When You Find That Long Yellow Hair…

while going through your winter clothes and want to cunt punch cancer….

On the other hand; I’ve never had so many compliments on my ‘hair cut’. Seriously. Never. Men, women, all of them tell me it’s a great look ask me where I got it cut, etc, etc…..I tell them it’s new growth and they’re all oohs & ahhs…So I think I shall be rocking the ‘Ripley’ (of which I had to google) and a few comparisons to Eleven from Stranger Things, which is a kick ass fucking show—I’ll take it. And thank you for the kind words. After my bad hair life, glad to be able to enjoy this aspect, for the first time. Ever. 

Did I mention the mouth sores/metal mouth? Fucking brutal– Gah….It got so bad at one point you forget all the good times you’ve had, as you all you can focus on is the burn, or loss of taste-buds. Oh yeah, chemo affects your nails too. It’s been almost four months since my last chemo and my nails are still brownish and fucked up….oh yeah did I mention my internal plumbing thinks it’s still receiving chemo as my bowel movements have been more like rocket rides to space…..better leave that escape hatch open…Fortunately for me, the sores disappeared rather quickly and leaving my mind or being suppressed (I’ll decide late).

I was tired and lazy while on chemo. Not lazy like check Facebook an hour has passed lazy; like real life lazy. I was so weak I could not wipe when I pee’d or hock a fucking loogie…no strength at all. Felt as if I were in a goddamned horror movie where the heroine is trying to escape in a room of muck but gets stuck instead….no where to turn….sleep a few minutes on the floors. Who cares? I didn’t shower for days. I was in a hallucinogenic state, lack of nutrients….so many pills. Ladies do invest in personal wipes to keep your pickachu squeaky clean [insert cry laughing emoji here] as you’re not going to want to shower or any other fucking thing. Any little things to make the chemo process a bit easier.

Ladies, I found the perfect post masecto bra….the Genie bra. Seriously, it seems as if my life quest has been finding the perfect bra for my gigantor breasts, even with reconstruction, I’m still looking for good sports bras. All those fuckers are racer back style and always end up with my neck hurting. So, I took the plunge and bought the $9.99 Genie in the box…..Put that fucker on…..immediate love! My only gripe is I should have gotten a smaller size, but not in stock. The reviews state to go smaller as well. But, I fucking love it! It does lift, separate and support so much more than I anticipated!! Can’t wait to shove my breasticles into a small and see how comfy that is. You can step into it as opposed to pulling over your head. Arms and shit is already sore, need all the relief we can get. And my pits are still kinda numb and swollen from those expanders….

Oh yea, did you know you have to register your implants? I’m sure those who’ve had enhancements know this info, but I’d never heard or imagined such a thing. I realize it’s for replacement, recall or some shit. Check your tits. Have your partner check. Know your body, the bumps & lumps….be aware of what’s happening inside…you could possibly save your life with early detection. I did. I was never one for self checks, and I had lots of exploration….Those who aren’t sure how to check, contact your doctor, google, YouTube. I found the best way to check, after discovering those lumps, because you know I was obsessed with the tumors in my tit, I had to feel every single fucking day it was in my body, and best way for me was to bend over and feel around like that. Mine felt like an eraser tip from a pencil. It was not malleable…That set off more alarms. I’ve lost too many to this ugly disease, and yes I’m being greedy; I don’t want to lose any more of you fuckers. xx

Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay

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…..

Chemo has:

  • 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!
I’m living!
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.

 

 

And Then She Was At Peace

Free from pain. 
Free from sorrow.
Free from life.
Able to soar high above and guide us….

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve talked to you guys. A lot of shit has happened. A lot of sadness. A lot of smiles.

My circle of friends lost a beautiful soul this past Friday. Jo’s story, struggle & grace hit close to home for so many. We’d become friends before either of us knew we’d have breast cancer. Just a bunch of silly tweeters playing in the sea of anonymity that was twitter. Eventually a lot of us gravitated back to Facebook, and that’s when our friendship really blossomed.

I’m well into recovery, it’s been 83 days since my last chemo; thank fuck…Hell you may have even seen me ‘brushing’ my hair earlier in the week with that silly ass toothbrush. Laugh if you will, but that toothbrush felt so fucking good on my head. I’d tried a regular comb, but there were some stray fuckers that would not lay properly under my glasses. So I MacGyver’ed a brush….and boom! We have a toothbrush for my post chemo head. I’m only 24 days out from hysterectomy and new tit exchange.

Physically feeling pretty good. The noobies are a bit sore, the scarring isn’t pretty, but they are no longer toxic and I have my life. Which brings me back to the survivors guilt….Especially with Jo’s transition. My mind is all over the place. Happy one mo, crying the next….I’ve always been a bit emotional, crying at silly shit~but sans my lady bits, I feel more batshit crazy. That hysterectomy sucked ovaries….lolz….

I was reminded, by Jo, that one’s problems shouldn’t outshine or diminish the other’s. We all have shit to deal with. We will all deal differently. I admire her strength so much….I  will continue to look toward Joanna for inspiration on days I feel I can not continue……I know I only had stage one cancer and should consider myself lucky. goddammit skippy, I feel lucky as fuck….

But the thing that some don’t realize is even after the stitches fully dissolve, you’re left with the aftermath. In my case, I happen to be looking at some fantastic fake boobs, with vertical scarring from one side to the other. I will always see the scar first. I’ll always remember being traumatized and terrified. I’ll always remember Mr. Badboob holding my hand, putting my fears to rest….TBT, I’d still rather my own NatGeo’s and not have gone through this ordeal. But I have… And many of you have decided  to come along for the ride. You even stayed in the car when I began to veer and slide off said road. A few of jumped out of the fucking car the first chance they could, leaving gaping holes in my heart.

But I must look ahead for my own peace of mind. If I continue looking back second guessing myself, actions, words, I’ll never recover. My family needs me here, now….I don’t have anymore time to wonder why you reacted to me in such a harsh way…..It’s your life fuckers, live it how you want. Keep your toxicity to yourselves, I’m sick enough. 

Now that I’m finally on this side of recovery, I plan to #raiseawarenessraisehell with my #badboob story. I’ve got lots of projects planned, inspired by my stint with breast cancer, obv, but inspired none the less. I will not be shushed, well if I am shushed I’m gonna tell you to fuck off buddy. There is too much sickness out there. Too many people, young & old, with cancer.

We need to find a fucking cure already and put an end to the destruction it has caused.

What A Long, Strange Trip It’s Been

Here I lay, eight days post-op. My brain is mush. My body is yelling at me. My heart is breaking.

Thing is, we know there’s no directions to life.  You’re born and thrown in the public school system and are to navigate your life. By the choices you made. People you talk with. I feel most people are kind at heart. We all know there are some crazy ass motherfuckers out there who should not be able to see the light of day, ever. But deep down we are a compassionate bunch of fuckers.

Since my breast cancer diagnosis, I’ve naturally been gravitating to those with cancer and making some strong ass, life long bonds with these awesome women; who’ve all lost their tits…some are losing their life, as I type this. One of my goddess’es has been knocked down. But she’s feisty and got such a strong sense of self, I admire her strength and courageous and grace during her entire ordeal. She will say when it’s her time, not the disease.

Whether it’s stage 1 or stage 4 —fuck cancer–so hard–that will never change. Cancer has ruined so many lives. Taken the light from so many I care about. Taken those you care about. And we are left to cry over their memory. 

Now onto the physical. I still cry that my chest has been completely mutilated in the past year, or reconstructed, in Doctor speak.  I opted for a complete hysterectomy because of the mutated gene I carry. Eliminating the working objects from the lady cave may prevent cervical/ovarian cancers.One major chapter is closed in this cancer saga, but the footnotes are still open, they hurt. They’re raw.

I’ve said and done so much stupid shit in my 42 years. I’d like to say that I won’t screw up again, but like most humans we eventually do. Those who love us will help work through and eventually past. I’m so fortunate to have such a loving husband, who has been able to get past my fuck-ups (many times). Last week he took the best care of me. Apparently I have a reaction to anesthesia. Holy fuck, the puking after a hysterectomy was brutal as fuck. Trying to hurl while trying not to herniate your vaginal cap stitches–graceful I am not.

There are many who don’t agree with what I say or how I do it. That’s ok. I don’t expect 100% positive feedback. But those who know me, really know me, know I’d never intentionally disrespect another, especially one who is fighting a battle much bigger than mine will ever be. Those who’ve been through cancer will understand. And if you believe otherwise, good riddence. It plays a number with your fucking head. Feeling totally distraught one moment, happy the next…

So here I sit. 

Post-op. 

Boobs are banded super fucking tight for two weeks. 

The lady cave is screaming & yelling at me, meds are helping so/so. I’m torn with wanting to love the implants. Sorta like a parting gift….thanks for playing breast cancer with us….you’re going home with new tits!!!! [audience claps enthusiactically]

The past nine months have been hell with my metal state. My body has changed, swelled & morphed into so many unrecognizable characters….biopsied, mastectomy, chemo, exchange surgery….so many meds. So many tears. So many days I found it impossible to drag myself from bed. 

So. Many. Tears. 

You think what the fuck? 

Is all this worth it? 

Then, you get that loving look from your spouse, a surprise hug from your little one. A friend telling you she found the light within you. And decide. Yes, it was worth it. Every fucking bit of it. 

You Have Grandpa Hair Mommy.

Gee thanks kid.

Yes gang, my head does resemble that of a grandpa’s head, sort of…. Really am so happy the shit is finally growing back in! After over four months of being bald and hairless, it’s quite a relief. And I can actually grab a bit with my fingers too!! But….mother-what-the-fuck-my brows and lashes have almost all shed this week. I now have less brows than when I was going through chemo. The fuck? I’ve put a call into my onco for answers. It may be normal. It may be meds. IDK. I do know I’m not pleased with this new development.

One week and a day from today I will be checking into the hospital [at 5 fucking 15 am]!! The new tits will be installed. Old, useless and potentially deadly equipment will be removed. [read….no more crotch bleeding ]I should be good as new…. and with awesome new bewbs ….

  1. They’ll never slide into my armpits when I lay down.
  2. I won’t have to hold when running, they won’t knock me out while jumping
  3. I’ll no longer be able to tuck into my pants,
  4. No longer be able to wrap around my neck to keep my warm on the cold winter nights
  5. Will not need a bra…Will not need a bra….Will not need a bra!! [been wearing those bitches since I was 12. Have permanent grooves dug into my shoulders from those boulder holders]

My physical strength has returned, mentally I’m still a bit mushy; one day at a fucking time kids. It’s been great. Running, playing, jumping and getting all our sillies out with my Sweet Babboo. That sweet child has been through a lot in his five years of life, loss of a younger brother, mommy with breast cancer. I try to tell him everyday how happy I am he chose us to be his mommy and daddy.

Just the other day Babboo had all his kitty cat beanies lined up playing school. The mommy kitty said she was sick. Kitties at school asking mama cat why she was sick. I heard him reply, in his mama cat voice, that she had breast cancer…. Fuck. My heart swelled and dropped at the same time. But those baby kitties rallied around their mommy, taped her up and kept telling her they loved her… What a sweet imagination.
He sees me. He sees my strength. He sees our love.
He’s going to be OK.

It’s not been roses everyday. It has not…. Maybe decaying, rotting in water roses…. It’s been fucking hard some days. Yeah, yeah, everyone’s life is tough. Everyone’s life is rough…. Everyone is faced with challenges. This I know, but remember this is my space and place. Perhaps if some quit sticking your nose where it shouldn’t belong, you’ll quit smelling shit….Seriously, we are faced with enough bullshit in our everyday lives. Let’s quit fucking with each other, fuckers. 

Recently, I’ve felt a renewed clarity. This a new and amazing feeling for me.

Next week, I’ll be in recovery mode again for a few weeks. Shit, it’s taken me almost seven months to regain my pre-mastectomy strength. During that time I was undergoing chemo, hence the delay in feeling ‘like myself’.

No chemo this time. Just recovery.
No worries if cancer has spread this time. Just recovery.
No more being scared out of my fucking mind. Just recovery.

While I’m still pissed as fuck at the lump I discovered 243 days ago and I will probably always say ‘fuck cancer’. Always have said ‘fuck cancer’ so why should I stop saying it now? I’m not as angry. I still have my life, family and support system, which has been vital to my full recovery.  That’s what it all about, family. Right? I sincerely mean all the thank you’s to everyone. All who’ve sent messages, gifs, gifts, food, wishes, what have ya….I appreciate it all. I know I was freaking out in the beginning with my diagnosis. Thanks for sticking with me to see how this unfolds.

One week from today. One fucking week! This is one of my final steps in becoming a breast cancer thriver…. I love that term. Not only are we survivors, but we’re also thriving in the shit hole of life. 

Much love and all the feels to you guys.

xx

 

 

 

“Look Mom, A Girl With No Hair.”

Yes honey I see that. She has cancer, the mom replied.  When people have cancer, they have to go through chemotherapy.  And with chemo sweetie, they get really sick and most lose their hair like that girl….aw, shucks….42 and they are calling me a girl….thanks for making my day sweet mom at target for explaining to your little girl about cancer and for thinking I was a kid.

My incisions are fucking frowning at me. Why is this so? Seriously, at the incision site, the lines are rounded down in a frownward motion. Are they mad at me for having doctors mutilate and hack at them? They do not like the breast muscle tissue expander either. Do all post mastecto chests frown? Or is is just mine? This is serious shit, I need answers.

Stretch marks from the breast tissue expansion. Weird. Why is this so? I had so much skin to work with [hello, NatGeo]….only to cut, toss in trash [bye bye nipples] and begin stretching my skin again.

Where have my nipples gone?
What barge are they decaying on?

I have totally faith in the plastic surgeon’s ability….but damn….you really do need to be a patient patient for the good shit to happen and my chest muscles to finish expanding. As much as I hate the discomfort from the expanders, I’m glad I have a competent surgeon….hopefully I’ll have two, not three or four boobs when he is done. I’m ready to be able to feel my arms, chest, under arm & side boob again. Shit’s still numb & sore. It’s a surreal experience showering and not knowing if I’m really washing my body. Let’s not forget the goddamned power port making my life even more miserable. Blah blah blah….bitch bitch bitch….Not necessarily bitching….Just telling my story as I see it….
Will implants frown or smile? I hope like fuck those bitches will be smiling. I know I will be. As the surgery is one of the last steps in my breast cancer journey. In just 21 days, the plastic surgeon will work his magic sculpting my new boobs!! I must say, I am pretty fucking excited to have the reduction I’ve always wanted. My excitement is growing everyday.

I will be entering the autumn of my life with kick ass cancer free tits! If I choose nipples, there will be one more procedure with him. But, I’ve already begun thinking of a beautiful post-masecto piece- pretty sure that’s the route I’ll be going.

How much do the expanders weigh now? His much will the implants weigh? Well I googled that shit and right now the expanders are adding a little over two pounds to my frame.

My hair growth is going well, considering I was  more or less hairless a little over a month ago. I received my last chemo infusion 38 days ago. You can tell by this picture, just how much hair has actually grown in. I’m such a lovely vision of beauty. [snort….sarcastic eye roll inserted here] I’m still a hot fucking mess….I know with surgery less than a month a way, I’ll be a bigger, hotter mess. Ha, with my mastectomy, I was concerned because I had to completely disrobe prior to surgery, I was worried about the baby-slide.  So I shaved and got razor rash…..grrr….anyhoo….I’m not going to stress about the meat curtains as the surgeon is removing all baby making materials….
Still hard to fathom that 230 days ago Mr. Badboob and I received life altering news. The in-laws happened to be visiting us that day. So glad to have had all the love, support & shoulders to lean on from day one. Two hundred and thirty fucking days ago….goddammit. The online support has been more than tremendous. Each day I feel I get a little closer to some of you. The girl power is strong in my group of friends. We are carefully building each other up, to ensure we become the best possible in this fucked up world.

From my misty eyes to yours. Make it a good one.

And for fucks sake, feel yourself ladies. Have your man feel your boobs. Men, you can get breast cancer too….check yourselves.
 

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.

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.