? The fuck? I know!! How in the actual fuck of fucks does one gain weight during chemotherapy? Idk….but I have…a fuckton of weight too…not 2 or 3 pounds….but over 10….I kid you not….so while I’m so glad chemo is not the puke-fest from Stand By Me….I did not want to have to get used to seeing yet another form of my fat & deformed body in the mirror while recovering….goddamn you breast cancer.

I had to ask what to use as clothing because I had no idea how to dress this expander chest, goddammit. Sweatshirts were the general consensus which brought me to Ross and waiting an hour in their fucking check out line & sweet friends who had delivered some sweatshirts to me. I’ve got some of you bringing me scarves, hats & shit too–thank you all; for everything.

Friday the 26th I will be sitting in the chemo suite at the Duke Cancer Center. This will be infusion number two of four.The port is healed and hopefully the lidocaine cream will work it’s magic again on the power port. I should not feel a thing. Nor should I need any extra sticks. That’s the point of the port, one easy to use access point.

Make it a good one.

Get off your ass and explore it all

 

 

Hate To Break It To You, But Girls Do Poo

10 days after my first chemotherapy infusion and I’m still feeling uneasy. It’s difficult to articulate while keeping it within the realm of understanding for the mere mortals that roam the earth aimlessly. I really don’t know what the fuck that is to mean, I wrote it yesterday and kinda like it. Just need to bring it back home for the point and score.  I can say it is not the puke fest I imagined it would be.

Some days it feels as if I’ve given birth to a potato…the chemolaced poos are no joke….goddammit….don’t say you’ve never felt that relief of dropping a deuce so solid it brought a tear to your face…[insert crying emoticon here]….I know you have….at least one time….I once smelled a chemo-poo & thought I’d smelled death….That fucker lingered for hours…Seriously, it was so putrid. I had no idea smells like that could be emitted from the human body. And no, it was not mine. At that moment in time, I could only hope to never have to endure that in the bathroom, well guess what, little miss TC chemo regimen, your poo smells like death.  And other days, it feels like my ass is vomiting…oh joy….fuck….I know  this is a lot to digest in this paragraph…So moving on….

Do you know what happens to a five year old & a pair of scissors left unattended for four 1/2 minutes? He gives himself a Dwight Shrute. No shit, my sweet baboo looks like Dwight from The fucking Office, poor fucker. lol We’ve yet to fix his head. It’s actually not that bad if you comb it over just right. [insert winky-face emoticon] Mr. Badboob cut and colored my hair crazy cool purples& blues one last time before it all falls out last night. We really should fix little Badboob’s Shrute too.

Tomorrow I’ll go to the plastic surgeon for expander fill #3. I think I’ll try 95 units cc with this fill. First was 100, and way too fucking much. Second, was 90 and I still felt relatively normal. Though it’s strange as fuck watching the expander fill before your eyes. Boom. Instant tits. Well, pecs at least, but it’s instant. I’m not sure how others feel, but I feel big and boxing and still clumsy as fuck. Chemo Brain. Lol. That’s a funny term. It’s given because the chemo drugs make you forgetful too. But if you’re also on a regimen of shit, you’re going to be forgetful . So there’s that.

The power port has finally settled itself the fuck down. Thank fuck. It’s still irritating as hell, but tolerable. The 26th will be my second chemo infusion session. This one should not last the four hours first one did, only about two hours, they say.

Not only is chemo excreted through your saliva & waste kids, it’s also released through your skin. Welp guess what kids? I’ve had bad fucking skin since I was 9. No lie. Every motherfucking school picture of me from Pre-K to graduation, there is a fever blister or pimple of some form or another glaring back at me, preserved forever. Gotta love that Scott/Irish blood, eh?  Goddammit, the last thing I want to be walking around with a boxy uneven chest, bald head and massive fucking pimples on my face at 42.

Oh , did I mention the nose bleeds and mouth sores yet? I feel like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia with my bloody post nasal drip and scratchy Demi Moore voice.

 

 

 

 

 

One Down Three To Go

Alright motherfucker’s shit has been real here.

This last week was crazy! Beginning with that suck ass early wake call-up rude bitch in our ears. Ending with my first of four chemo infusions. We were able to get together for a much overdue visit with family. Unfortunately I was feeling shitty & slept the better portion of the day away, but the boys had a good time.

This week I’ve felt all new feelings of pain and anxiety within my body and mind. It’s all so fucking crazy. And I swear this little power port fucker for chemo is going to crawl out of my body. It’s so goddamned foreign in there-der that’s why it’s being all stupid and shit. I seriously want to rip this bitch out.

Sleep has been crazy enough the past 48 days post masecto. With the port healing, sleep is even more uncomfortable.  Can you believe it’s been 48 days that I was under the knife and skilled hand of surgeons having my cancerous tit sliced off? I sure as fuck can’t believe it. I discovered the lump 90 days ago. 90 motherfucking days! If we were in Kindergarten, we’d be gearing up for our 100 day celebration of #badboob.

Though school is in session for 180 days, so why not mark the 90th day as the halfway point instead of day 100? Hmmm? Teachers please answer me this.

When they administer chemotherapy to you, you are instantly fed a new vocabulary and so many health hazards within the home. Holy fuckamorolee. The chemo is released by your fluids and waste. You are advised to stay away from meal prep of any sort for at least 48 hours after an infusion. It’s hardcore shit. How’s that for toxic thoughts?

They tell me I will feel a strange, explainable fatigue and not to fight it. Just lie down they say-ha right. That’s totally feasible with a five year old running a muck.  Good thing weather has been so gloomy, my sweet baboo loves cuddling in his sleeping bag with a hot mug of cocoa. Hopefully that course of action will prove successful over the next few days.

The thing with kids is that you’re sleep deprived from day one. Technically speaking, I’ve be deprived of sleep since 11/28/1994, so what’s another few months of deprivation, eh?

My chemo schedule is every 21 days, with my last one on April 8. Thinking in terms like that, it doesn’t seem too far away. Though I hear, from many people, that you don’t really know yourself until you go through chemo. You don’t know your strength or will. I’m determined as fuck to beat this shit right the fuck outta me.

By summertime my new tits should be installed and chemo will be an awful memory. In the meantime, I’m waiting for results to come back for my chances of ovarian cancer. I’ve just had new revelations into my family history, so it’s probably safe for me to assume I’ll need my lady bits ripped from my body too. We shall see.

Be kind. Love yourself. Love those around you.

 

I Have To Get Up When? Motherfuck!

4:52 am BEEP BEEP BEEP

Fuck’s sake, 4:52? The fuck is the alarm going off so goddamned early? ah, yeah–my port placement is happening in an hour and half….

Flash forward-5:10 am. I am sitting here at my lappy entering another quick bloggie before we begin our adventure {insert sarcastic eye roll here}. There is no make up to apply or hair to fix this morning, seeing as how I’ll be under sedation drooling on myself shortly. So, I’m actually surprised that it took me eight whole minutes to get ready.

They say this is a ‘simple’ out patient procedure. See kids, the thing with waking up at the fuck-this-shit-o-clock for hospital procedures, you are not to eat or drink anything past midnight; like a goddamned Gremilin. So no chocolate malt infused protein coffee for me this morning–the struggle is real fuckers.

With the threat of chemo looming overhead and taunting me to no end, I began researching chemo cold caps. Have you seen this technology yet? It is supposed to be worn during chemo infusions and the idea is that it freezes your hair follicles resulting in little to no hair loss, on your head anyway….I’m sold!…Thinking to myself. That is until I see the price associated with these magnificent little beasts. Then several friends went to amazon seeking cheaper cold caps. Yes, they do have an assortment, but those reviews are not too favorable. The ice keeps melting, or leaking or causing problems. The last thing I need is more problems once the chemo drip begins. We shall see what comes of it. I really don’t need to purchase a cap as I’ll only be using it four sessions, a loaner cold cap is what I’m seeking.

Oh yes, after we leave the hospital, around lunch time, they say….I’ll be headed to the plastic surgeon for my second saline fill. This should be fun as the last fill hand me immobilized for days after. Fingers crossed they release me with a good pain med today as I don’t think the tramadol’s will cut is for the next few days.

Mr. Badboob is waking Little Badboob at the mo. We packed his bag of hot wheels & electronics last night as they will be hanging out in the lobby during the port placement. Not exactly where we wanted our sweet baboo this morning, but eh, what are you going to do?

Just checked my stats: I first felt the lump 83 days ago. And my bilateral mastectomy was 41 days ago. It’s still such a mindfuck and some days so hard to wrap my head around all the information, paperwork and bullshit that goes along with cancer.

Make it a good one kids. Feel your boobs. Hug your family. Be kind.