Why Are You Apologizing To Me?

Fucking I know you didn’t give me breast cancer….I know, I know, its what we say when we don’t know what to say. I get it. We wish to express sympathy for those we are concerned about. Our loved ones. I’m guilty of apologizing for catastrophic life events out of my control as well.

For those of you keeping up with my #badboob….It & the other will be removed a week from today [sorry rightie, I sacrificed you in the name of cancer]….It’s been 34 days since my lump discovery….22 days I have lived with knowing I have five cancerous tumors growing in my left breast….

22 harrowing fucking days. Before the diagnosis I’d begun to feel off. Now knowing it’s cancer in my veins–I’m really freaking the fuck out. Never been one to complain about aches & pains & shit Usually pop and Advil and go on with life. Fucking cancer…..this pain in my neck….the pain in my shoulder….has the cancer spread….The fuck is it doing inside my body to my nervous system…Is the doctor going to be able to remove all the cancer in 7 days? Fuck you cancer! May you be blinded my jizz in the eye….you fucker.

Oh, I’m so sorry Tara. Ugh….I’ve begun replying with the ‘you didn’t give it to me’ bit ‘did you?’…Ha you fuckers don’t know how to reply. With a laugh, it’s an icebreaker.

Cancer is a bitch. For real. And don’t get me wrong, I’m usually at a loss for words and will apologize too. It’s what we do. Silly human phenomena.

To those reaching out to let me know you’re reading, absorbing and getting in touch with yourself~congratufuckinlations! I love it. I love you. Spread the word to your friends. I always thought the campaign ‘Save the tata’s’ was kinda of silly. It should be ‘Save the lives’….Thank you. xx

Ha, Wanna hear my thoughts on the phrase stay strong?



Simmer Down Now Boob

Before the breast cancer diagnosis, 20 days ago, I simply had a problem with breathing & being in the moment. In more ways than one. I was always preoccupied with getting the next task done–mom’s you can relate. no?–and I have chronic bronchitis. So I legit can’t breathe properly most of the time. But I’ve adapted to that shit & the asthmatic wheeze that has been with me since childhood.

But this #badboob. I tell you what. For me, taking a moment to breathe is increasingly more difficult cause I’m a nervous fucking wreck.

I’d like to envision myself as calm as Katherine Heigl’s character in Knocked Up when she surrounds herself with candles and shit in bathroom in an attempt to zenout…. But never reach that zen.

While I do try to breathe, it’s usually unsuccessful.

Love/hate my boobs depending on the day and shit. But fuck (I know, I know) they are mine goddammit. Cancer you are a whore.

Cancer is claiming my boobs on December 22nd….this is a fact in my life at the mo….that bitch called dibs & shit….no fucking take backs….goddammit….a rule is a rule…Aaaaand here we are in life & shit….

Your choice is your own
My choice is my own
We all have different choices to make with cancer, fucking cancer! I say.
My cancer. Your Cancer. Our Cancer. Fuck you cancer.

I’m choosing reconstruction immediately post mastectomy.

Granted a breast reduction has been a dream since my teens. I’ve had the most fanfuckingtastic volatile relationship with my boobs. Being well endowed for quite sometime time comes with many problems such as chronic neck/back pain, grooves on my shoulders from bra and not being able to buy bras here in the states for years [I’d have to order those bitches overseas]….

While I am beyond relieved I’ll be getting a reduction, it comes at the cost of cancer and a mastectomy. I had fully resigned myself to the thought with further exercise and toning of my body that would be the extent of my reduction.[Using my NatGeo’s as a catchall, scarf, bird perch]

While I’m at a comfortable enough size now-my back still kills me and the U.S. still carries no bras my size- but these are my boobs, damn you cancer.


Those Fucking Root-Beer Floats

Kids, I’ve gained five pounds in the last 19 days. You’d think with a breast cancer diagnosis I’d have lost five pounds……The first few days upon learning of the diagnosis I literally could not eat…..The news was so earth shaking to me…..I thought I’d never bounce back, let alone how the news affected my family. But that is their story to tell, not mine.

So I’ve discovered beer floats, root-beer-beer floats specifically. If you know me, you know I love beer. If you are new to me, know that I love beer. Did you know some beers mix really fucking will with ice-cream? I know right! What a fanfuckingtastic idea of gluttony and delight.

I just ended a 30 year stand off with root-beer & finally succumbed to the sweet flavor; now I  can’t get enough of that shit. I think each float is 4000 calories, hence the five extra pounds on my gut–all my weight goes to my gut not my ass–

Five pounds may not be much on the grand scheme of shit but considering I worked so hard to drop so much….I dislike seeing the scale climb slightly higher each day….again kids, if I did not know I had cancerous tumors in my breast,  I would not have any idea…. I guess I’m bulking up so to speak for my upcoming double mastectomy in 10 days……10 fucking days and the cancer should be gone from my body!! I’ll probably lose a good 20 during surgery, once all breast tissue and shit is removed. I also know I’ll be all weak and shit. Thank you root-beer floats for giving me a little extra padding, I guess [what a crafty bitch].

Going to take my boobs out the beach for one last stroll along the sand….Seriously, it’s going to be a beautiful fucking day here in North Carolina. We are driving to coast, which is only about an hour and half from us. I’m going to soak up as much of the ocean air, sounds & good vibes as possible. Cause I’m still scared as fuck kids. But I do know I will be in good hands during surgery and warms arms after.

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.


When I Get Nervous……

I stick my hands under my armpits and then I smell them like this…. 

Ha! How I love Molly Shannon’s character Mary Katherine Gallagher!

Ya wanna know what cancer smells like kids?

It smells like fear, armpit and ass. Well the pit and ass may be me–It’s been days since I showered. No need to shave in the winter right ladies? Makeup is a moot point as anything applied to my face is instantly rinsed away with tears. And with this short hair who the fuck cares or knows if I’ve combed it today? A little dry shampoo goes a long way…..

Ya wanna know what cancer feels like kids? It feels like I’m going to puke.

That sick feeling has not left me since 11/19-when the biopsy was being performed. I feel those tumors weaving their menacing veins all while weighing my breast down. There is no telling what sort of evil has been done to the inside of my body. Fuck me. That’s a lot of time with my brain and boobs to think…..

Here I am 12 days away from Operation Tit Removal….How does one say goodbye to their #badboob?  This I will to need research a  bit more and report back to you guys.~~Rest assured folks, I will tell you all about it!

……Let alone recovery from breast removal–Currently there is an unfamiliar pain in my shoulder and neck….naturally emotional me thinks cancer has spread and I won’t be even be mobile by the evening~~not true~ I know it’s not attacked me that severely  yet….I’m hoping anyway. There’s no telling the damage done already. Fucking cancer, goddammit.

Here I am walking around smelling like fucking Pigpen in my cancer funk leaving the lovely scent fear and bile in my wake…..

Every step that damned cancer boob throbs, seriously December 22nd can not get here soon enough. Fuck off cancer.

12 more days of trying to be normal. Cleaning the walls, the bathrooms, the closets, the corners in the house. Those corners that haven’t been touched since we accidentally spilled milk back there three years ago. I know people will be visiting and shit. I don’t want you guys to be scared off by the ginormous dust fuckers that’ll great you at the door.

12 more days of trying to be normal. Trying to smile and have fun with five. 12 more days of walking the dog. 12 more days of playing outside, laughing, smiling, making sweet memories so five can think back and hopefully have fond memories of this Christmas.

And if I can get my shit together, hopefully I’ll pull myself together long enough and take a fucking shower.




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




Ermahgerd, It’s Cancer Bitch

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was pregnant.

Seriously. My boobs feel like ass~ all swollen and shit, chalk it up to the period right?  Ermergerhd…it’s cancer bitch.

fuck you cancer.
triple fuck you

Fortunately Dr. Max of Wake Radiology acted with efficiency upon reading my mammogram results. His expertise and professionalism -given my no insurance situation-allowed him to act quickly. Connecting me to Dr. Tolnitch.

All too often some cancers can’t be removed, wreak havoc and totally destroy the lives of our loved ones. It’s brutal to watch. Don’t get me wrong~~~I am ever so grateful for my early cancer detection. fo sho. I know I’ll be getting off easy with this whole cancer situation. Logical me knows I’m going to ace this whole tit removal via double mastectomy. Emotional me wants to hibernate till the end of March.

I I have breast cancer. That’s why my body feels swole & off.  Had I not discovered that lump 26 days ago -I’d still be blissfully unaware of the fucker, that is cancer weaving it’s evil in me-I’d think that I put some of that 75 pounds back on. You are not getting skinny-fat Tara. This is fucking cancer Tara.

I will be walking around with the cancer eating my breast for another 16 days goddammit.

Eating my mind.

Robbing my thoughts.

Robbing memories that will never happen. 

peace, love & root-boot floats




Buh Bye Now Cancer

17 more days

the cancer will be gone

my breasts will be gone 

i will be alive

i will be healthy again

invasive ductile carcinoma will have taken my breasts once it’s through weaving it’s evil fucking veins, but it will not take my life

motherfuck you cancer 

17 days 

peace, love & root-beer floats



Mother Nature, You Whore

Alright girls, here’s another real life post for you–men, if you don’t want to hear about menstruation, swollen boobs and all the shit that goes with having a period, you may want to stop reading now. My feelings won’t be hurt. I’m a big girl.

This week my period started, right on time. All the crazy emotions and sensitivity that goes along with. Except this month, I know now I have breast cancer. Last month prior to menstruation, my breasts were incredibly sore, more so than usual~I’d even commented to my sis-in law, though I still had no reason for alarm.

Had I not been in-tune with with my body and discovered the lump (which we now know to be cancer) 25 days ago, I could be walking around completely oblivious to the tumors growing within. While my body is swollen with normal menstruation happenings- swollen boobs, soreness, bitchiness – I would still be unaware of the tumors. Ladies, exam yourselves.

Okay Tara we know you found a lump.
What did it feel like?
Why did you question it?
How did you know to get it tested?

The lump felt like an eraser head from a pencil. Sometimes we have cysts and shit growing in us especially after menstruation. But this lump, was hard, immovable and not supposed to be in my boob. That #badboob is still fucking grounded and won’t see the day of light till 12/22 upon removal.

peace, love & root-beer floats



Good Grief

This morning I awoke much the same as every morning……with that rude ass alarm clock buzzing in our fucking ears followed by a warm twitchy & squirmy five year old stumbling in with blankie in one hand and snoopy in the other to get his morning snuggles.

Since learning of my cancer 11 days ago, I have noticed a phenomenon in which I must wipe dried tears from my eyes, fucking cancer tears while I sleep, what a bastard.  I clean my eyes, put glasses on then going down stairs to mix my my double chocolate protein and blend into my coffee. Those damn tears of worry.

Again -Logical me knows I’m in good hands. Surgery will be a breeze. Blah blah-Emotional me is scared as fuck and a nervous fucking spazz. 

Wipe those dried tears Tara. Did I disturb/wake my husband during my fitful sleep–he needs his sleep too….I sit up stretch, kiss my husband goodbye….sob and sob and sob….uncontrollably big stupid cancer sobs. I know, I know it’s all normal and natural responses to an abnormal situation.

But fuck man, you’d think after 11 days of knowing this fucking beast that goes by the name of cancer is rapidly growing within me, I’d just be able to get up and go about life… not….that’s so not the case.

And while I’m not debilitated by depression, it has taken a huge chunk of my normal happy-go-fuck-yourself charm.

This is not the journey I thought I’d be taking when I turned 42 last 55 days ago.
This is not the journey I thought I’d be taking when I discovered my lump 24 days ago.
This is not the journey I thought I’d be taking when I had a diagnostic mammogram 15 days ago.
This is not the journey I thought I’d be taking when I heard my cancer diagnosis 11 days ago.
This is now the journey I must take. This is the road I must fucking walk, though not alone, never alone, for the next 18 days until my double mastectomy.

I will be walking this fucking cancer ridden road for 18 days. 18 more days kids! Then there will be a new set of worries such as treatment yadafuckinyada…..

peace, love & root beer floats