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.
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] email@example.com.
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……
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.
plucking chin hairs again…Looks like I’m not going to get it today…That bastard couldn’t wait to begin production again instead of wasting time….
See the thing with this blog is, I usually forget what I’m going to blather on about. I have kick-ass thoughts & shit, thinking ‘yes I must add this’, but know what folks? My short-term memory is shit, therefore I spend hours trying to remember to no avail. So here we are with a total off the cuff blog, with one big ass run on sentence. And then once I hit publish, that perfect fucking title will come back to me….I should jot my ideas down…..
- made me love and appreciate my family more
- cured my bad hair life
- curbed my drinking
- made me cuss like a motherfucking goddamned sailor, joke…I’ve always talked this way.
- strengthen my bond with Mr. Badboob
- broken bonds I thought would never break
- traumatized me beyond belief
Let me give you the numbers run down, for those of you new to blog….found lump in my tit 293 days ago, my boobs were then removed 284 days ago….Then chemo, hysterectomy & new tit exchange took place six weeks ago.
We’re approaching the one year since lump discovery and with chemo behind me, my mind has been really reviewing the events from the past month….I’m really starting to freak out. Why? Cancer is gone. Treatments are over. Now that I’m not obsessed with next phase of cancer removal, my brain has a lot of free fucking time.
#Badboob has connected to me to so many fanfucktastic women, for that I’m grateful. I’m not pleased with the fact all my connections have been because we have toxicty trying to kill us….But with support, it’s so much easier. There is not right or wrong way to deal with cancer. Some take it, beat it, move on. Some rely on their faith to guide them. Others deal with getting all those crazy ass thoughts out on the screen in hopes others will see and know they aren’t alone. When I first began regaling the tale of my fucking badboob, thanks to Mr. Badboob’s insistence, I had no idea what would come of it. I just knew I had a large social media presence and wasn’t afraid to say what I felt, in my own real & raw words. I’ve talked shit about everything and everyone in this thing over the past few months. But it’s all here, for you to read. So you don’t have to talk behind my back….fuck you if you are…my feelings, crass as my descriptions may be, don’t affect my parenting or wifing.
I’ve had time to think about what has happened to me and my family. I mean really think. It’s been the most trying time. But we made it. Now for me to get my head out of my mind and use my energies for good. If I stay where I am, I’ll never fully ‘recover’. I know on the outside I appear normal enough, I’m not. It’s ok to ask questions. I’ve discovered the small things with sweet babboo. We’ve had an incredible summer exploring and shit.
I have a skewed vision of the world and goddamnit, I’m fine with that, I embrace that shit!
Not hiding anymore to spare your feelings.
This is my story. My fight goddamnit.
To those newly diagnosed finding yourselves here, hello and welcome to #badboob.
cancer robbed me of a lot of goddamned shit.
Cancer robbed me of time with my youngest. I found the lump seven days after five’s birthday. 19 days later I would be in the hospital with doctors tearing into my breast tissue with their precision scalpels & shit. Those days leading up to surgery, I knew picking five up & giving him super-duper swirlaround hugs would be some of my last times actually doing this with him…..All children grow, this we know….Not all parents are going through recovery during those last days when your youngest is growing by leaps and bounds. I knew during my months of treatments & recovery & bullshit that goes along with cancer that I’d not be able to to this with him once I fully recovered, because he’ll have grown so much. Shit, months down the road, he’ll likely be taller than me. I cherished these hugs. I recited in my mind his smell, laughter & hugging back. I inhaled his essence….knowing that cancer will be behind us one day….months from now….years from now….this nightmare would be a distant but life changing event….he’ll continue reach up to my chest every now and again asking how my boobs feel or if that’s where my boobs were….he’ll tell the cashier at he grocery store “go to hashtag badboob if you want to read about my mommies cancer”….ha!….what a sweet and loving little boy….I know he’ll grow into a strong and compassionate man….he does, after all, have a two pretty damned good role models….While cancer has robbed me of picking him up, it hasn’t robbed me of loving him, harder, every day.
Cancer robbed me of intimacy. Not only with my spouse, but with myself. In the 60 days since the diagnostic mammogram, it’s mostly been fear and worry discussed between me and Mr. Badboob. It has robbed me of sleeping, quite comfy might I add, in the crook of his arm. Instead, the 27 days post-masecto I’ve been sleeping in a cushion of pillows, all but alienating him from my embrace….so unfair cancer is.
Cancer has robbed me of my tits. Fucks sake, I’m only 42–wasn’t quite ready to get rid of them….even if I’m getting new tits installed….it just won’t be the same. My upper portion of my body is still in quite a bit of pain….still gnarly bruised & shit….the hell they’d do? Sit their medical equipment atop me during surgery?….while I’m still in pain, I’m still numb at the same time….don’t know how many of you have seen post-masecto chests…ugh…at the mo, my breasts look awful….and to sucker punch me even harder….I have absolutely no sensation where my nipples were….I mean none….that skin that was once my breasts is gone and mostly likely that source of pleasure is gone….it just means me & the mister will get creative again with sensations and feel goods, when the time is right.
Cancer has robbed me of wanted to get up some days. It has robbed me of giving a shit about my appearance some days. It has robbed me of brushing my hair….though, tbt, since getting my hair cut short back in the summer….I’ve rarely brushed it….preferring to go with the ‘cute messy look’, but now, I hardly even bother with the dry shampoo….It has robbed me of so many simple pleasures, like simply sitting up–pain free. Or not having to peel a sports bra off my incision spots….for those of you that don’t know…the self-healing tape they use, sticks to your clothes….you must carefully peel off your affected area….nothing like receiving a kick while you’re down, eh?
While cancer has robbed me of so much, I do realize, it has strengthened some bonds. It has introduced a new dialogue in our home. We speak more. We hug more. We laugh more. And of course we cry more. Fuck you so very hard breast cancer!
Please for the love of fuck….check yourselves ladies….I was able to catch my breast cancer before it wreaked too much havoc within my body….besides the loss of boobs.
Cancer will not rob me of enjoying today.
If I didn’t know I had cancer
I wouldn’t know I had cancer
That bears repeating.
If I didn’t know I had cancer
I wouldn’t know I had cancer
I came the this realization last night as loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, doing normal shit. Thinking how the hell can people not know they have cancer growing in them till they discover a baseball sized tumor? A fucking baseball size tumor?? And some of you are thinking how the hell could I find my cancer when it was only slightly larger than a pea? I realize I found my cancer, five fucking tumors full of cancer, very very early early. Hell, that lil ole cancer was probably just a day or two old when I found that sneaky bastard.
Astonishing! I mentioned it earlier this week, had I not known of the cancer, I would think I’m just bulking up after all the holiday fun [insert sarcastic eye-roll here]. It’s been 31 days since I first felt that lump, not searching for it either, just happened to be caught up in a moment. bam….what the fuck is that tiny lump in my boob? Coincidentally, it’s been 31 days since I’ve had carefree relations with my husband (carefree in the sense that when I found the lump I knew, just knew it was cancer) my mind/brain/thoughts/actions have completely changed in so many ways the past 31 days. I’ve only officially known I’ve have cancer 18 days. 18 long motherfucking days of trying to normal shit all while knowing my boobs, whom are trying to destroy me, will be sliced and diced in 11 days. I can tell you the tumors feel slightly larger than a quarter now–to give you indication of growth etc.
Many of you don’t believe me when I say I’ve never had many girlfriends.
Sure, I’ve got one or two close ones and you chicks know who you are. But when It comes to girlie shit, I live in a house of peen. I am out-peened in the house [unless 19 or 21 need to change their plug when they get pissy–then their vag levels are on par with mine. Parents, you know boys can be moody fucks just as well as girls] My sons are learning a lot about breast cancer, treatments, and my boobs; of which they don’t want to hear, but they are adults and my sons. They need to be educated too.
To all you girls who have reached out to me, thank you.
To all you girls who have reached out to yourself, thank you. When you find cancer, most likely at least one you reading this will develop breast cancer, rest assured I will be right here to support you as you’ve supported me while living in my house of peen.
lets get back to our boobs….feel them….know them….enjoy the fuck outta them….I am going to try my best to enjoy my boobs, bad or not for the next 11. –This will be futile attempt. I need to psych myself some how ‘eh?
*sidenote: I will never capitalize that bitch cancer, lower case in my book, it doesn’t deserve capitalization.