Damn Greg Gory. I lurves you and shit. Thank for you allowing my to brag on myself. Tell how good I’m feeling. Tell a bit about myself without being met by ridicule, but by studio buzzers and hand clapping and shit. You guys brought a real smile to my face hearing your support.
Had I known all I needed to do to revive this blog was to call into the Woody Show and brag on myself, fuck – I’d have done this months back and shit as I’ve been needing to release and connect with others going through cancer. I feel compelled to still talk about breast cancer and the collateral effects that have wreaked havoc in all aspects of my life.
It’s been almost four years since I found that fucking life changing lump in my tit. Fucker. I knew it. Goddamn breast cancer.
To catch you guys up to speed, I’ve had cancer, chemo and breast reconstruction, complete hysterectomy forcing me into menopause at 42. Oh yeah, now it’s maintenance medication and stretching and not being able to burp or have a proper bowel movement without contorting my digestive tract. And these motherfucking implants. I just want to rip the fuckers outta my body—- for realz and shit. Fun stuff kids.
So while my body is clogged up in the shitter, my personal life it going quite well. I can deal with the pains and creaky bones, because at the end of the day I know my house is filled with love. I’m not interested in material things. Sure, I like new clothes and shiny gems for my ears….but I don’t need a lot of bullshit that others do to make me feel part of society, I’ve never given a fuck about the Jones’s, I just kinda rip-roar trough life like the Kool-Aid man – knocking shit over and hurting myself with every step.
I’ve always played by my own rules. My rules may not work for you and that’s alright by me. Ya know why? Because they’re mine. I don’t try to shove my beliefs in your face and force you to change your thinking if it doesn’t match mine. Nor will I turn my back on you if we’re not in agreement. Some folks feel they are above others. Some folks have elevated themselves to a godlike status. Guess what, I don’t believe in god bitches; therefore I will not bow or bend to meet your code of conduct for life. I realize my way of thinking/acting/being is a bit unconventional, but I live and love with an open heart; always.
You need an open heart when surrounded by sadness and strife. Cancer is one of the most difficult journeys in life. Let’s walk and talk together. Drop me a line. Introduce yourself as you get familiar with my and my voice.
When Woody and crew mentioned they’d upload my bit, I thought nothing of it. Was driving to coast and was excited to get away, hence my call to the show, but then I saw my visitor count climb. Everyday, new folks are searching #badboob. I’m conflicted because I know many of those hits are women afflicted with breast cancer and you’re at a loss as to what to do with yourself, treatment, your family, legacy plan…..I know, it sucks. I also know some of these hits are caregivers, friends, husbands……looking for a glimpse into the ugly ass world of cancer. Hoping to gain insight as to what life might be like for a youngish breast cancer survivor. Hoping to find the right words to say to your loved one. Hoping to find the right socks for her feet or softest blanket for her body. Some are hoping for a quick condensed version of my blog — sorry. You’ll have too read each post and experience it with the raw emotion in which I wrote it. This is my story. Not yours. You should take no offense to the shit I ramble about. Leave if you’re triggered. I, like many, am looking for meaningful connections in which I grow, learn and evolve to my best self. Typos, chemoshits and all.
If you’re here, please say hi. If you’re going through treatment, say hi. If you’re a caregiver, say hi. Let’s connect and talk. Free of judgment. Let’s talk and shit [haha – I’m perceptive enough to know a lot of you will read whilst on the shitter trying, a quick reprieve in the morning to find your calm for the day, escape your own fucked up realities] firstname.lastname@example.org.
BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutation positive…..fucking mutation positive…humans are a vile mutation on this planet. Humans are continually fucking up this planet with all their evil doings.
Medicinal advancements can now detect some human mutations and remove those body parts that could become infested with more cancers. I tested positive with the BRCA2 mutative gene. I chose to have a complete hysterectomy in an effort to escape ovarian cancer…..Let’s hope scientists will release the cancer cures we know they’ve been sitting on instead of letting [wo]mankind wallow in continual suffering……..
Most women begin their menopausal journey somewhere in their late 40’s. Other women, such as myself, go through a forced menopause overnight when their organs are extracted from their body in one quick, less than an hour, out patient surgery. Really. They can do that shit before lunch. Fucking insane.
It’s been just over a year since I went in for my hysterectomy and implant exchange surgery….. They bandage you up, send you home and you’re left to weep and sweat on your own for the next year. And fucking weep I have done. I’ve never felt so dark in my entire life. Even with a supportive family and friends…..so fucking dark….so fucking blue…no light…no hope of happiness…usually I would muster through shit, because I never really had a choice….it had to be done…but this time, the depression has overtaken my entire being. Everything I’ve known or felt has come into question.
Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that can be brought on by a traumatic event. PTSD can happen after a life-threatening situation, such as a breast cancer diagnosis or cancer recurrence. PTSD can affect your ability to cope with life’s daily chores and inconveniences and make it difficult to function.
I used to think it was a crock of shit. I now realize it’s so not the case. It’s really important to surround yourself with all the love and support you can handle. There is no lonelier feeling than to face this heinous disease feeling alone. You’re going to act batshit crazy, emotional…all of it…you’re literally losing your tits. You’re going to say and do things that others won’t understand.
Crying. So much fucking crying. Wake up crying. Go to sleep crying. In the car crying. In the shower crying. Walking the dog crying. Talking to doctors crying. All of it. All the fucking time. How do you explain the irrational tears when others tell you your sick and shit? No fuck….I feel fucking sick. Then this life. The news. The sickness. The hate in the world. Friends lost to this horrific disease…It’s all just too much…..There is no way to fully explain. No way to explain without seeming like a blubbering idiot. Other women, survivors, hystosisters, they get it…..So the tears are wiped and a quote brave face replete with blood shot eyes is put on and you carry on with dinner and other household tasks. One day you realize you’ve only cried twice or not at all….
One day you realize you actually enjoyed yourself again. One day you had real smiles instead of those smiled suffocated by tears…. Take those small victories and make them big celebrations. Because they are in fact big celebrations! xx
As I mentioned in a previous post, they recommended a five year hormone therapy treatment for me once they completed my hysterectomy. Upon doing my homework, I found out long term use of the HRT prevents breast cancer and causes heart disease…..Seeing as how I already have had breast cancer and don’t wish for my heart to become further diseased, I opted not to follow that regimen prescribed by my oncologist; instead looking for ways to up my nutritional intake. The hot flashes are no fucking joke. Without warning I’m completely drenched in sweat. Without warning I’m completely fucking freezing. Sweating. Freezing. So goes my night. Covers on. Covers off. Pillow flipped…..
What if I have a re-occurrence of breast cancer?
What the fuck if I do?
It could occur with the HRT or without.
At least without, I’ll have fewer health issues to contend with when given the cancer diagnosis; again.
This is a breast cancer blog, there’s a good chance there’ll be talk of breasts….what cancer did to me, to other women, the mourning of my original set of nat-geo tits, the adjustment of my new ones, the expansion and everyfuckinthing in between.
I’ll wait, go ahead click that arrow back key. No hurt feelings and shit. Just fucking leave and don’t cause trouble. I’ve had enough of that shit in my life.
And as I’ve mentioned in past rants/posts if a breast cancer diagnosis brought you here, that fucking sucks.
Go ahead, grab yourself something to drink. I’ll wait, I have the time. You’re going to need the space and place to vent. This is your safe place. For real. When I was first diagnosed I blogged every thought I had. I felt compelled.
Others go into hiding. Others turn to their god of choice. How ever you choose to deal with your cancer….do not stop talking. DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR ANY OF YOUR FEELINGS.
I spent a good portion of my cancer days apologizing to people who did not understand my words, my thoughts. How can I explain it to you if I don’t even know myself?
I see now, way after the fucking fact, that I was justified in my manic thinking. Completely. Do you hear me? Do you understand??? DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR WHO YOU ARE. It’s how you cope. It’s who you are. It’s gotten you this far in life and it will help you survive those scary ass dark days of chemo and radiation.
I was overwhelmed with love, compassion, support, gifts, food, money…..all of it. I’m so very grateful for each and every ounce of love. All of it.
When you’re swallowing handfuls of pills each day just to stay alive, you have no idea which end is up, if there is even an up. It’s mentally dibilitating. You don’t know when you’ll see the sun shine. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to smile again. You are truly in survival mode…..you seriously do not need negative fucking Nelly’s in your life. No offense to any Nelly’s out there.
It’s your cancer. Your treatment. You must advocate for yourself. Stand firm to your core beliefs. I’ve met so many amazing people through this blog, I already new I had an amazing network of support via my family and social media.
If you’re not 100 percent on board with your medical teams decisions….go seek a second opinion!! Fucking do it. Last thing you need to do is kick yourself later. It’s a slow climb back up and there have been some major fucking set backs…..but ya know what??? I’m better than fucking ever! You will be too. I just know it! How do you know #badboob? I know it because you are here. This blog is not for the squeamish. This blog is for the realists in life. We’ve been shit and continue to clean ourselves off, usually coming out better.
I say fuck cancer on a daily basis, when I look in mirror….everyday when I look at my reconstructed chest….everyday when I think of the sisters, women, and mother figure taken from my life…..still can’t look without tears. I say fuck cancer everyday, but I can still be inspirational as fuck. You are too. I fucking love you.
I’ve been invited to speak of my experience. Imagine that. Me speaking……haha yes my talks are void of my usual colorful language. Speaking of your cancer ordeal and bringing a room to tears with your story. Powerful af. You’ll always have support with me, even when it feels as if no one else loves your bloated ass chemo body or radiated burnt skin……you’ll always be able to find sisters who love you for you and don’t want you to change. You’ll never need to apologize with me. I know. I understand.
Fact: Cancer fucking sucks
Fact: I survived it
Fact: Surround yourself with positivity an unconditional love
Fact: No amount of Google research can prepare you for any of the shit that will happen to your body and mind.
Fact: There is someone who understands where you are, where you’re going, and they are willing to talk to you. Many survivors become advocates after their fight, they are waiting for you to tap their conscious with your story and touch your heart with their compassion.
What cancer does to the human race is infuckinhumane. Fucking shit needs to stop, like now. So many kids with cancer, seriously? So many new cancer diagnosis’s. Souls taken away from us. It’s all too much…..this is when my mind goes into the dark, and dwells.
I’m working on improving my mind. Ya know what? When you keep replaying events in your head like a loop, it slowly takes you into a dark place. Obv, if given the opportunity to go through breast cancer now, I’d change a fuckton of things I did/said. Some of that shit still haunts me now. I’d also expected different behaviors from certain folks as they probably expected different from me……breast cancer, chemo, treatment, recovery…..all that shit wreaks havoc……but alas, I can only change my ways and my self. I’m so not the woman I was when diagnosed with breast cancer some 601 days ago. Fuck, I’m not even the same woman I was a few months ago. Life goes on……
A year ago I was still suffering with the pain of my breast tissue expanders, crazy chemo port [it was always angry. skin always red and irritated]. So many doctor visits. Pokes. Questions. Fuck the questions. Always the same shit for all the nurses then regurgitate for the doctors…..I couldn’t even think straight, but knew my dates meds and shit like that, didn’t know what I was. Didn’t feel human. None of the shit happening to me, my family was humane. Not one fucking bit.
Anyhoo, here I sit. Getting active in various programs, discovering what type of advocacy work I like and would like to pursue further. Talking with friends. Talking, bei
ng the key. You can’t keep that shit in. Thanking you all for all your help and support during my bout with breast cancer. Talking with those newly diagnosed. Laughing with warriors over all the inappropriate we need to….just to get by. Others won’t understand. It’s when you stop trying to get others to ‘get you’ will you be able to feel free…..something I learned after the fact……
Will be publishing a series of articles that are extremely helpful in dealing with your own cancer or someone you love.
6. Don’t mention your friend’s, dad’s, aunt’s, or your own disease (unless it really relates).
We’re sorry that your friend had a disease that is somewhat tangentially related to our disease. It’s great that your dad beat it, and we’re delighted that your aunt cured her disease with oleander tea. However, we just don’t want to hear about it. Yes, this is the way the people relate to one another. However, chances are each cancer patient is unique and doesn’t want to be dumped into a box with all the other people you know who have cancer. Or worse, we don’t want to have to explain to you how our life-changing procedure was not, in fact, similar to your minor appendectomy.
Fuck that shit. I used to subscribe to that notion, shrug my shoulders and continue on….Now, I know, it is what I make it.
And recently have I been working it. From all the angles, meeting all the people, the networking, the bartering for events; so out of my comfort zone. Or was it? IDk…kinda loving the volunteer work. I’m super spastic, some may refer to me as ‘passionate’.
The thing they don’t tell you about life after cancer is how to live. Fuck most don’t know how to live pre-cancer. We are one fucked up lot of bottom feeders. There’s more out there, I’ve seen it. I talked to it and spent time there as a child….
So Tara, your cancer was removed 514 days ago, why are you still carrying on? Well, I’ll tell you why…..cause you’re listening. So there.
It has been almost a year since my last #chemo infusion. My hair is growing, toxic gut has subsided; but…..But…there’s always a motherfucking but…. The collateral effects from chemo are sooooooooo much worse than I ever imagined. When I first heard chemo can stay with you 5-7 years post treatment, I thought yay right-what a crock of shit. Oh no dear readers, it’s just as bad as they tell you, maybe worse; cause very few go into all the nitty-gritties.
If you’ve read any posts, you know that I’m not really a worrier and just go with the flow. So, I’d been going with the flow of a sore wrist, for over a year…..Turns out I have a severe case of degenerative bone disease, osteoarthritis is the technical term and shit. Take care of yourselves. Had I had my wrist looked at when I first noticed the pain, burning pain, throbbing pain; I may not have had to have it casted. But it is what it is right? Wrong…been looking for wrist guards, compression sleeves and other healing methods to get use of my wrist back. I’ve also developed bone degeneration in my lower lumbar…butt bone…and it hurts like hell.
The past couple of weeks, I noticed I’ve been so ovariemotional….the fuck is wrong with me? Why all this crying? Why the doubts? I’d spent five months building myself back up, going great distances. Hello GMA and WTVD. I finally realized why I was so down again, and trust me, it only took less than a week to fall back into bad mental habits; I’ve not been working out. I’m still using the TRX and Ultimate pull-up, with difficulties. But not working out the way I have been. They way I learned to live again during the LiveStrong program. Oh and still trying to find #JalenFromCapitalOne.
I’ve started feeling lethargic and flabby again, shut up, I know I’m not really flabby, but not feeling totally fit. Once I made that connection, you best bet I began working up a sweat again. And know that I know I have a real condition going on, I’ve been more gentle on myself. Cooking has been quite difficult, resulting in more purchases with the restaurants…with money we don’t have…..See the cycle here folks. Those who know, understand.
Post chemo, my body stays cold. I used to see those little old ladies wrapped up like they’re in the arctic when it’s hot as balls outside. Guess what, I’m wrapped. Pants, socks, hoods, hats, long sleeves, give me all the sleeves. I discovered an awesome NC company called Freakers USA, the best socks and bottle holders…the bottle holder act as great compression for your wrist.
Any my brain, holy fuck. Chemo did a big number in my head. I see information but don’t comprehend or digest it. My brain has like no short term memory….at all. So if we speak, and I ask you again what we just talked about; be kind.
Once I gain footing again, I’ll be able to pay it forward financially, currently all I can do is offer my hand, my ear, myself…I’m making this bitch called life, mine.
For those first timers here, it sucks; I know. Fucking cancer. Fucking tits. There is lots of support. You will find new sister’s, places of support and a new sense of you by the time you’re on my side of recovery.
For months upon hearing the diagnosis, you have someone there. A navigator, specialist, someone; taking through every aspect of your complicated medical life.
When treatment is over, you need to learn how to live again; by yourself. How to live without a list of doctor appointments, how to live with your hair growing back, how to live with all those crazy ass thoughts running in your mind.
And you know what? For all the bitching, complaining, self hating I did about my boobs……I take it all back. All those negative words. Now that shock has worn off and the implants are feeling like part of me and not bolt ons, I’m actually kinda loving them.
Once I was able to appreciate the beauty of my reconstrctuiom, I realize my plastic surgeeon did an absofuckinlutely amazing job! I will forever be thankful for him. He restored my body to my pre-cancer state, but better!And…and…how many of you have suffered miserably with cold weather? I don’t mean just a little grab a throw kind of cold….I mean sweatshirt, hoods, blankets, socks, the thickest pants and you’re still fucking freezing. The pain is so heinous you feel you may actually vomit. That’s the type of pain I’ve deal with on a fairly regular basis winter. It feels like chemo pain…the fucking worst. Don’t get me started on phantom nipple pangs or cold implants either….grrr…. I feel frail, it is gray, I have no strength…I must lie down in the cold weather. Fuck off Mother Nature—lol
Why isn’t there an info pack for life after cancer? Not to feel my fellow fighters, I’m working on that shit. Also shit you shouldn’t be without post-cancer….such as piper wai deodorant. I’ve got to say I’m six weeks into a 12 week LiveStrong Program and holy fuck me! I feel absofuckinlutely amazing!!!!! I’ve never before participated in something so structured and regimented, but I love the feeling of being fit! Not having to fuck with clothes, tucking my stomachs into my granny panties or hoisting my heavy ass bra up to pop my back….so yeah….my life is good and I’m making the most of it.
Like breathe, breathe…real full on exhales. You’d think at 43 I would have already mastered the art of breathing. But I’ve found out something, or rather made the connection; I am a shallow breather. I’ve usually been in a state of spazz…arms motioning wildly in circles while I speak, hunched over, trying to clean up shit all the time, all the hunches, moving on from one task to the next without any thought, just auto pilot….Anyway, participating in the LiveStrong program, I was taught how to inhale, exhale, and breathe. With this new living technique, I’ve been able to ween myself from daily advil and ultram. My neck and body was always in a knot — shallow breathing — with proper breathing I can pop out all the kinks and knots in my neck. I stand slightly taller, shoulders broader..no longer hunched…..I’m actually making an effort to control my breathing. I’ts been pretty fucking incredible the past week…Wow….breathing really does help. A fucking lot. It’s also helped my with the chronic bronchitis. My inhaler usage has almost been dropped in half! try it for yourself….breathe in and lift arms straight up, grab at the ceiling, exhale and bring arms down. Inhale, up, bend to left, bend to right….feel those pops…exhale. I’ll wait here, go ahead and repeat. As you find your comfort in stretching, you will notice a difference with your daily outlook.
While I remain fearful for our country; I am able to take solace in the fact I am gaining strength, both physically and mentally. I’m preparing myself in the event we need to flee. Bags and shit are being organized.
Seriously, we have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Most people I know are scared. Scared for their life, our country, our future. WE ARE THE PEOPLE. WE MUST ACT, TOGETHER. WE MUST PLAN TOGETHER to ensure our children inherit a happy earth.
And then what happens, if we do have to flee? All those sick receiving treatments will get all fucked up. I don’t think our species has ever had a smooth sailing moment, and that’s why we need to wake up. Wake up and take stock of the foods you ingest, your lack of activity, your tv time, media…take control of your body. Take control of your mind. Take control of your spirit.
A year ago I was laying in my bed. Had just received first chemo infusion and I was waiting. Waiting for the tears to stop. Waiting for my hair to fall out. Waiting for my body to shrink away to nothing. Waiting for me to become a shell of my former self. I waited and waited. I was sicker than sick. i was weak. I was puking. All the horrible things happened to me that I’d read about. Fucking cancer, seriously? So this time last year, I could barely hold my head up, much less walk around; I thought about all the stuff I wanted to do and would do once I pushed through treatment. Today I am strong. Today I will conquer!
I think I have my shit figured out and boom, I learn something new. No one can really prepare you for a cancer diagnosis. If you’re lucky, you’ll have family around and they’ll stay…not leave when shit gets ugly, raw, and real…..With those few friends and family that chooses to stay you will gain your strength. You will be able to use your eyes and voice to spread awareness….I will not stop talking about my experience. Ever. My experience is still happening. Every day we grow and change. Fuck….speaking of changes~~~this fucking hair on my head. Last week it looked good. This weekend, not so much. Each day my head looks different. Hair is so weird, I’m officially over it.
Don’t think just because you cancer cut out and treatments that you are out of the woods for a reoccurrence. I had a crazy scare last week. Found a lump in my chest. Freaked the fuck out. Had it checked, was just a cyst! Whew! But my point is, you should never stop checking yourself and questioning those surprise lumps and bumps that may arise.
Uhm, thanks Flo (my grandmother). That always cracked me the fuck up. I mean why my ass? When my lungs were always fucked up? What is the correlation? My Flo, was always good like that….I’d get a cold in my ass, she’d put my ass in a sling, pneumonia in my ass…..not quite sure why she was obsessed with getting colds in my ass. Not sure her her reasoning for this way of thinking….Could be her mother’s influence. Irene, my great grandmother immigrated from Budapest to Ellis Island, with the family, in the early teen’s…..I know they faced real threats of illness on that boat ride.. What really happened during that trip? hmmm…..
So here I sit with a Vicks bib, tissues, a strong ass antibiotic, and nebulizer watching my guys play in the snow. Yup, I’m the chick that has a hysterectomy in the summer; preventing me from swimming. And pneumonia in the winter; preventing me from snowman construction. Winner winner 43 year old loser. [cry laughing emoji]
So it seems once you graduate from chemotherapy your body will never be the same. Ever. regardless of what those around you may say….You haven’t had chemo in months. The chemo is gone. You should be fine by now. Wrong! Wrong! and Wrong…Educate yourselves before you tell me how I should be feeling/acting/doing…. Since I finished chemo, 234 days ago, I’ve had bronchitis, ulcerative laryngitis and now pneumonia…..not to mention the ladycave snafu end of September….So what does all this mean?
Not a goddamned thing. Just spilling shit from my brain. Releasing my mind of thoughts and shit. Should you choose to read, awesome, if not…..that’s cool. I’ll still be here.
Before I went to ER for pneumonia, I puked. A few times. I was painfully cold, then upchucked my empty stomach into the trash….and holy fuck me…..I’d been able to push the chemo pukes to the far reaches of my memory, totally forgotten how bad it was. Until I puked. And puke I did. I thought I was dying. The amount of muscles it take from an achy body was hell. Pure hell. That shit was wiped from my mind as fast as it happened. Along with the bone pain, full body spasms…..PSTD I believe is the correct term.
You cancer haver’s…..don’t let anyone belittle your experience. I spent so much time and too many tears on those who I lost. Those friends, those family members, those humans who I thought would always be there for me…..fucking gone. Those motherfuckers who wanted to belittle me, challenge me, fucking fight me when I was already down for the count…..FUCK THEM ALL……I seriously spent a lot of time wondering what I did, what did I say to offend them…..I realized it was jealously, stupidity, and simply being a fuckwad was their problem. It wasn’t until recently that this epiphany came to me….after too many tears and cries…..
If you’re faced with ass fucker dildo heads in your life, please, I implore you—don’t let them get into your brain. Fuck the naysayers. It will do more harm to your healing than good. Trust me. I’m still trying to emotionally heal from their low blows.
Cancer is not easy. Hear me?? CANCER IS NOT EASY. THE TREATMENT IS NOT EASY. NOTHING IS EASY ABOUT THIS BEAST. NOTHING. And don’t listen to those who say, Oh you got the good kind of cancer. The actual fuck? Good cancer? Yes amputation of my boobs and ladycave being torn from my body, is good. Fuck off into traffic ya asshole fuck and stay there.
Stay true to you. To your heart. Your wants. Your needs. It’s imperative for your physical and mental health.
This was more a bitch sesh.
Thanks for reading.
Thanks for supporting.
Love you guys and shit.