So says my sweet baboo. I know baby, I say, they are….And I like your head better with hair, me too baby, me too. But I am getting used to seeing you with no hair on your head mommy, even though I like you with hair better, I still love you. I love you too baby….
You’re going to be tired, they say.
Listen to your body, they say.
You’ll want to rest, they say.
You will feel like vomiting, they say.
This will be over, they say.
You will see the end, they say.
Goddamn you cancer
I should not be having conversations with my five year old about mommies losing their boobs, about cancer, about mommies and daddies dying from cancer, about kids getting sick and recovering from cancer, about me being sick from chemo and not being able to play….we should be talking of butterflies and fish in our stream and dressing our dog up for a monster truck parade.
Last week was one of the most horrific weeks of my lifetime. Monday I received the Nuelasta shot [Satan’s Elixir]. Goddammit. I’d never felt such chills, pains, aches, pukes, squirts, fever and fuck all’s in all my fucking life. Last Tuesday, I found myself hunched over the toilet violently hurling the remaining apple cobbler from dinner the night before. Seriously thought I was fucking dying guys, no lie. Fortunately Mr. Badboob stayed home till lunch….allowing me to puke and shit it out unencumbered…. Think about your worst hangover….now multiple that by 100, still not even close to the amount of funk I was feeling. I felt as if I was having an out of body experience. All I could do is sleep and try to keep the slickness at bay. Skin felt fake and light.
I was so fucking tired…. like falling asleep walking up the stairs tired….falling asleep brushing teeth tired. I felt like a goddamned narcoleptic I tell ya…You will be tired, they say.
Expander fill number 5 last Wednesday & the first time in the 97 days post bilateral mastectomy I felt proportioned. Finally my boobs larger than my stomach….yay….But considering my stomach is fucking gigantic, it’s not saying much. The first day or so after a fill, my boobs are leading the way and knocking everything over. Thing is, these fuckers are fake and I can not feel shit….So opening the closet door, I’m chopping my boob off or my boob gets in the way of the washer lid….Seriously, these expander fuckers are goddamned bizarre. And I still need one more fill he says, you will be over inflated he says….I’m no longer a hairless dumpy spazz. I’ve some curves back, albeit my boobs are up under my arms at the mo….
In the meantime, I have found some tanks I can wear in public. Thank fuck I won’t be forced to sweat it out in hoodies this summer. One good thing about the chemo is the pube loss….Since my surgery it’s been tricky to shave the pits….I’m granola but not grow your pit hair out granola….so this helps, slightly. Sweet Baboo remarked the other day that I must be getting the best super boobs because they were so hard & big now…. yeah something like that sweetie.
The final reconstruction will wrap up this horrific ordeal. By then, cancer will have taken up almost an entire year of not only my life, but my family’s life. I’ve all forgotten what intimacy and normalcy feel like. I’ll be able to use shampoo again, not have to worry about toxic urine or not being able to kiss Mr. Badboob because mouth sores caused by chemo are too irritated, or feeling like I’m going to pop an expander, or looking in the mirror and just crying and crying because I hate what I see….oh fuck you breast cancer.
Last week really fucking drained the life from me. As luck would have it, both days I secured assistance for sweet baboo, plans fell through…. and you know, I shouldn’t be surprised, but motherfuck….. So sweet baboo and I played lots of bed-fort games and other games that didn’t take much energy from me. We binge watched Fuller House and had lots of low key fun, talked of the Easter Bunny and his helpers. We talked of days when I’ll be better and how much fun we’ll have at the beach with grandpa and grandma this summer.