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.

There Are More Than 100 Types Of Cancer

Two types developed in my tit. My motherfucking tit. Fucking breast cancers.

How bad is it that I could not remember when last I showered? It was sometime last week. But when? What day?

But I am using Piperwai. My pits smell so nice. This week was a good week. My energy was back, well sort of.

And did you know there are people out there who will kick the living shit out of you when you are down because they are angry at the world and you seem like an easy target being all weak and shit….Well guess what fuckers? Kick those goddamned toxic people out of your life….Now…. Don’t wait till you want to cunt punch a bitch, just get rid of them now. Go ahead…..I’ll wait here….Get rid of those toxic bastards now….Ain’t no one got time for their piddly ass games….We’ve got cancer to beat and shit!

We as a species are dumb fucks.  
We do shit.
We fuck up shit.
We repeat that shit
Will we as humans, every learn to play nice?
I highly doubt this.

So, it’s kind of a good thing chemotherapy has rendered me almost hairless [sarcastic emoticon here]. My arms are such an odd smooth. Plus, having these expanders filled to fucking monstrous proportions make it difficult to reach the pits….Boom….hair silently falls out….freeing time in the shower…. and not fearing I’ll fall over and accidentally Zorro slice my fake tits off….Hey it could happen…..If you were with me on FB years back, you may recall I Zorro’ed my ass-cheek pretty goddamned good.  Had a pretty gnarly scar there too. My eyebrows & lashes are barely hanging on, mascara pretty’s the lashes a lot. Interestingly enough the majority of my head follicles have fallen, but not all & there is new growth trying to happen up there. I know it won’t stick till after last infusion on May 20. It’s tough to look in the mirror and know this is my life at the mo. It’s all temporary, they say. Any collateral effects from chemo can be corrected, they say.

Items I’ve saved on past 78 days since beginning the chemotherapy infusions include but are not limited to: Shampoo, conditioner, hair styling aids of any sort, razors (and we know how expensive those fucker are), bobby pins, straightener, hair color, and I’m sure there’s more shit but chemo brain in in overdrive this week and my brain is not using all it’s cells.

When’s the last time you’ve really felt your boobs ladies? Check all those sweet mounds of joy, regularly. Seriously girls had I not known my boobs so well, that lump I first felt 167 days ago could still be growing in me. Imagine the havoc those two fast growing invasive breast cancers would have done to my body….

As it was, I got off lucky, I still have my life sans boobs.

So it’s off with tits [125 days ago] to remove the cancers. As you may recall, I chose immediate reconstruction so in went the expanders. Some days I feel they look pretty good, and other days (most) I feel like a fucking freak. The expanders are nice enough boob shaped, but they also ride into my pits[like a balloon or a ball], and not at all round on the bottom….Oh new tit exchange how I await you….74 more days and I will be closing the breast cancer chapter of my life. Almost my entirety of 42~ again this story is not told to you for pity, it’s part of the journey.

The plastic surgeon will be removing my power port when he installs the implants. An out patient procedure, he says. Though I have found websites that make jewelry out of the power ports. I think that’s a smashing idea and if I get to keep my port, it will be fashioned into some sort of kick as piece of jewelry.

And thank fuck! I can not wait to get this port of my fucking chest. The port has seriously bothered me every day since it’s installation. It always burns as if it’s trying to scratch it’s way out of my chest. Just two more chemo infusions….I can do this shit….I can and will continue….Not gonna lie, thought it’d take me down for the count a few times. You feel as though you are spiraling into a delirium, or I did at least.

Oh and yay, guess what? I tested positive on the BRCA2 mutation. So that means the playground is closing shop; about damn time. I’m so over my monthly’s. Hopefully with the equipment gone & my estrogen positive receptors, the hormones will cease to rage…the acne will stop. At 42, I had to call my oncologist for another script of doxycycline this week~for fuck sake, my face is broken out like crazy.It’s temporary, they say. Fucking pimple fuckers. Causing pain, when I want to smile. Causing pain if I accidentally touch one of them….I’ve been breaking out since I was 9, I’m seriously over it by this point in my life. Fortunately I’ve not developed neurapathy. Neurapathy is a common side effect, they say.

The sun is shining. Get off your ass and get outside now. Explore some shit with your own sweet baboo. Or have a mission. 5 year olds are mission having motherfuckers. xx

I Always Knew I’d Get Breast Cancer

Call it a premonition or intuition, but I always knew I’d have breast cancer.
Just not at 42 years old.

I mean, seriously.

I enjoyed my boobs way too fucking much, I just knew I’d lose them one day. But I thought I’d be in my 70’s or 80’s when I was through playing dress up with them and wouldn’t really care about getting my jollies anymore….ya know….tossing them around my neck for a scarf….tucking into my pants….ah the good times with my old natgeo’s….le sigh….

But here I am, early 40’s and a breast cancer survivor for 118 days so far….

Fuck, I barely survived last week. I’d developed chemo induced laryngitis and thrush. And the puke-o-rama I mentioned months ago that I did not experience from chemo. Well fuck me, that shit changed real fast. I puked, a lot, last week. I dry heaved, a lot, last week. My oncologist prescribed me three different anti-nausea meds….puke/heave city. It’s such a joy to be sitting on the toilet with the trash can on your lap, sweating profusely and telling your sweet baboo to get away from the bathroom, just give you a few minutes privacy…..Goddammit, he doesn’t really understand why I’m getting sick. He knows that me and Mr. Badboob went to get my medicine, if I got medicine, why am I getting sick–he wants to know….

Fortunately, my sweet baboo stayed with the in-laws a couple days. And I spent those two days in bed. The entire time he was gone I tossed and turned, sweating through the fucking sheets. I felt such guilt from having him gone. See, baboo had went camping with friends over the weekend and he said he wanted to stay home….no baby you’re going to Grandpa’s & Grandma’s. In my heightened emotional state or delirium, if you will, I cried and cried. I felt as if I ‘pushed’ him on….but I knew I’d be in no shape to properly care for him. Thank you again #1 gpa & gma. [insert mushy heart emoticon here]

Friday, after I felt I could not go on any further, I called the cancer institute, explaining my symptoms, come in for an IV they said. You’re dehydrated they said. At this point it had been a full seven days since I’d had my last infusion and I was still delirious.

Goddamned fucking cancer
Goddamned fucking chemo
Goddamned fuck all

So, in I go for fluids. 19 drove me in as I knew I’d not be able to drive myself. Hell, I could barely sit up right. Ah……I still felt like ass after the IV. My whole body hurt, from the port to the tissue expansion. Ha, did I mention with last saline fill I tore a pec? The fuck? Evidently, it is possible…But, it was an improvement. And for the first time in almost a week, I had an appetite. 19 picked up Mediterranean food (my fave) for us while I was in infusion. I gobbled that shit up on the way home. It was so nice to feel food in my stomach again.

By the weekend I was feeling much better. They gave me Atarax via IV, to combat the nausea they said. This should last me three days or so, they said. And goddamned if they weren’t right. I can’t say the nausea completely subsided, but it did curb it quite a bit. They’re going to ‘try’ to have it in stock for my next infusion on the 29th. Try, motherfuckers? You better have that shit in stock, I’m thinking.

I lost a lot of weight last week. And with any luck, I’l be down to my birth weight by the time summer rolls around. [insert snarky emoticon here]. I seriously did lose weight, am glad for that. As I was not happy being a fatty again after I worked so hard to get my weight down.

As I type this today, I feel better. The sun is shining. Baboo is happy that his mommy is snuggling and running around with him again. As we snuggled Saturday, his head rested on one of my expander-boobs, he got up saying he didn’t want to hurt me (my expander boobs are hard as football), I told him he wasn’t going to hurt me. Then he reached out, touched my boob and said, “hashtag, badboob.”

Be kind kids
xoxoxo

 

 

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Badboob’s

When I began #badboob 128 days ago I had no idea what the fuck I was going to blog about. Hell, it’s evident by my rambly sentences & awful typos, I still don’t know what to blog about.

Yet here I sit.
And here you read.
I knew I wanted to tell my journey with breast cancer.
In my words.
With my truths, observations & shit about life.
My bitch boob developed cancers, fucking plural.
104 days ago, cancer tit had to go.
I am currently undergoing reconstruction via expander method.

For the most part, feedback regarding #badboob has been overwhelmingly positive.I honestly had no idea so many  would want to read about my cancer journey, but each week almost 500 of you fuckers click my link. Thank you. I love hearing from you….your stories of lump discovery…your stories of a loved ones breast cancer….how you cry and then laugh whilst reading my ramblings…..how you read my blog to your significant other, and he enjoys it.

Obv, my writings aren’t for all. And you know what? You don’t have to read this shit. No one has to read it. I am writing to release the poisons from my mind. If no one reads, so be it. If every motherfucker reads, bonus! As I stated when I began this blog, my story is no better than yours, I just happen to be chronicling this particular journey with breast cancer at the mo. Some of you just happen to be reading my shit. And shit is what I write about, among other topics. What sort of boring cunts would we be if we all had the same thoughts and interested in same boring shit?  Kinda glad we’re not all Stepford & shit.

Last week was decent. It finally felt as if my chemo-fog was lifting. I could see the sun again. I felt the spring air. I shared laughs and went exploring with my sweet baboo.

And ya know that 20 pounds I mentioned gaining since my surgery? I think I’ve shat it all out! See kids, one plus to having had undergone chemotherapy the last nine weeks is anything in your body will swiftly be pushed out by the poison. Only nine more weeks of treatments left. Since I feel as if I’ve already flushed my large intestine, I suspect I’ll weigh about 45 pounds when I finally reach the fucking finish line on May 20. [insert winky face emoticon]

You learn a lot about yourself when you experience a life changing event. You will do things you never thought possible, your mind will take you to some very dark places; almost fooling you into staying rather than trying to find your way back. I have never, ever felt such depression in my life. You learn a lot about others compassion toward you when you experience a life changing event as well. Friends you thought would always be there for you suddenly show their fucking true colors, leaving you with one less ally while shaking your head wondering what the fuck. Then you have your friends you always knew would be there, some bonds even strengthened during this time of crisis. Others you will form bonds with and become instantly inseparable as your journeys are so close. You will find friendships and support in places you didn’t know existed but are forever grateful to have connected.New friendships offer new perspectives. During time of recovery, new perspectives are extremely important for growth and full recovery.

I’ll forever be indebted to those who have offered words of encouragement, support, sent gift cards, made meals, just let me cry on your shoulder or watched my sweet babboo during the day or overnight-most helpful especially days I can’t even get up or walk without vomiting or shitting on myself on days 3-10 after a chemo infusion.

Nothing about breast cancer has been fun. Losing my tits a month after I turned 42 fucking sucks. Losing my hair because of chemotherapy fucking sucks. Losing days at a time due to toxic sickness fucking sucks. Never once have I said ‘why me’. Know why? Shit happens. Life sucks. Thankfully, Mr. Badboob has been by my side since day 1 of my cancer diagnosis. If you’re fortunate enough, you will find your own Mr. Badboob to help navigate the sea of fucked-upness.

This week I get the bewbs filled again, the last fill I hope. These fuckers are already bigger than I wanted and most uncomfortable. I will also receive chemo infusion number 4-Oh happy happy joy joy.

Thank you to each and everyone of you motherfuckers who have reached out to us. I appreciate it and love y0ur fucking guts so hard.

Be kind. xx

Please Don’t Pop My Floaties

Just as I’m beginning to feel like myself & bouncing back to quote normal, my fucking hair begins falling the fuck out…. [ha, bouncing. If you recall from my earlier posts, you know I’m clumsy as fuck…so, it’s more like I’ve been falling into the walls again….Goddammit. Just another reminder of this journey & bullshit that goes along with.

Seriously though, I was feeling strong, before my hair began globing out in my fucking hands. My physical strength was almost 69 days prebilateral mastectomy  strong. I’d begun using light weights, the almost twice daily walks resumed, my napping want had subsided….a little anyway….point is I was feeling goddamned good.

The expanders are so uncomfortable people. Told you guys, I’m clumsy as fuck. And having big saline filled bags in my chest doesn’t help my grace. They’re situated more near my shoulders, like a goddamn football player wearing pads is what I feel like. [if you can visualize that]. I was told the expanders are not ‘very boob like’, no shit Doc Sherlock…. They’re hard & solid. Not squishy. They feel like I’ve got kids floaties installed in my chest. That’s how these bitches feel. I’d been trying to figure how to best articulate what they felt like….they feel like over-inflated floaties on/in my chest.

I’m hoping with the new tit exchange, the implants feel a little more comfy & I can fully embrace new body & all the hard work the doctors, myself and family have put into getting me healthy again. Now to quiet that noise in my head.  And motherfuck, just like my real boobs, these expanders are dif sizes too–the fuck? Really? How can that be? Goddamned plastic surgery….even those motherfuckers out for me while going through recovery….please? I was NatGeo before masecto & still uneven as fuck now. It’s a total esteem booster, I tell ya.

I was looking at sports bras the other day,  Little Badboob happens to asks if this is where I get my new boobs. No baby, I’m not getting my new boobs at Walmart….Thank fuck….lol

I registered my sweet baboo for kindergarten last week. It pleases me to know he’ll be entering school just as this nightmare will be wrapping up. By August, surgeries & shit should be way behind us…. Looking to the future we will be.

Chemo will give you diarrhea they say.
Buy Imodium they say.
Chemo will make you constipated they say.
Buy stool softener they say.

I started eating the Imodium’s at the first squirt of diarrhea, after chemo infusion number 1. Because you can’t have the Hershey Squirts while trying to life. Then kids, I’m so anti-poop I start eating Colace in hopes to give birth this a 12 pound bowel movement. Fuck me….It was like a playdough factory up in there….

The second chemo infusion was Friday. It went well enough. I guess. Can’t wait for the squirt fest to begin this time! Then lugging around that huge fucking chemopoo again in my belly. Oh joy! I kid you not, it smells like my innards have decayed folks. One med to fix this the other to fix that. They combine super fucking powers to fuck up your digestive track. Fun. Fun.

2

As I type this….I am bald, bloated & horribly malformed; a picture of perfection I am. I am never without Mr. Badboob’s hand, encouragement or kinds words. I’ve the support of hundreds you beautiful motherfuckers to cheer me on.

I’m not doing too bad at the mo. xx

 

So, You’re Going Through Chemo?

Yup
Your hair is going to fall out?
Yup
That sucks
Pretty Much

today

So yes, I’ve been pretty much been waiting for that shit to fall out since my first chemo infusion 2/5/16.

Forward to day 14 after the first TC Chemotherapy Infusion aaaand my hair begins to fall the fuck out…right there in the fucking shower…sliding down my back….sliding down my legs….I knew it….You knew it….Those who will be undergoing chemo will experience it….watch the fuck out I say….yes the pubes…all the pube & pit hair too….I knew this phenomena would not happen the first day of chemofuckingtherapy. Day 13 they say the hair will begin to fall from the scalp. And of course, they called it.There was no way I could avoid losing m hair. I’d been sweating it and freaking out all week. Those who were there for me via text/talking to help talk me off the ledge, I appreciate you so very much. Sunday afternoon and fuck this shit! Mr. Badboob will you shave my head? Of course he obliged.

And holyfuck me
What a mindfuck
It looks decent enough
I look decent enough
You fuckers are all too sweet to excancer girl
with all your flattering comments & shit.
xoxo

Mouth Sores? Try Magic Mouthwash, they say. Magic mouthwash my goddamned ass. I had such high expectations in my mind regarding this magic mouthwash. I just knew it would relieve the burnt feeling my mouth has since receiving my first chemo infusion. I never actually got mouth sores. Rather, my mouth burned, like a motherfucker. It felt as if I’d sucked on a lemonhead for hours and my mouth got puckier burnt. For a few days last week, nothing could relieve it. Especially not that fucking devil’s mouthwash goddammit.We shall see how infusion number two affects me this Friday–oh happy, happy, fucking joy, joy.

At 56 days post mastectomy, I received my third expander fill. Another 90 cc’s. We talked of my volume, expectations & shit. I’m going small this time around. No more fucking NatGeo’s for me, thank you. And after living with the last fill this week, I’m honestly happy with my size now. But since there are expanders beneath my pecs, I won’t know how I will look after the new tit exchange later this spring [that’s big fucking source of anxiety too. obv]. They sit higher & wider than implants and it’s quite bizarre- they expanders are very booblike the plastic surgeon says–uhm, no shit buddy. My chest big & boxy–or at least feel that way-like a goddamned linebacker I am.

Positive – I did begin working out again this week. This is a huge accomplishment for me. As I’ve sat on my ass recovering long enough & I’m ready to feel toned & good again. Do you know that it’s possible to gain weight while on chemo? The fuck? I know!! How in the actual fuck of fucks does one gain weight during chemotherapy? Idk….but I have…a fuckton of weight too…not 2 or 3 pounds….but over 10….I kid you not….so while I’m so glad chemo is not the puke-fest from Stand By Me….I did not want to have to get used to seeing yet another form of my fat & deformed body in the mirror while recovering….goddamn you breast cancer.

I had to ask what to use as clothing because I had no idea how to dress this expander chest, goddammit. Sweatshirts were the general consensus which brought me to Ross and waiting an hour in their fucking check out line & sweet friends who had delivered some sweatshirts to me. I’ve got some of you bringing me scarves, hats & shit too–thank you all; for everything.

Friday the 26th I will be sitting in the chemo suite at the Duke Cancer Center. This will be infusion number two of four.The port is healed and hopefully the lidocaine cream will work it’s magic again on the power port. I should not feel a thing. Nor should I need any extra sticks. That’s the point of the port, one easy to use access point.

Make it a good one.

Get off your ass and explore it all

 

 

Hate To Break It To You, But Girls Do Poo

10 days after my first chemotherapy infusion and I’m still feeling uneasy. It’s difficult to articulate while keeping it within the realm of understanding for the mere mortals that roam the earth aimlessly. I really don’t know what the fuck that is to mean, I wrote it yesterday and kinda like it. Just need to bring it back home for the point and score.  I can say it is not the puke fest I imagined it would be.

Some days it feels as if I’ve given birth to a potato…the chemolaced poos are no joke….goddammit….don’t say you’ve never felt that relief of dropping a deuce so solid it brought a tear to your face…[insert crying emoticon here]….I know you have….at least one time….I once smelled a chemo-poo & thought I’d smelled death….That fucker lingered for hours…Seriously, it was so putrid. I had no idea smells like that could be emitted from the human body. And no, it was not mine. At that moment in time, I could only hope to never have to endure that in the bathroom, well guess what, little miss TC chemo regimen, your poo smells like death.  And other days, it feels like my ass is vomiting…oh joy….fuck….I know  this is a lot to digest in this paragraph…So moving on….

Do you know what happens to a five year old & a pair of scissors left unattended for four 1/2 minutes? He gives himself a Dwight Shrute. No shit, my sweet baboo looks like Dwight from The fucking Office, poor fucker. lol We’ve yet to fix his head. It’s actually not that bad if you comb it over just right. [insert winky-face emoticon] Mr. Badboob cut and colored my hair crazy cool purples& blues one last time before it all falls out last night. We really should fix little Badboob’s Shrute too.

Tomorrow I’ll go to the plastic surgeon for expander fill #3. I think I’ll try 95 units cc with this fill. First was 100, and way too fucking much. Second, was 90 and I still felt relatively normal. Though it’s strange as fuck watching the expander fill before your eyes. Boom. Instant tits. Well, pecs at least, but it’s instant. I’m not sure how others feel, but I feel big and boxing and still clumsy as fuck. Chemo Brain. Lol. That’s a funny term. It’s given because the chemo drugs make you forgetful too. But if you’re also on a regimen of shit, you’re going to be forgetful . So there’s that.

The power port has finally settled itself the fuck down. Thank fuck. It’s still irritating as hell, but tolerable. The 26th will be my second chemo infusion session. This one should not last the four hours first one did, only about two hours, they say.

Not only is chemo excreted through your saliva & waste kids, it’s also released through your skin. Welp guess what kids? I’ve had bad fucking skin since I was 9. No lie. Every motherfucking school picture of me from Pre-K to graduation, there is a fever blister or pimple of some form or another glaring back at me, preserved forever. Gotta love that Scott/Irish blood, eh?  Goddammit, the last thing I want to be walking around with a boxy uneven chest, bald head and massive fucking pimples on my face at 42.

Oh , did I mention the nose bleeds and mouth sores yet? I feel like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia with my bloody post nasal drip and scratchy Demi Moore voice.

 

 

 

 

 

So Why Are You Acting Like A Bloody Fool?

Bad Boob, Bad Boob
What’cha gonna do?
What’cha gonna do when they come for you?
Today is the last Friday I will have cancer growing in my breast.
Today is the last Friday I will be concerned with the growth rate/speed and all the horseshit….worrying if it’s spread any further.
Today is the last Friday I will have with own breasts before reconstruction.

This week, I thought I’d be relaxing by finishing shopping, cleaning the corners, stocking pantry & shit…..but….that whore #badboob has had me driving all over the city of Raleigh for various appointments….fuck you so very hard cancer….

Today I’ll be in imaging for a CT Scan & Bone Scan–Just in case she says. Just to make sure the cancer has not spread she says. So we’ll be sure of our game plan on Tuesday [four fucking days] she says.

And yesterday, after finally obtaining a copy of my pathology report, I learned I have 6 tumors and not the 5 I thought for the past 25 days I thought there were 5 menacing fuckers in there…..but no….here 6 goddamned tumors.

Guess what? Life is crazy for everyone right now. My story is no better than yours. We all are trying to wipe shit off our ass. Some are more successful at the clean up than others.

Monday I go in for the ‘Mark up’. I know many of you ladies out there have had implants and went through this….for enhancement sake….I’m curious to hear from the ladies who’ve been ‘marked up’ the day before a mastectomy….Is it as traumatic as I envision?…I just know I’m going to lose my shit.

I’ve been a weepy, emotional mess, blubbering mess recently. Trying to keep my shit together while in the company of others and not dwell too much on upcoming events but I am and I have [sorry babe]. Trying to stay strong for my family with much difficulties. I know husband is dealing with shit from work & I dislike being in superspazz mode when he gets home…. Spazz I am.

Think we completed our shopping this week? Fuck no….Possibly tomorrow….But fuck, not really looking forward to shopping in the last weekend of Christmas madness when everyone and his fucking inbred uncle are cock-blocking the isles while where their fucking jammie [meth maker] pants…..gah. People suck. Cancer sucks more.

Filters, I Don’t Need No Stinking Filters

Unfiltered I am not. I offer no apologizes for what you may read.

My journey with cancer and all the bullshit that goes along with it. I realize my story differs from everyone else’s. How is that? Cancer, that fucker, presents itself differently with absofuckinlutely everyone~ Amazing!

I may share too much, quite possibly not at the most opportune times, but it is who I am. I am always saying shit, then thinking after the fact that may have not been the best course of action.

But cancer is a bitch. I want to talk. I want my Husband. My children. To know just how much I love them. I am treatable. I am not terminal. Still the mind has been blown.

 REAL TALK IN THE HOME

Hey buddy, how was your day?

Fine

(you know…he knows eight gagilion-fuckingthings happened today that he’s not sure how to share with you)

Fine

NOT

Talk to your partner. Talk to your children. Tell them how you are, however insignificant your day was. Your world can change at any moment…

Again, logical me is cool. Emotional is meh….one step at a time

peace, love and root beer floats

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob

Hey Cancer, Suck My Cock

Now, now kids before you get your britches in a bunch, I do not personally have my own cock. I did however sell Passion Parties and have an impressive inventory of the phallic nature in my closet~~girls if you want a cute lil toy for yourself, please let me know. I need to sell it all the dongs in my closet. 

Now onto my original thoughts…..

Ah yes, cancer sucking my cock.

What a relentless crafty bastard cancer is. Affecting kids, men & women, old and young~anyone and everyone. Double, triple fuck you cancer.

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

(marcia, marcia, marcia)

It’s funny I don’t feel sick. Well, I do feel sick. But not physically. Very much so in the emotional sense. Not depressed. Well slightly given the circumstances of holidays and all.

I feel sickened knowing the cancer will thrive in me for the next 19 days. Who knows how much damage those tumors will do inside my body? We won’t until the doctor performs my double mastectomy. She’ll then run some immediate tests (those who know names, please tell me, could not find on google search.) 

I feel sickened cancer is robbing of me of joyous smiles with my five year old. Oh we still laugh, fart on each other, out burp each other, but it’s a somber fun…..that guilt will leave. I know I’m allowed to feel this way or however the fuck I want. Trying not to let it affect the sweet pumpkin head snuggling in my arm at the mo.

19 days

Off to walk the dog kids and enjoy the sunshine.

Thank fuck Xanax.

peace, love and root beer floats

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob