Are You Fucking Kidding Me

Fuck you cancer.
Eight more days cancer and your ass [my boobs] are herstory.

While I know my cancer isn’t terminal, at least not this go round, I do have friends that are living with terminal cancer. The fuck? They are living with terminal cancer. I am living with cancer. And who the fuck knows what you [reading this] are living with.

But we live with & go on with shit that is thrown our way. With life. Fucking dodging shit at every turn until we find that tree to hide behind and catch our breath.

We as humans are a miraculous lot of bastards. If you don’t keep going you’ll fall down. Who the fuck wants that in life? We may stumble a bit but fuck that’s some of the good times. Those life stumbles….ya know?

So you’re hit and boom….11 days till Christmas–stocking stuffers & shit still needs to be santa’ed–cause I know I’ll be recovering on Christmas-cancer free. Shit I’m not even sure I’m sending cards this year.  {Then there are oil changes, tire rotations and all that shit. Yeah, that’ll probably delayed till after the New Year. Those that have just hit with that fucking monkey wrench, I can relate….totally} Things. Bullshit. We all have it. Mine is no different or important than yours.

I looked in the mirror today….really looked the first time in 21 days….erm, cancer….the fuck you do to me? I notice my eyebrows are getting a little shifty….hell my eyebrows are sparse enough now….curious to see how the treatments will make them. The hell will I to pluck then?….wrinkles like a mofo….need to replenish my water supply due to the uncontrollable stream of tears that….why the fuck does my shoulder hurt so?….why does it feel like I have an earache, but not really?….Oh cancer, you scamp….is that how your’re affecting me making me feel like I’ve got palsy…..eight days bitch….damn you bad boob….affecting every other aspect in my life too….fuck off cancer.

I am more than aware it’s not the tits that make the woman….this I know….it’s the heart, spirit, and soul; all of which I know I am rich in. I will continue to grow and cultivate love for myself, family & life with my cancer free and toxin free boobs in eight days.




Never Enough Time

Just leave me the fuck alone!—Not actual words spoken. Only what my brain is saying to my little monkey fucker~~now, now, I know he has not actually fucked a monkey. Nor will he as an adult–it’s just a saying guys. [However, if he shows tendencies of wanting to fuck a monkey, I’ll get him evaluated right away.] 

I just need space child.

To pee.
To cry.
To be.
To not have to answer your questions for a few minutes.
Just allow mommy a few minutes of space and get outta my face.

Parents, we all know our little beastlies are automatically alerted when we close the bathroom door, attempt to answer to the phone, or dare share an embrace with your spouse–their fucking spidey senses are on fleek.

But fucking (insert juvenile snicker here) as a SAHM it’s challenging enough. Add to the the knowledge you’ll be undergoing a major breast removal surgery to eradicate poisonous tumors from your body….I know he just wants me to play with him….I do…..There’s that guilt again…..All the while I have 6000 things to do before I go in for a double mastectomy in 11 days.

He doesn’t understand I’m buried underneath a fuckton of paperwork trying to secure insurance, grants and the like for prescriptions, treatments and who the fuck know what else I’ll be needing in the very near future. I know I should be fortunate he’s not glued to an electronic device like most five year old children. And I do engage him educationally. He for the most part is an only child–older bros are 21 & 19 and there’s the angel baby, Jackson, who was to be his lifelong playmate.

But goddammit hunny go play, watch a show….give me 15 minutes…….Go swing, ride your scooter….there are so many things you can be doing instead of bugging the shit out of me.

If you need me in the meantime….. we’ll be playing tag or monsters or trains or cars or snoopy’s or burp contests……

After I finish typing this from behind the closed door in the bathroom under the guise of the flushing toilet. Obv. I’ll get dinner from the oven.

We’ll tickle and giggle for a few minutes before we eat and decorate the tree. And hug that sweet child tonight. He’s not sure the entire scope of the situation but is smart enough to pick up a lot of shit.

The cancer will be gone soon. Recovery will begin.



I’ve gotten oven the initial shock of cancer, I believe so anyway.

I’ve begun to look through my reading material with a discerning eye while plugging the emotional eye with Kleenex. It’s all very important shit I need to familiarize myself with. There really are some fantastic resources for cancer of all stages. If I can suck up my tears long enough, I’ll read more later.

14 days from now I’ll be in the hospital.

Hey, do you know you have to sign a consent for them to take your boobs? Sorry, but that’s kinda of funny. Erm, doc I want my boobs back. Sorry Mrs. So & So you signed them away right here, highlighted in yellow. Right before we gave you meds to knock your spazztic ass out. Damn, I signed them away all legit and shit. 

14 more days of knowing I’ve wanted a reduction since I can recall. Those who know me, know I’ve always be well endowed–sometimes, my boobs would enter the room before me, no lie [well maybe a bit exaggerated]. I do love my boobs! Crooked, hanging down to my knees, tripping on them at times if I go without a bra, wrapping those babies around my neck on cold chilly nights, oh I can go on…….Here comes my reduction! But at the cost of cancer-motherfucker. I know once the doctors are done working their magic I’ll have a beautiful set of boobs and hopefully free of cancer!

14 more days of sobbing, mourning part of myself, robbing my time with family, robbing myself of intimacy…..That’s a big mind fuck too. Maybe not for all women/men with breast cancer, but for me it’s a huge mind fuck. This cancer has robbed me of emotional intimacy with myself and husband for far too long. If you ladies fear intimacy with yourself, haven’t tried it, fear the stigma-I highly suggest you take time to enjoy yourself.

It’s no secret, I’ve enjoyed my body immensely. When I was 200 or 130 pounds, I knew all my spots, likes…etc…..Point is, my boobs will be gone in 14 fucking days, and while I’m still going to have fun with myself [so to speak], it’s going to be different. If I can cross this emotional hurdle that I keep stumbling on, I may be able to enjoy intimacy a few more times with my loving husband in the bodies we’ve known and shared with each other the past 23 years.

Explore yourselves ladies.
Enjoy yourselves ladies
It could all change the instant once you find a lump…..

14 more days of preparing the house with five.

13 more days of hiding the elf. This year I got smart, bought a package of blocks, creating a new word each day….SO much easier than trying to be creative with the fucker each night. 🙂

14 more days of smiles, walks, laughter and living life to the fullest and shit!

peace, love & root-beer floats