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!

 

 

Somewhere Over The Toilet…..

Is where I sit sweating  profusely.
Is where I sit puking
Is where I sit, wondering if it’s a false hurl alarm or the real shit.
I’ve never been so out of my mind in pain/confusion/and general fuckedupness

Imagine your worst hangover. Then multiple that by 1,000,000,000 stabby knives slicing up and down your gut….That’s the closest I come describe how chemo makes me feel. And fuck me I’m on a lighter regimen, they say…. I can’t imagine how much death has been starring you down….[You chemo warriors with the higher toxins to kill the residual cancerous cells….You are my fucking hero. My fucking inspiration. My goddamned light and my guidance.] That summary doesn’t still doesn’t convey the real feelings of chemo and what it does to your mind, body & soul.  It’s like you want to rip the skin from your body in hopes of relief from the chemo storm brewing in your body.

Last week was spent preparing for being chemoriden this week. You know, I kinda dusted, kinda cleaned and our iRoomba is still kicking ass…. Fortunately I’ve still got plenty of badboob chemo foods to get me by the next week or so. Sweet Babboo has enjoyed the badboob chemo foods as well, a huge thank you to all who sent this chick with the floppy waffle tits snacks & prezzies. I truly and humbled by the amount of support I’ve received since November.

I reached a milestone in this breast cancer journey, my last chemo infusion!! Whoofuckinghoo~so excited to cross that day off my calendar. I will not need radiation, thank fuck on that. I know there a still a few more hospital procedures for me in July….One step, one day, one nervous tear leaking from my eye at a time. These last few steps should be easy….new boobs!! ….Oh yeah!!….Have you seen a post-masecto chest? It’s not pretty, but I do have titanium holders where my nipples should Changebe….wonder tits activated….

Leaving the cancer center last Friday, the girls asked what I’d miss most about chemo. Erm, the puking and spraying from both ends. The one positive is I’ve not had a period in months….chemo makes you pre-menopausal they say. I am glad I’m not having to shave every other day, no razor bumps! But seriously, with the prices of fucking razors, we should not still be experiencing razor rash in this day and age~~someone get on that. And I’m kinda digging having no hair to fuck with. Boom, I wake up, put on my black tank and I’m ready to go.

Everyone’s experience with cancer various so greatly. One thing we, the fighters, the warriors, wish for….is for us to tell our story in our fucking words with our goddamned experiences. We don’t want you retelling our story. We don’t want you to edit our story as to how you think it should be told. I’m still wrapping my head around that mindset. If you love someone, love them now. Not for what you hope to mold and shape into your perfect fucking image. If you claim love for another, love them as they are, in the now. Don’t try to detour them with your fuckery.

Just accept
 Just Love
Just Listen

You may find joy in watching your loved one flourish with wings she always knew she had but scorn kept her from doing so.

Life is fucking hard enough. Last thing we need is lay low when the fucktards come marching by. Last thing we need is to feel we must bottle our emotions. Cancer of any sort will rock your fucking world. Some are more graceful than others with their story, but ultimately, we want to be loved. You don’t know what to say? Howabout a simple ‘hi’ or put an arm on my shoulder. Chemo takes your brain on some crazy ass scenarios-not knowing what is real or imaginary- Just don’t shy away because we are/were sick.

From my toilet to yours…..

Mistakes Were Made

Oh yes they were.

Fucking you think you have your shit together [well, I never really thought I had my shit together, but I’ve got comfy blankets and built the facade blankie fort]. You live the with diagnosis and medical treatments. The poking, the prodding, all modesty has been tossed aside when your chest has become the focus for many–clearing the cancer then the reconstruction of the breasts….life has adjusted, as well as it can considering, cause you know fucking cancer and loss of boobs at 42. You look straight ahead, try to hold your head high when all you want to do it hide.

But hey, your oncologist prescribes a shitton of chemo/cancer meds. You’re sedated, you live, you learn, you laugh, you cry & cry & cry & cry until you think your tear ducts have actually dried the fuck up….Oh but no. There are more tears, there are always more tears. The tears that fall in the shower. The tears that escape while hugging someone. The tears of pride when seeing your spouse and child playing together. The tears of life.

You may get used to your new life, but you may never like it. Well, I don’t like it. Obv, I’m glad I have my life. Obv, I’m glad I’m not sitting here with six apple sized tumors in my tit at the mo. But,  but what would life be for me today, had I not discovered those little pea sized fucking lumps?

badboobThey say our experiences shape us and prepare us for what’s ahead….what the fuck am I being groomed for? I do hope to make a positive impact in the breast cancer community. Whether it be by counsel or friendship. You don’t have to be alone. You shouldn’t be alone. 

Life may be easier if we were easier on ourselves, if I were easier on myself. If I loved myself more. If I laughed more. If I forgave myself more. Who the fuck knows. I feel, the majority of us mean well, but we are too goddamned harsh on ourselves and selfish. I am learning to love and forgive myself a bit easier. I’m beginning to surround myself with positively radiant souls whom I adore with all my heart. I’m tired of being tired, sad & sick. I want energy, levity & longevity.

Last chemo-infusion is Friday gang!! Did you hear me?? Just a few more days and my last dose of chemo will course through my veins fucking up absolutely everything inside and outside my body. Then, I can begin to wean myself from the pharma-cocktail I’ve been taking for months. I will be able to look toward the exchange surgery and know that is my reward for having successfully kicked cancer’s ass to the curb! Last week was a pretty good week, this week should be fucking great too. Next week, well not so much. I’ll take up residence on the loo with my trash can. I’ll sweat out toxins in my sleep. I’ll feel as if I’m going insane within my mind. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of being sore. And just when I don’t think I can handle anymore and am ready to toss in the proverbial towel…the chemo fog will lift. I will see the world with clear eyes and sharp mind again. And I will once again thank everyone who called, cooked, prayed and loved me when I could’t love myself,

Be kind to yourself.

 

 

 

It’s Been 180 Days Since

Since I found that fucking lump in my left boob. Goddammit. Motherfucking cancerous lump….so sorry but every post may begin this way….It’s a lot to ‘get over’ or ‘move past’….I mean seriously….who the fuck would be able to just bounce back from cancer? I know we bounce everyday. I’m not saying I’m stuck either. 
Got the breast cancer diagnosis 167 days ago. Needless to say this have been one fuck of a year. But, I am almost finished. Really guys….I am almost there. I know I said this last week too. I also know I thought I’d not make it through last week. Chemo is the most brutal goddamned thing I have faced in my life. I’ve shot a few babies down my slide, thought I’d die then. But that pain was swift then and I had a human to cuddle. That made the pain so worth while. Chemo, well with chemo I know I still have my life when I finally climb my way back to the top.

Speaking of the baby slide, yesterday was Mother’s Day. While it was pleasant enough in the badboob home, I’m so over all these fucking Hallmark holidays. I lost my own mother when I was 12. I’ve lived on this fabulous fucking earth for 30 years without my mother. While I do miss the notion of a mother, I can’t really say I miss her as a person.  I never had a chance to get to know the real her. I have a few photographs.  How can you miss someone you never really knew? In 2014 Mr. Badboob and I experienced two major losses, back to back, in our lives, knocking us both for a big fucking loop….so much sadness….everywhere fucking sadness….fucking life….fucking death….A day set aside to celebrate  Mom or Dad is swell, but instead of kissing ass one day–just don’t be assholes. Then we won’t need special days. Everyday will be special if we’re cool about and not fucktarded. Give it a try will ya….extend your hand to a stranger, see what happens. Give a compliment, see what happens….Better yet, leave me a comment….I want to hear about random acts of kindness.

Looking ahead…only 11 days till my last chemotherapy infusion! 

Yippee fucking skippy gang.
I’m almost done.
You’re almost done cheering me on.
Can you believe it’s been 94 days since my first chemotherapy infusion?
I’ve had toxic shit coursing through my body, mind, heart & bowels for 94 motherfucking days….

Seriously, I’ve felt love & support from my friends on social media for years. I’ve shared a lot of shit with you guys, a lot more than necessary at times, fuck it. I never thought I could feel more lifted or supported, you guys are absofuckinlutely incredible to me and the whole Badboob family. Thank you for all the meals, notes, prayers, prezzies & healing vibes last week and every week since my boob decided to be a whore and get cancer.

Fuck me. What a year.
I’ve been through challenges before.
Hell, my entire life has been has been a fucking challenge.

There will be no way I could fully & properly thank each one of you…..but I’m working on it. This challenge is definitely different than others I’ve faced. Yes, I had cancer. But life must go on. Bills still need to be paid. House still needs to be cleaned. Kids still need to be cared for. Spouses still need attention. Your life can not stop because of cancer, you may slow down & reevaluate the important shit, but you must keep going….life keeps going whether you want it to or not.

I’m still in a fuckton of pain today. From the power port to torn pec….but the sun is out. We learn to deal We learn to go on. We learn to live.
From my chemo induced delirium to yours, make it a good one.

18 Days Til The Last Chemo Infusion

Whoofuckinhoo! Know what that means fuckers? I can see the finish line!! I am stronger than breast cancer. I will kick this bitch to the curb and not look back….

If I can make it past this week….You know the feeling of the flu? The flu that feels like you’ll die with every step & breathe? Every bone & joint aches and if you’re lucky enough to get a stomach virus atop the flu?….Welp, that’s how I feel currently.

The feeling where you’re sitting on the toilet with trash can on your lap….Not sure which end you will spew toxic waste, but knowing it will happen….soon….

I’ve never been on a cruise, but I can only imagine what it feels like to be seasick…..As, I’ve felt seasick since Saturday. Nothing is released in over 20 minutes [still toilet side] and the mo you get up to stretch your legs & whatnot, that’s when the magic happens kids….fuck you chemo.…I hear my baboo calling for me….fuck you chemo….my bowels feel as if they’ve been squeezed clean….fuck you cancer….You will have constipation they say.

Anyhoo, looking ahead, 77 days, I’m scheduled for the new tit exchange surgery and hysterectomy; same day. I’m not sure if I’ll be staying the night. Both surgeries are out-patient. Reason for the hysterectomy was my brca2 mutative positive~~lucky me!! Being brca2 positive means my chances for ovarian and cervical cancers are increased….time to close up shop….another abandoned playground. I’ve done the research. Having both procedures should put me down close to 2 weeks, hence the dates on the meal list. I was trying to be proactive to get those dates lined up for all those lovely badboob supporters. Having both procedures same day, means one recovery….If all goes well [and fuck me, I’m sure I’ll encounter a challenge or six] I should be healed and well with a but of hair growth by the time sweet baboo starts Kindergarten in August.

Well motherfuck. Don’t you just hate spending time on a project only to not have the fucker save. And now you must redo. And you don’t keep notes. So this post blog will be nothing like the one I constructed yesterday. Such is life.

I had chemo infusion number five Friday the 29th. Earlier in the week, sweet baboo and I picked the sweetest most delicious strawberries, came home & made smoothies~yum. I was ‘bulking’ up on C and antioxidants from the berries.

  I sit here knowing the nausea I feel this morning will be nothing compared to what I’ll be feeling shortly. 

I sit here knowing my body is about to explode. In a gnarly ass way. 

phontoOn an insistence from a friend, I’ve created the Badboob Chemo Food Amazon Wishlist. I by no means expect anyone of you to get me anything….but so, so many of you have asked how you can help comfort me. I know the feeling….Knowing a friend is suffering, but you can’t physically console, so we purchase stuff in attempts to perk up said friend….It is working guys. Every well wish, message, text, of support helps to carry me along further….Thank you so very much.  The wishlist contains gift cards to restaurants [to be used with Take Them A Meal], medical goodies for surgery in July, blah blah & shit like that. But you guys!

You guys are ordering and sending us goodies, prezzies & surprises. Not gonna lie, feel like total ass, chemo is fucking brutal [how many times have I said that, probably every blog since receiving chemo]. But knowing I’ve so many out there rooting for me and the whole badboob family….no words….lots of big sloppy emotional chemo induced tears….I will forever be grateful to everyone who has shown supoort and compassion during my breast cancer jaunt.

I will seriously never be able to give a proper thank you to all you beautiful people walking this journey with me. I’m so flabbergasted that you guys feel touched enough to reach out, truly humbling. Friends. Old. New. You’re all fanfuckintastic.

From my toilet to yours make it a good one kids.

There Are More Than 100 Types Of Cancer

Two types developed in my tit. My motherfucking tit. Fucking breast cancers.

How bad is it that I could not remember when last I showered? It was sometime last week. But when? What day?

But I am using Piperwai. My pits smell so nice. This week was a good week. My energy was back, well sort of.

And did you know there are people out there who will kick the living shit out of you when you are down because they are angry at the world and you seem like an easy target being all weak and shit….Well guess what fuckers? Kick those goddamned toxic people out of your life….Now…. Don’t wait till you want to cunt punch a bitch, just get rid of them now. Go ahead…..I’ll wait here….Get rid of those toxic bastards now….Ain’t no one got time for their piddly ass games….We’ve got cancer to beat and shit!

We as a species are dumb fucks.  
We do shit.
We fuck up shit.
We repeat that shit
Will we as humans, every learn to play nice?
I highly doubt this.

So, it’s kind of a good thing chemotherapy has rendered me almost hairless [sarcastic emoticon here]. My arms are such an odd smooth. Plus, having these expanders filled to fucking monstrous proportions make it difficult to reach the pits….Boom….hair silently falls out….freeing time in the shower…. and not fearing I’ll fall over and accidentally Zorro slice my fake tits off….Hey it could happen…..If you were with me on FB years back, you may recall I Zorro’ed my ass-cheek pretty goddamned good.  Had a pretty gnarly scar there too. My eyebrows & lashes are barely hanging on, mascara pretty’s the lashes a lot. Interestingly enough the majority of my head follicles have fallen, but not all & there is new growth trying to happen up there. I know it won’t stick till after last infusion on May 20. It’s tough to look in the mirror and know this is my life at the mo. It’s all temporary, they say. Any collateral effects from chemo can be corrected, they say.

Items I’ve saved on past 78 days since beginning the chemotherapy infusions include but are not limited to: Shampoo, conditioner, hair styling aids of any sort, razors (and we know how expensive those fucker are), bobby pins, straightener, hair color, and I’m sure there’s more shit but chemo brain in in overdrive this week and my brain is not using all it’s cells.

When’s the last time you’ve really felt your boobs ladies? Check all those sweet mounds of joy, regularly. Seriously girls had I not known my boobs so well, that lump I first felt 167 days ago could still be growing in me. Imagine the havoc those two fast growing invasive breast cancers would have done to my body….

As it was, I got off lucky, I still have my life sans boobs.

So it’s off with tits [125 days ago] to remove the cancers. As you may recall, I chose immediate reconstruction so in went the expanders. Some days I feel they look pretty good, and other days (most) I feel like a fucking freak. The expanders are nice enough boob shaped, but they also ride into my pits[like a balloon or a ball], and not at all round on the bottom….Oh new tit exchange how I await you….74 more days and I will be closing the breast cancer chapter of my life. Almost my entirety of 42~ again this story is not told to you for pity, it’s part of the journey.

The plastic surgeon will be removing my power port when he installs the implants. An out patient procedure, he says. Though I have found websites that make jewelry out of the power ports. I think that’s a smashing idea and if I get to keep my port, it will be fashioned into some sort of kick as piece of jewelry.

And thank fuck! I can not wait to get this port of my fucking chest. The port has seriously bothered me every day since it’s installation. It always burns as if it’s trying to scratch it’s way out of my chest. Just two more chemo infusions….I can do this shit….I can and will continue….Not gonna lie, thought it’d take me down for the count a few times. You feel as though you are spiraling into a delirium, or I did at least.

Oh and yay, guess what? I tested positive on the BRCA2 mutation. So that means the playground is closing shop; about damn time. I’m so over my monthly’s. Hopefully with the equipment gone & my estrogen positive receptors, the hormones will cease to rage…the acne will stop. At 42, I had to call my oncologist for another script of doxycycline this week~for fuck sake, my face is broken out like crazy.It’s temporary, they say. Fucking pimple fuckers. Causing pain, when I want to smile. Causing pain if I accidentally touch one of them….I’ve been breaking out since I was 9, I’m seriously over it by this point in my life. Fortunately I’ve not developed neurapathy. Neurapathy is a common side effect, they say.

The sun is shining. Get off your ass and get outside now. Explore some shit with your own sweet baboo. Or have a mission. 5 year olds are mission having motherfuckers. xx

I Always Knew I’d Get Breast Cancer

Call it a premonition or intuition, but I always knew I’d have breast cancer.
Just not at 42 years old.

I mean, seriously.

I enjoyed my boobs way too fucking much, I just knew I’d lose them one day. But I thought I’d be in my 70’s or 80’s when I was through playing dress up with them and wouldn’t really care about getting my jollies anymore….ya know….tossing them around my neck for a scarf….tucking into my pants….ah the good times with my old natgeo’s….le sigh….

But here I am, early 40’s and a breast cancer survivor for 118 days so far….

Fuck, I barely survived last week. I’d developed chemo induced laryngitis and thrush. And the puke-o-rama I mentioned months ago that I did not experience from chemo. Well fuck me, that shit changed real fast. I puked, a lot, last week. I dry heaved, a lot, last week. My oncologist prescribed me three different anti-nausea meds….puke/heave city. It’s such a joy to be sitting on the toilet with the trash can on your lap, sweating profusely and telling your sweet baboo to get away from the bathroom, just give you a few minutes privacy…..Goddammit, he doesn’t really understand why I’m getting sick. He knows that me and Mr. Badboob went to get my medicine, if I got medicine, why am I getting sick–he wants to know….

Fortunately, my sweet baboo stayed with the in-laws a couple days. And I spent those two days in bed. The entire time he was gone I tossed and turned, sweating through the fucking sheets. I felt such guilt from having him gone. See, baboo had went camping with friends over the weekend and he said he wanted to stay home….no baby you’re going to Grandpa’s & Grandma’s. In my heightened emotional state or delirium, if you will, I cried and cried. I felt as if I ‘pushed’ him on….but I knew I’d be in no shape to properly care for him. Thank you again #1 gpa & gma. [insert mushy heart emoticon here]

Friday, after I felt I could not go on any further, I called the cancer institute, explaining my symptoms, come in for an IV they said. You’re dehydrated they said. At this point it had been a full seven days since I’d had my last infusion and I was still delirious.

Goddamned fucking cancer
Goddamned fucking chemo
Goddamned fuck all

So, in I go for fluids. 19 drove me in as I knew I’d not be able to drive myself. Hell, I could barely sit up right. Ah……I still felt like ass after the IV. My whole body hurt, from the port to the tissue expansion. Ha, did I mention with last saline fill I tore a pec? The fuck? Evidently, it is possible…But, it was an improvement. And for the first time in almost a week, I had an appetite. 19 picked up Mediterranean food (my fave) for us while I was in infusion. I gobbled that shit up on the way home. It was so nice to feel food in my stomach again.

By the weekend I was feeling much better. They gave me Atarax via IV, to combat the nausea they said. This should last me three days or so, they said. And goddamned if they weren’t right. I can’t say the nausea completely subsided, but it did curb it quite a bit. They’re going to ‘try’ to have it in stock for my next infusion on the 29th. Try, motherfuckers? You better have that shit in stock, I’m thinking.

I lost a lot of weight last week. And with any luck, I’l be down to my birth weight by the time summer rolls around. [insert snarky emoticon here]. I seriously did lose weight, am glad for that. As I was not happy being a fatty again after I worked so hard to get my weight down.

As I type this today, I feel better. The sun is shining. Baboo is happy that his mommy is snuggling and running around with him again. As we snuggled Saturday, his head rested on one of my expander-boobs, he got up saying he didn’t want to hurt me (my expander boobs are hard as football), I told him he wasn’t going to hurt me. Then he reached out, touched my boob and said, “hashtag, badboob.”

Be kind kids
xoxoxo

 

 

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Badboob’s

When I began #badboob 128 days ago I had no idea what the fuck I was going to blog about. Hell, it’s evident by my rambly sentences & awful typos, I still don’t know what to blog about.

Yet here I sit.
And here you read.
I knew I wanted to tell my journey with breast cancer.
In my words.
With my truths, observations & shit about life.
My bitch boob developed cancers, fucking plural.
104 days ago, cancer tit had to go.
I am currently undergoing reconstruction via expander method.

For the most part, feedback regarding #badboob has been overwhelmingly positive.I honestly had no idea so many  would want to read about my cancer journey, but each week almost 500 of you fuckers click my link. Thank you. I love hearing from you….your stories of lump discovery…your stories of a loved ones breast cancer….how you cry and then laugh whilst reading my ramblings…..how you read my blog to your significant other, and he enjoys it.

Obv, my writings aren’t for all. And you know what? You don’t have to read this shit. No one has to read it. I am writing to release the poisons from my mind. If no one reads, so be it. If every motherfucker reads, bonus! As I stated when I began this blog, my story is no better than yours, I just happen to be chronicling this particular journey with breast cancer at the mo. Some of you just happen to be reading my shit. And shit is what I write about, among other topics. What sort of boring cunts would we be if we all had the same thoughts and interested in same boring shit?  Kinda glad we’re not all Stepford & shit.

Last week was decent. It finally felt as if my chemo-fog was lifting. I could see the sun again. I felt the spring air. I shared laughs and went exploring with my sweet baboo.

And ya know that 20 pounds I mentioned gaining since my surgery? I think I’ve shat it all out! See kids, one plus to having had undergone chemotherapy the last nine weeks is anything in your body will swiftly be pushed out by the poison. Only nine more weeks of treatments left. Since I feel as if I’ve already flushed my large intestine, I suspect I’ll weigh about 45 pounds when I finally reach the fucking finish line on May 20. [insert winky face emoticon]

You learn a lot about yourself when you experience a life changing event. You will do things you never thought possible, your mind will take you to some very dark places; almost fooling you into staying rather than trying to find your way back. I have never, ever felt such depression in my life. You learn a lot about others compassion toward you when you experience a life changing event as well. Friends you thought would always be there for you suddenly show their fucking true colors, leaving you with one less ally while shaking your head wondering what the fuck. Then you have your friends you always knew would be there, some bonds even strengthened during this time of crisis. Others you will form bonds with and become instantly inseparable as your journeys are so close. You will find friendships and support in places you didn’t know existed but are forever grateful to have connected.New friendships offer new perspectives. During time of recovery, new perspectives are extremely important for growth and full recovery.

I’ll forever be indebted to those who have offered words of encouragement, support, sent gift cards, made meals, just let me cry on your shoulder or watched my sweet babboo during the day or overnight-most helpful especially days I can’t even get up or walk without vomiting or shitting on myself on days 3-10 after a chemo infusion.

Nothing about breast cancer has been fun. Losing my tits a month after I turned 42 fucking sucks. Losing my hair because of chemotherapy fucking sucks. Losing days at a time due to toxic sickness fucking sucks. Never once have I said ‘why me’. Know why? Shit happens. Life sucks. Thankfully, Mr. Badboob has been by my side since day 1 of my cancer diagnosis. If you’re fortunate enough, you will find your own Mr. Badboob to help navigate the sea of fucked-upness.

This week I get the bewbs filled again, the last fill I hope. These fuckers are already bigger than I wanted and most uncomfortable. I will also receive chemo infusion number 4-Oh happy happy joy joy.

Thank you to each and everyone of you motherfuckers who have reached out to us. I appreciate it and love y0ur fucking guts so hard.

Be kind. xx