“Look Mom, A Girl With No Hair.”

Yes honey I see that. She has cancer, the mom replied.  When people have cancer, they have to go through chemotherapy.  And with chemo sweetie, they get really sick and most lose their hair like that girl….aw, shucks….42 and they are calling me a girl….thanks for making my day sweet mom at target for explaining to your little girl about cancer and for thinking I was a kid.

My incisions are fucking frowning at me. Why is this so? Seriously, at the incision site, the lines are rounded down in a frownward motion. Are they mad at me for having doctors mutilate and hack at them? They do not like the breast muscle tissue expander either. Do all post mastecto chests frown? Or is is just mine? This is serious shit, I need answers.

Stretch marks from the breast tissue expansion. Weird. Why is this so? I had so much skin to work with [hello, NatGeo]….only to cut, toss in trash [bye bye nipples] and begin stretching my skin again.

Where have my nipples gone?
What barge are they decaying on?

I have totally faith in the plastic surgeon’s ability….but damn….you really do need to be a patient patient for the good shit to happen and my chest muscles to finish expanding. As much as I hate the discomfort from the expanders, I’m glad I have a competent surgeon….hopefully I’ll have two, not three or four boobs when he is done. I’m ready to be able to feel my arms, chest, under arm & side boob again. Shit’s still numb & sore. It’s a surreal experience showering and not knowing if I’m really washing my body. Let’s not forget the goddamned power port making my life even more miserable. Blah blah blah….bitch bitch bitch….Not necessarily bitching….Just telling my story as I see it….
Will implants frown or smile? I hope like fuck those bitches will be smiling. I know I will be. As the surgery is one of the last steps in my breast cancer journey. In just 21 days, the plastic surgeon will work his magic sculpting my new boobs!! I must say, I am pretty fucking excited to have the reduction I’ve always wanted. My excitement is growing everyday.

I will be entering the autumn of my life with kick ass cancer free tits! If I choose nipples, there will be one more procedure with him. But, I’ve already begun thinking of a beautiful post-masecto piece- pretty sure that’s the route I’ll be going.

How much do the expanders weigh now? His much will the implants weigh? Well I googled that shit and right now the expanders are adding a little over two pounds to my frame.

My hair growth is going well, considering I was  more or less hairless a little over a month ago. I received my last chemo infusion 38 days ago. You can tell by this picture, just how much hair has actually grown in. I’m such a lovely vision of beauty. [snort….sarcastic eye roll inserted here] I’m still a hot fucking mess….I know with surgery less than a month a way, I’ll be a bigger, hotter mess. Ha, with my mastectomy, I was concerned because I had to completely disrobe prior to surgery, I was worried about the baby-slide.  So I shaved and got razor rash…..grrr….anyhoo….I’m not going to stress about the meat curtains as the surgeon is removing all baby making materials….
Still hard to fathom that 230 days ago Mr. Badboob and I received life altering news. The in-laws happened to be visiting us that day. So glad to have had all the love, support & shoulders to lean on from day one. Two hundred and thirty fucking days ago….goddammit. The online support has been more than tremendous. Each day I feel I get a little closer to some of you. The girl power is strong in my group of friends. We are carefully building each other up, to ensure we become the best possible in this fucked up world.

From my misty eyes to yours. Make it a good one.

And for fucks sake, feel yourself ladies. Have your man feel your boobs. Men, you can get breast cancer too….check yourselves.
 

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So When You Say Psychosomatic,

You mean like he could start a fire with his thoughts?

With all do respect, wanna know what really fucks me the fuck off?
Those of you who are intentionally avoiding sick folks.
Why? Because we don’t know what to say Tara. 
Why no texts? We think a lot about you, just never reach out Tara.
Why no correspondence? We just couldn’t be around you, during treatment Tara.
Well fuck me for disturbing your life and making you uncomfortable. And why you peeping my shit, just to keep up in your own right.  Ya know, breast cancer survivor wasn’t on my bucket list either fuckers….seriously….don’t read too much into this….just getting the thoughts out….I get it, life gets busy and there is really no way to get away from your duties….the duties never end. Soooooo the above statement is a huge generalization of the fucked up shit I think about. While it is hurtful as those comments have actually been said to me, I do get it.

The more I wrote this blog and chronicle my #badboob, the better I feel….I get it….It’s healing me…..it’s cathartic….it’s growth in life….It’s kinda cool though cause I’ve never been writing. Never.  Anyone can have a blog and let their demons out, case in point motherfuckers, welcome….word by word, my scars are slowly fading….fuck you cancerous tit….fuck you cancer….it fucks with a girls head….just sayin….don’t be a stranger….to that lady in the coffee shop….to that gent at the Subway….there is a lot of evil out there. My heart is filled with love for you, the readers, it goes beyond this blog, my life, my real life.

I want you to love. To be kind. To protect. To teach our young.

I’m grateful for my husband and children. I’m grateful for my gifts & blessings during my breast cancer journey. My gifts have been great and small, from the surgeons who donated their services, free, to everyone that has reached out. I now see opportunities in places I would have not normally noticed. I know when I am looking back on my journey, I will be looking ahead at how to help other cancer patients. I’m still not sure what my calling will be, but I know it will be meaningful and I will be helping some of you fuckers out there. 

So many souls

So many cancers

So many tears

IDK if you’re new to the saga of my  formerly saggy #badboob or have been here since day one [you day one fuckers I thank you. That’s fucking dedication. And I like that.] but I’m happy with a bunch of shit too. Dr High, one of the most  highly skilled plastic surgeon in the RDU area.  Dr. Tolnitch the best breast surgeon in my area….I mean, shit they both went above and beyond for a patient….that patient was me….fucking me! Holy shit, the gifts are growing. I’ve noticed an influx of growth in gifts post masecto. I thank you much. The creativeness that goes behind your action to ensure I open with a smile is always achieved.  So many online ‘virtual’ friends, local friends, new and old [fuck guys, the majority of us are well into our 40’s and some have tiptoed into your 50’s & beyond], so much fantastic food, so many prezzies, so much money, so many home bake deliciousness, groceries purchased, shoulders, smiles, hugs, prayers, all of it; thank you.Big massive hugs to each and every single one of you fuckers.You are seriously the best.

Fortunately I’m a SAHM working part-time from the computer and my boss has been incredibly understanding. Fuck me, If I were sole bread winner; we’d have died of starvation months ago because the rain destroyed our cardboard home. For realz. No shit.

My insurance is due to be canceled in 11 days. My medical procedures are scheduled in 29 days. What in the fucking fuck? Seriously motherfucker’s, I’ve been on the phone with so many agents, made and emailed so many copies of the same goddamned information, multiple fucking times. I have a hearing a few days before my surgery. To see if I am worthy of their insurance. This should be a fucking blast. I can’t wait. Whoohoo

One of my favorite ways to sleep is stomach down, it’s a bit difficult to do with the expanders & port. You know the drill, you toss to this side with pillow, that side sheet kicked off foot until you fall into a semi-comfortable-but-your-brain-won’t-quit-kind-of-sleep. Whew….it’s fucking exhausting. I realize that is a small complaint in the complaints of life. I am glad to have some small, trivial shit to bitch about. ~~Seriously cancer this, scar here, doctor’s there, the list never ends. Never Ends….So while I  know some of you beautiful souls living your life with chronic pain [such as I do], some of you are paralyzed, someone is newly blind, some have babies, some don’t, someone just had a miscarriage, someone just lost limbs fighting for us in America, someone had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer….There are so many scenarios. So many people. So many ailments. So many cancers. So many drugs. So much treatments and planning of treatments….the list will always goes on….the list never quits.

From my prescription bottle to yours, make it a great one.

Time Keeps On Slippin, Slippin, Slippin….

Fucking Life

Fucking Death

Shit. Does. Not. Stop. Ever.

If you’re one of the lucky ones, you’ll get some laughs along the way with little memory of the hardships you’ve endured….

Bills still need to be paid….cars & homes maintained…appointments & shit will need to be done….booboo’s cared for….loved ones loved….compromises….lots of fucking compromises….and just because you had cancer and a few rounds of grueling ass chemo….so fucking what?…Life. Does. Not. Give. A. Goddamn….get your treatment and get off your fucking ass.

So lemme tell ya, there’ve been a few [very few mind you] perks from chemotherapy. It’s been pretty fucking nice not having to look for that hard, sneaky fuck of a white chin hair….sometimes it’ll pop up on the left side, others the right….and I can almost never pluck that bitch first try…I no longer have to pluck nipple hair….ever…. again….been using the same razor [just to get the strays] for months….fucking score, right!…no periods in months….with the playground being demolished in a few weeks, that’ll be one monkey permanently off my crotch….lots of time has been saved in the shower….conditioner & shit….boom I’m done in mere minutes….money has been saved on make up and shit….with no eyelashes, I don’t need mascara, duh….with monster fucking pimples, no need to use foundation to try to cover, it only makes it worse….and with shitty puke fest, I’ve saved a shitton of money on my vehicle and fuel….so there have been some good points….very small, minor money saving occurrences during my breast cancer jaunt.

Weeds are tall as fuck outside

We laughed hard as hell in the living room

Spider webs outside

We played rescue garage

Still dusty as fuck inside

Splashed our asses off in the pool

Fucking life does not stop

Maybe next weekend we will dust the house, weed eat the yard, mow the lawn and leaf blow the spiders that have taken up residency in the corners of our home into the wild oblivion.

The scale has finally begun cooperating with me again. Thank fuck for that small feat. By resuming our walks with our lumpy yellow dog, the pounds are slowly dropping off. Goddamn three or four weeks of inactivity and the pounds take it as some sort of fucking invitation to jump back onto your gut or ass….or arms….or neck….gobble gobble….fuck, once I grow double chins, there’ll be more places to hide food on my body. [insert wow face emoticon with hands to mouth ala Home Alone fashion here]

Seriously can’t stress what a constant, itching, burning pain in the ass the power port is. I feel its presence with each step, cough, word I speak….the incision site was really bothersome last week, over the weekend I noticed it had begun to scab slightly….and that fucking plastic ‘vein’….my gawd….remove that bitch today! Please and thank you. Thank fuck this fucker will be removed in 35 days. I’ve talked to so many breast cancer survivors who say they do not experience any problems from their ports. Hallefuckinlujah to you! I seriously am envious. There’s enough bullshit to learn and deal with once you find you have cancer and I’m sick of the port. The method of delivering the toxic chemo should not be another obstacle. But it could be worse. This I know. There are so many other outcomes that could have happened once the super doctors removed the cancer back in December. Fortunately, easy. I got off with my life. I am titless, but have plastics being installed. I am not terminal. I have lots of look forward to and accomplish yet in my life.

I was scared as fuck when I discovered that lump 216 days ago. I cried hysterically, dramatically & violently every fucking day up till my bilateral mastectomy 174 days. I also know I’m not the only one scared in life. A lot of us are. Life can be a ginormous fuckstick at times.

35 days from now the new tits will be install as well as my lady bits being removed.

Sweet Babboo will be beginning his stint with the public school system in 77 days. That’s only 76 good mornings before he’s released into the world. Infuckincredible. The badboob family had sons graduate in 2013 & 2014, for fuck’s sake. With my first two sons, I was the young parent. Now I’ll be the old, granny parent. [insert crying emoticon here] Fucking yikes I say.

I believe I’m out out the chemo induced hell…my bowels are still outta whack…my brain still scrambled….my life is still fucked….but I am here….the sun rose again this morning….time to suit up and splash in the pool.

 

Chemo’s Over, So Now What?

Well fuckers I’m still  bald.
I’m still in daily pain.
I still wonder when and if I will feel like myself again. 
The cancer may be gone, the chemo over, but the scars are to remain with me for a lifetime.

Breast cancer has totally fucked my world. Now imagine if you will an even harder fucking…That’s how hard chemo has fucked my world. I will shave my head a few more times as the sprouts I have now are intermingled with bald patches. And as much as I’d like to hair back on my head, I don’t want bald patches….and here we are.

I completed chemo over three weeks ago and am still feeling the effects. My face is completely wrecked by hard cystic acme pimple fuckers….at 42 I feel I’ve lived long enough to put the acme portion of my life behind me….Seriously…..enough is enough…..every school picture I’ve some sort of nasty pimple sticking our poking fun of me diminishing my esteem….Every….fucking….picture….The neuropathy that I experienced at the beginning of my treatments has progressively gotten worse. The neuropathy may get worse, they say….I’m so tired & my memory has….what the fuck was I even saying?….Oh yeah, my short term memory is one busted ass bitch.

Oh so fucking tired.

Now, if there’s something you should know about me is I’ve always been a ‘tired’ person. I’m tired by nature. But fuck [heehee] me, this kind of tiredness is completely new to me. Seriously, I wake up only to think about going back to bed. Badboob is a tiredboob.

But now when I sleep, I wake up covered in sweat, on my head….The fuck? How the hell can my bald ass head sweat so much? Did my head sweat this much when I had hair? I don’t think so. Goddammit. I’ve never washed my pillowcases so much.  Hormone replacement therapy will give you hot flashes, they say. And know what? I’ve not even begun the HRT….Oh joyous of times. I can’t wait to see how much I’m gong to sweat once I begin that regimen in a few weeks…Oh yes night sweats how I look forward to thee…..

Oh yeah, if there is something else you should know about me is that I love beer. Almost any variety, flavor, what have you…So imagine my delight when not one but two of my visiting guests last week left a six-pack behind!!…mmmm, beer.  It will bring me great joy to consume those delicious beverages in the hot summer sun whilst sitting poolside.

Speaking of summer sun, we began swimming this season.

Whoohoo!! Sweet Babboo is a total fish in the water. With the breast cancer and chemo bullshit going on, I’ve not had time to order that cute mermaid bathing suit so many of you are purchasing this season [insert sarcastic eye roll] from the Facebook ad….shush gals….I’m just fucking with you…You’re so totally cute in your shiny new suits and abs of steel. Meanwhile I’m wearing the same suit as last season sporting my abs of icecream with those sexy floppy waffles shoved into my bathing suit top….Oh man. I’ve put on so much weight. How the fuck does one even gain weight while going through chemo? I’m sure I’ve posed that question before.

Something I’ve noticed with myself & swimming this year, I’m not trying to suck my gut it. I’m just letting it all hang out….

Don’t have a towel to wipe the table? Try the new stomach fold over folks! Grab one side of that stomach, flatten & make that table your bitch ladies….Boom table is clean and you have snack crumbs for later. [thumbs up emoticon here]. You’re welcome. So, what I’m getting to is acceptance. Acceptance of myself….It’s so hard….Oh so hard for me to even look at myself in the mirror.

So, I take it as a huge feat not to be sucking my gut in the whole time while in the water. Small victory for me.

I am truly struggling with my appearance. Those who see me, offer a ‘you look great’. I know you guys are just blowing smoke up my ass. It’s really hard to look past all this ugly and see the glimmer of beautiful light and life shining. I know there is light in there just trying to break on through…..I hope to see it one day. It will be a long time in the making that’s for fucking sure.

Make it a good one gang!