Taking You Guys On A Trip Down Mindfuck Lane…

I’ve found and saved some amazing af photographs of New York front the 1800’s and shit. Incredible AF to look at – your brainholes will be smiling. And if you’re anything like me, which chances are you are a beautiful fucker [haaha — beautiful fucker, so not hurtful. Quite contrary, in fact], you’ll get lost in some of these.

Fucking, have you ever, in your lifetime imagined what sweet ole #NYC looked like before the concrete weeds. I have too many times. Especially having grown up in Jersey and having the city just a couple hours away. We’d take ferries to visit the Statue of Liberty. At the time, I had no idea my great grandmother, Nammie, who was still alive until my early teens, had actually entered Ellis Island via ship with her parents and two siblings – one of whom lived to be 99 years of age, having just passed a few years ago. So, at age three or so [idk, I’m so bad with facts and shit]. I’ll look at dates. Do my calculations and forget what the fuck I’m working on. Chemo Brain or Tara brain. This is all Tara brain compounded by chemo and the drugs taken during treatment. So Nammie and her family, escape Budapest in the late 1910’s. They settled and primarily stayed in Bernardsville, NJ. Another side note – You used to be able to see the Twin Towers from a road in Bernardsville, called Jacobs Ladder – google that badboy.

If you have a fascination for pictures of cities and shit in the 19th century, please drop a line and share your photos.

So, without further rambling and shit – fuck me dead, tara, ADD much – uh, yeah man. So much ADD’s. All of them. And CTSD – Current Traumatic Stress Disorder. Science. Bitch.

Legend has it, or I shall tell it as…When the Dutch people of the time had to take a mean ass liquor, gamey animal flesh, goddamned berry churning the intestines dump, eat and eventually pitching what would pass as shelter in 1654 [fucking 1654], they named their quaint lil path ‘Bouwerij’, the Dutch word for path, because it connected cattle farms to the outskirts (what is today) to Wall Street. <— And sidenote this foot food was to go below the Bowery ‘Neighborhood’ picture, but my dumb ass can’t figure how to complete this task on my device. And, fucking hell, I see some of my pictures don’t have captions and I left some off. Edits are afoot….

Apologies, It’s Been Awhile Since I Offered Valuable Advice

I’d like to remind you all about a few effortless activities that you can incorporate into your new daily routine to ensure your needs are met during this time of world turmoil; as demonstrated by Kiki.

Drink water
All the waters
nummy nutrients
It’s so tasty 😋
Take your time chewing, to avoid indigestion.
You can haz the grasses
All the greens 🥬
Curl up with a good book
Lay purrfectly still and breathe
All the sleeps, right meow
Ohm
img_7881
Lay down already and rest

Happy Caturday

I’m Going To Die, If Not Today; Then Yesterday.

Or the fucking year before that in the future. Sometime. The actual fuck is going on in the world rn? Goddamn.

Watching the expeditiously fucking fast rate this Covid19 is spreading is very much unsettling. At the time of drafting this post, the number of identified cases have shot up damn near 100,000. And half those are in the Boroughs of New York City. We are not prepared. This much is evident.

I’ve been actively tracking this virus for almost 70 days.  64 days ago [1/24/20], it arrived in Raleigh. Then, unbeknownst or in spite of the flu and pneumonia shots I’d received prior to the start of ‘cold season’ [The fuck season is this? Death season?], I began deathly ill with the ‘flu’. It lasted from 1/29/20-3/2/20.  And when I tell you I was dragging myself around with weakness or vomiting so goddamned much thought I’d loose my small intestine. I had death in me. I cried. I pleaded. It was heinous af. Felt like I was balls deep into chemo again. I literally – Not hyperbole tara speak – literally dragged my body up the stairs. Napped halfway thru an continued my drag to the bed. Still sitting, head resting on bed. Ffs.

Now, knowing what I know….I’m sure I had the Coronavirus in my body. I know it. The time frames align and shit. But, seeing as I did not have insurance, I did not  go to the doctor. I self treated. And trust me, Monday the 3rd, if I was still sick I was going to get seen. But, had I been seen, I would have been checked for flu – it may or may have come back positive. But the Covid19 test wasn’t even a real glimmer…so I would have been treated for a ‘mysterious illness’. – All my hypothesizing and shit.

For the love of fuck people, #staythefuckhome. When the news and numbers and real ness overwhelms your brain holes, put the damned device down, get off your ass and do something for yourself in your own space. Make it comfy. Relaxing. Chaotically beautiful. You decide. You act. Put #humanityforward and reach out to someone during this time of self isolation, offer your resources. Be responsible with your research and your sources – This is not a goddamned hoax, it’s real af. The hoax is in the truth they hide.

It’s just the matter of days before my family is infected with the sickness. We’ve all been laid off  now, for almost two weeks. I’m going to die. If not today, then yesterday. I’ll be reading your name online in the obits, or you will reading my name. Life is a whore.

 

The Woody Show And Shit

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] badboobandshit@gmail.com.

Menopause – The Ceasing Of Menstruation

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…badboob.pngusually 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.


It’s real.

Real AF.

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…..

She’s concerned…
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. 

 

Spoiler Alert

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.

 

Just The Facts Ma’am

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……