What Is An Umbilical Hernia?

Well, the first clue is Umbilical, belly button. Hernia – A hernia occurs when an organ or fatty tissue squeezes through a weak spot in a surrounding muscle or connective tissue called fascia. The most common types of hernia are inguinal (inner groin), incisional (resulting from an incision), femoral(outer groin), umbilical (belly button), and hiatal (upper stomach). [web MD] An umbilical hernia occurs when part of your intestine bulges through the opening in your abdominal muscles near your bellybutton (navel). Umbilical hernias are common and typically harmless. Umbilical hernias are most common in infants, but they can affect adults as well. [mayo clinic]

If you recall, last post in my adventures of #lifeaftercancer, I was all sorts of excited and shit over my upcoming DIEPflap surgery.

Well….the plastic surgeon is adamant he wants my hernia repaired before he will Frankenstein my stomach boobs. Imagine my disappointment, another fucking hurdle. Goddammit.

So now, I’m awaiting a date of my hernia surgery. That should take 6-8 weeks to heal. Plastic surgeon said he will perform the DIEPflap upon my recovery. Another plan made. Looking forward to the future I am.

Upon the hernia surgery, the plastic surgeon will take these ice packs outta my chest! Fuck yeah. But…I will be horribly misshapen and flat during my recovery, something I’m petrified as shit about that development. However, the implants will be out!! Fucking finally. Hopefully my musculoskeletal pain will subside. I’m looking forward most to that.

Stay tuned folks….

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, Turn And Face The Strange

Ah strange.

People are strange when you’re a stranger, faces look ugly when you’re alone. <— Love that song. Love The Doors. Fun tidbit, I did my English paper on Mr. Mojo Risin. I’ve always been on my own crooked path.

Seriously, not many things work out in my favor. And before I hear the woe is me shit, I’m just venting and shit.

But, I am living #lifeaftercancer and that is beautiful. But my mind. Will not stop. Like constant lightning in my head. Like for ffs

PTSD is getting easier to talk about. PTSD is usually associated with our service men, but civilians suffer from it – in a different way. I’m hear to open the lines of communication.

Let’s share with each other. The more we talk about those taunting memories, highjacking our brainholes and shit. I promise you will begin to see the sun again.


Why did I throw those spanx away?

Oh yeah, because I was thin. Super thin, thought I didn’t need the conforming under garments any longer. Boy, was I fucking wrong

As soon as the DUKE plastic surgeon said I was too small, therefore not a candidate for DIEPflap, my brain went into ‘fuck that shit’ mode and immediately put on the pounds. Not even in in my own head. Like the exact moment everything I ate sat in my gut and I totally look pregnant, like wtf?

Here I am, lots of extra poundage on me. Knowing I’m a candidate for the Diep Flap, I contact the UNC plastics and burn unit and get an appointment with the Diep flap specialist. He said I had plenty of chunk [not his exact doctory speak] and therefor AM a viable candidate.

In the meantime, I had to see a hernia speaclist, pulmonologist. Plastic surgeon was concerned with my chronic bronchitis and COPD. Said he’d never operated on one so young with COPD. So, got my approval from the pulmonologist. Then fuck. All these hoops are very stressful and traumatic. It brings out my PTSD — being picked, prodded, take this off, show us that —-

Ice cream is medicinal for me – hahah thank you Sonic for putting it into words my exact sentiment. My love for ice cream could be the contributor to my faux pregnant belly – recall ladycave was excavated. So, hmmmm

I’ve cut back on my ice cream intake. Begun walking our newest edition to the family, Sir Edmond Chipperton Of Stonewall. Such a regal name for a regal and special hound.

Back to the fucking spanx. Man, months ago I chucked them in the trash. I still have my flying squirrel of a belly but I was thin and felt good. Light. I feel bad. Heavy. Mind you it’s only about 15 pounds, but fuck me, it’s going to take miles of walking that shit off. For those of you who recall, I literally lost 80 pounds by walking our beloved pup Boston, whom we lost last year. I

I know I can do it again, that’s not my problem. Problem is all the fucking doctors, nurses, questions, all the same questions. I know there are check and measures. Oh yeah, at first they said both, DiepFlap and hernia cold be done together; but got a call this week that Dr. Bhatt wants Dr. Perez to do her umbilical hernia part first. Followed by an eight week recovery. Meaning….fucking meaning…..that puts the DiepFlap off this New Yearish. I begged and pleaded with her if it were a choice give me reconstruction first and I will address the hernia later.

So here I sit, in a new pair of spanx awaiting the call for the date of my DiepFLap.

Really Could Use Some April The Pregnant Giraffe Action Right About Now.

Oh my how times were easier. A lot of my online friends were obsessed with this pregnant ass giraffe. Not me tho, ever going against the grain, I chose not to watch it. The intrigue. When will she have it..awe…go April. I know some who had the cam up the entire day at work and shit.

What I’d give to see something like that. This world. The sickness. The death. The killings. The Protests. The evil. All of it will come burning down, just as a it’s done in the past. Fuck us all.

So this week in life after cancer, I will be going for a consult at Unc Burn And Plastics on August 3, 2020. I’m beyond thrilled af about this meeting. Hopefully I will have a surgery date by the end of the month.

Ah, my explant/tram flap surgery. Yes, thank fuck. I can see it in my horizon brainholes and it looks to be a beautiful implant pain free life. I may get mobility of my right shoulder back as well.

The Everything And The Kitchen Sink

Some 1699 days ago, the question was posed to me what would my sweet Baboo think about what I’m writing about him [sic]. My answer at the time was to the effect of I’d tell him i was scared and he knows my love for him has never wained…so yeah, no worries on the home from us here. I firmly believe I will have the same open, honest, real and lovingly relationship with Sweet Baboo (9) as I do with my older two sons, 25 and 24, respectively.

Speaking of my older ones, 9 says that I’m a lucky mom that my sons, his brother’s, call me almost everyday. Yes, baby; I am lucky.

So, I did tell him of my cancer last week when I was dropping him at a friends house so I can get the CT Scan. Told him, the doctor wasn’t sure about the sports on my ribs and that’s why she wanted to do more testing; adding that I’m sure the tests will show no cancer – though in my fucking mind I was convinced it was all over my ribs at a stage 4, ffs – don’t worry baby, I’m sure it’ll be fine.

I can’t say if he will want to go back to a time of my cancer and him being five. No shit, he turned five about a week and half before I found the goddamned lump. Fucking two types of cancers. Goddammit. Five yeas old for fucks sake. At the time of writing with I’ve remained cancer free for 1670 days!! And without ANY hormone replacement therapy even though I was estrogen positive.

Even though I’ve was in complete manic mode, I never stopped loving my boys and gained a greater love for friends and family. So yeah, if he asks, I’ll tell him I kept the shit real. He’ll absorb it and probably go back to Fortnite.

Cancer Scare

Holy fuckimorlee. Living life after cancer is like walking on glass, you know you’ll get cut; just when will that sneaky ass shard of glass ever so slightly pierce your foot and the blood starts gushing and no matter what you do, you can’t stop the blood because it’s everywhere.

So I had a bone scan last week and the oncologist saw some ‘questionable’ markings within my ribs. Let’s give you a CT scan in the next day or two Tara. It’s really 50/50 Tara. Sorry I can’t tell you more until we view the scans. Get the scans and wait a day or two.

This isn’t the fist cancer scare in the past four years and I know it won’t be the last.

Been getting my head together. Getting my body together.Taking care of my health and ongoing multi skeletal pain. It’s amazing at what a switch of medicine can do. Gaining weight for my tram surgery sometime late August. Told me I wasn’t ‘big enough’. Scoffs, as if.

If anyone reading this was with me years back, you may recall I chose bilateral mastectomy with immediate reconstruction. Now, 4 1/2 years of living with these heavy ass/painful implants I’ll be getting those fuckers out. Hell toss them at the wall to see if they stick, IDGAF. Just don’t want to see them anymore.

I urge you to carefully research all your options, prior to mastectomy. I know the time is harrowing and full of angst, but I feel now, no woman should endure the painful numbness of implants. Tram flap is the way to do. Just wish I knew that and shit years back.

No need to dwell. I am not. I’d like my voice to be used for the good, the scared and unconventional breast cancer patients.

The Reading Of #badboob As Read By Yours Truly

Entry 1 – My story and shit


I’ve wrestled with the idea to verbally retell my journey with breast cancer and I know my word will reach wide and far. For anyone feeling hopeless/helpless; I am here for you.

No one should go through life alone. Especially breast cancer and all the gnarly shit that accompanies the beast that invaded your breast, mind and soul. It’s hard to climb back up.

#badboob – Entry 1 – My Story And Shit

Life is so fucked up already with so many goddamned obstacles and shit. We need to be okay with speaking up for ourselves. Advocate for our own beliefs and morals. Then help other causes.

Hell, I’m still climbing today.

Whatever Is Truly Alive Must Die…

Look at the flowers, only plastic flowers never die.

Anthony de Mello

Fucking Anthony, how did you know these things for I have been watering a plastic plant for nearly two years now.

Ahem, ah yes, so where to begin this silly sorted tale of plant disguiser full of fuckery.

Just about two years ago, #MothersDay, I received this darling succulent inside a glazed dragonfly ceramic pottery. The plant’s expertly arranged tiny pebbles protected the base and prevented root growth and stunting it;s growth —-> or so I thought.

You see, I’ve been watering this lil guy, moving it from sunny locale to sunny locale. I protected this motherfucker from cold, frosty windows. Gave this bitch water, when I thought it was thirsty. Fuck me dead, did read I this plant’s signs wrong or what?

See, it’s all nice and green and unassuming and shit. It’s a succulent. We only feed those fuckers once a week, no? Am I not wrong here? Watering so little, I presumed I was doing an absofuckinlutely amazing job with this plant. I mean, it’s almost two years old and not one yellow leaf.

Fuck yeah.

Finally house planting right and shit.

Looks like the real goddamned deal and shit

But no, oh no. Was I wrong. So, I was my usual clumsy self and knocked this sweet baby off the window sill, just about two weeks ago. Now, I was totally feeling the heat to get this bitch in another pot and fast. So today, 4/22/20, I went to repot this little guy after unsuccessfully being able to reassemble the ceramic.

That is when I discovered this fucker’s true identity. As mentioned, it was secured by tiny pebbles and some foam below. Foam still damp. Whew, thank fuck; it’s not dead yet.

So I began to assemble small rocks into a lovely planter, when the little green stick fucker moved. Odd, I think. So I begin to wiggle the green stick, taking great care as to not disrupt the sensitive roots. Uhm….what? Fake? Tries to bite leaves…goddamned plastic.

For a long ass time, I sat dumbfounded at this plastic plant whom I thought was real for nearly two years…two fucking years.

Couldn’t wait to tell Mr. Badboob this revelation. As this is typical ‘Tara’ shit, but this is ‘Tara’ed’ to a whole new level. He said he knew cause he and lil badboob bought it for me. They spent a lot of time picking it out for me. So I then asked him why he didn’t say anything when I kept watering and letting it play with the sun? Never having seen me water it and me moving shit around is my MO he replied, so thought nothing off from that behavior.

Oh sweet mother Mary of fuck.

I attest to the truth and validity of this story. I do know another woman just shared her story as well. I actually told Mr. Badboob about it earlier in the week. What lolz where had. Now I’m lol’ing all over myself.