What A Long, Strange Trip It’s Been

Here I lay, eight days post-op. My brain is mush. My body is yelling at me. My heart is breaking.

Thing is, we know there’s no directions to life.  You’re born and thrown in the public school system and are to navigate your life. By the choices you made. People you talk with. I feel most people are kind at heart. We all know there are some crazy ass motherfuckers out there who should not be able to see the light of day, ever. But deep down we are a compassionate bunch of fuckers.

Since my breast cancer diagnosis, I’ve naturally been gravitating to those with cancer and making some strong ass, life long bonds with these awesome women; who’ve all lost their tits…some are losing their life, as I type this. One of my goddess’es has been knocked down. But she’s feisty and got such a strong sense of self, I admire her strength and courageous and grace during her entire ordeal. She will say when it’s her time, not the disease.

Whether it’s stage 1 or stage 4 —fuck cancer–so hard–that will never change. Cancer has ruined so many lives. Taken the light from so many I care about. Taken those you care about. And we are left to cry over their memory. 

Now onto the physical. I still cry that my chest has been completely mutilated in the past year, or reconstructed, in Doctor speak.  I opted for a complete hysterectomy because of the mutated gene I carry. Eliminating the working objects from the lady cave may prevent cervical/ovarian cancers.One major chapter is closed in this cancer saga, but the footnotes are still open, they hurt. They’re raw.

I’ve said and done so much stupid shit in my 42 years. I’d like to say that I won’t screw up again, but like most humans we eventually do. Those who love us will help work through and eventually past. I’m so fortunate to have such a loving husband, who has been able to get past my fuck-ups (many times). Last week he took the best care of me. Apparently I have a reaction to anesthesia. Holy fuck, the puking after a hysterectomy was brutal as fuck. Trying to hurl while trying not to herniate your vaginal cap stitches–graceful I am not.

There are many who don’t agree with what I say or how I do it. That’s ok. I don’t expect 100% positive feedback. But those who know me, really know me, know I’d never intentionally disrespect another, especially one who is fighting a battle much bigger than mine will ever be. Those who’ve been through cancer will understand. And if you believe otherwise, good riddence. It plays a number with your fucking head. Feeling totally distraught one moment, happy the next…

So here I sit. 

Post-op. 

Boobs are banded super fucking tight for two weeks. 

The lady cave is screaming & yelling at me, meds are helping so/so. I’m torn with wanting to love the implants. Sorta like a parting gift….thanks for playing breast cancer with us….you’re going home with new tits!!!! [audience claps enthusiactically]

The past nine months have been hell with my metal state. My body has changed, swelled & morphed into so many unrecognizable characters….biopsied, mastectomy, chemo, exchange surgery….so many meds. So many tears. So many days I found it impossible to drag myself from bed. 

So. Many. Tears. 

You think what the fuck? 

Is all this worth it? 

Then, you get that loving look from your spouse, a surprise hug from your little one. A friend telling you she found the light within you. And decide. Yes, it was worth it. Every fucking bit of it. 

You Have Grandpa Hair Mommy.

Gee thanks kid.

Yes gang, my head does resemble that of a grandpa’s head, sort of…. Really am so happy the shit is finally growing back in! After over four months of being bald and hairless, it’s quite a relief. And I can actually grab a bit with my fingers too!! But….mother-what-the-fuck-my brows and lashes have almost all shed this week. I now have less brows than when I was going through chemo. The fuck? I’ve put a call into my onco for answers. It may be normal. It may be meds. IDK. I do know I’m not pleased with this new development.

One week and a day from today I will be checking into the hospital [at 5 fucking 15 am]!! The new tits will be installed. Old, useless and potentially deadly equipment will be removed. [read….no more crotch bleeding ]I should be good as new…. and with awesome new bewbs ….

  1. They’ll never slide into my armpits when I lay down.
  2. I won’t have to hold when running, they won’t knock me out while jumping
  3. I’ll no longer be able to tuck into my pants,
  4. No longer be able to wrap around my neck to keep my warm on the cold winter nights
  5. Will not need a bra…Will not need a bra….Will not need a bra!! [been wearing those bitches since I was 12. Have permanent grooves dug into my shoulders from those boulder holders]

My physical strength has returned, mentally I’m still a bit mushy; one day at a fucking time kids. It’s been great. Running, playing, jumping and getting all our sillies out with my Sweet Babboo. That sweet child has been through a lot in his five years of life, loss of a younger brother, mommy with breast cancer. I try to tell him everyday how happy I am he chose us to be his mommy and daddy.

Just the other day Babboo had all his kitty cat beanies lined up playing school. The mommy kitty said she was sick. Kitties at school asking mama cat why she was sick. I heard him reply, in his mama cat voice, that she had breast cancer…. Fuck. My heart swelled and dropped at the same time. But those baby kitties rallied around their mommy, taped her up and kept telling her they loved her… What a sweet imagination.
He sees me. He sees my strength. He sees our love.
He’s going to be OK.

It’s not been roses everyday. It has not…. Maybe decaying, rotting in water roses…. It’s been fucking hard some days. Yeah, yeah, everyone’s life is tough. Everyone’s life is rough…. Everyone is faced with challenges. This I know, but remember this is my space and place. Perhaps if some quit sticking your nose where it shouldn’t belong, you’ll quit smelling shit….Seriously, we are faced with enough bullshit in our everyday lives. Let’s quit fucking with each other, fuckers. 

Recently, I’ve felt a renewed clarity. This a new and amazing feeling for me.

Next week, I’ll be in recovery mode again for a few weeks. Shit, it’s taken me almost seven months to regain my pre-mastectomy strength. During that time I was undergoing chemo, hence the delay in feeling ‘like myself’.

No chemo this time. Just recovery.
No worries if cancer has spread this time. Just recovery.
No more being scared out of my fucking mind. Just recovery.

While I’m still pissed as fuck at the lump I discovered 243 days ago and I will probably always say ‘fuck cancer’. Always have said ‘fuck cancer’ so why should I stop saying it now? I’m not as angry. I still have my life, family and support system, which has been vital to my full recovery.  That’s what it all about, family. Right? I sincerely mean all the thank you’s to everyone. All who’ve sent messages, gifs, gifts, food, wishes, what have ya….I appreciate it all. I know I was freaking out in the beginning with my diagnosis. Thanks for sticking with me to see how this unfolds.

One week from today. One fucking week! This is one of my final steps in becoming a breast cancer thriver…. I love that term. Not only are we survivors, but we’re also thriving in the shit hole of life. 

Much love and all the feels to you guys.

xx