Can You Face Some Unpleasant Truths?

You’ve been duped. The fountain thing does not work

The tooth fairy – fake

Easter Bunny – imaginative fuckery

Santa – made the fuck up

That fucking sneaky ass leprechaun – all fictitious shit of someone’s goddamned brilliant/sadistic mind.

The bible – a gruesome bedtime story

Your brainholes have brainwashed. Don’t take offense, my have as well. Trying to reign that in and recognize areas in which are brains eye is trained to something other than what’s in direct line of vision.

How many commercial jingles can you sing, tv theme shows, movie quotes – yup all brainwashing. It’s not all necessarily bad, mind ya; just calling it what it is.

Puppies die.

Fish get flushed.

Children cry. Momma’s love. Daddy’s hug – Should be reality for ALL, it’s not

Children cry. Momma’s yell. Daddy’s hit – Sadly, this is more the norm

Children mustn’t live in fear. Children mustn’t live hungry. Children must laugh. Children must be seen and heard. Children must grow.

I’d know since I was a teen that I wanted to work with kids in some capacity when I got older. Never saw myself as a teacher. I’ve always been one to walk on the opposite side of the hall, NEVER in formation with other; nope. Was not an anyone other than an ugly and a poor in school. I always knew everyone should have someone, but since I din’t have anyone – graduating high school while living on my own and working two jobs, no parents. Orphaned at 17. Left to live on my own devices.

So, I knew everyone should have someone. And I knew I could be that someone to a future student. And that’s how I became the time out coordinator and shit at an elementary school. Those were the quote bad kids. Nope, those kids were just as good as any pretty. But unfortunately adults/teachers are just as bad at prejudicing against the uglies too. So sad. Think where I’d be today, had I been a pretty. But I digress and know I’m just in this blood and bones vessel temporarily.

So I get the ‘bad’ kids and we work on character education and shit. Playing games, talking about feelings. Good stuff. These kids were awesome. They just had a different learning style. These kids loved the fuck outta me too. I was firm, but supportive, offering that sideways hugs at every meeting. At the end of the week, providing they watched their P’s and goddamned Q’s; they visit my class — for their weekly reward!?!?!? How awesome, right?

As my older boys began their education, I became most vested in the children, especially the BED and EC’s. SO much fun. SO much learning ad potential. And then, I’d yell and scream at my own sons, before heading to school in the mornings to be mean Mrs. Blahblah. Talk about guilt. Hell, my oldest are 24 & 25 and the mom guilt still keeps me up at night – even tho both live on their own, etc, etc…Mom Guilt is real af and it should be recognized.

So, while you’re here, on earth, in your earth body, I ask that you be kind to each other. To be kind to yourselves. Be kind to your kid/kids. Be kind to your spouse.

Just fucking be kind fucksticks.

There may be an ever after, but we all know it’s rarely happy.

Taking You Guys On A Trip Down Mindfuck Lane…

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

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

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

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

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

The Woody Show And Shit

Damn Greg Gory. I lurves you and shit. Thank for you allowing my to brag on myself. Tell how good I’m feeling. Tell a bit about myself without being met by ridicule, but by studio buzzers and hand clapping and shit. You guys brought a real smile to my face hearing your support.

Had I known all I needed to do to revive this blog was to call into the Woody Show and brag on myself, fuck – I’d have done this months back and shit as I’ve been needing to release and connect with others going through cancer. I feel compelled to still talk about breast cancer and the collateral effects that have wreaked havoc in all aspects of my life.

It’s been almost four years since I found that fucking life changing lump in my tit. Fucker. I knew it. Goddamn breast cancer.

To catch you guys up to speed, I’ve had cancer, chemo and breast reconstruction, complete hysterectomy forcing me into menopause at 42. Oh yeah, now it’s maintenance medication and stretching and not being able to burp or have a proper bowel movement without contorting my digestive tract. And these motherfucking implants. I just want to rip the fuckers outta my body—- for realz and shit. Fun stuff kids.

So while my body is clogged up in the shitter, my personal life it going quite well. I can deal with the pains and creaky bones, because at the end of the day I know my house is filled with love. I’m not interested in material things. Sure, I like new clothes and shiny gems for my ears….but I don’t need a lot of bullshit that others do to make me feel part of society, I’ve never given a fuck about the Jones’s, I just kinda rip-roar trough life like the Kool-Aid man – knocking shit over and hurting myself with every step.

I’ve always played by my own rules. My rules may not work for you and that’s alright by me. Ya know why? Because they’re mine. I don’t try to shove my beliefs in your face and force you to change your thinking if it doesn’t match mine. Nor will I turn my back on you if we’re not in agreement. Some folks feel they are above others. Some folks have elevated themselves to a godlike status. Guess what, I don’t believe in god bitches; therefore I will not bow or bend to meet your code of conduct for life. I realize my way of thinking/acting/being is a bit unconventional, but I live and love with an open heart; always.

You need an open heart when surrounded by sadness and strife. Cancer is one of the most difficult journeys in life. Let’s walk and talk together. Drop me a line. Introduce yourself as you get familiar with my and my voice.

When Woody and crew mentioned they’d upload my bit, I thought nothing of it. Was driving to coast and was excited to get away, hence my call to the show, but then I saw my visitor count climb. Everyday, new folks are searching #badboob. I’m conflicted because I know many of those hits are women afflicted with breast cancer and you’re at a loss as to what to do with yourself, treatment, your family, legacy plan…..I know, it sucks. I also know some of these hits are caregivers, friends, husbands……looking for a glimpse into the ugly ass world of cancer. Hoping to gain insight as to what life might be like for a youngish breast cancer survivor. Hoping to find the right words to say to your loved one. Hoping to find the right socks for her feet or softest blanket for her body. Some are hoping for a quick condensed version of my blog — sorry. You’ll have too read each post and experience it with the raw emotion in which I wrote it. This is my story. Not yours. You should take no offense to the shit I ramble about. Leave if you’re triggered. I, like many, am looking for meaningful connections in which I grow, learn and evolve to my best self. Typos, chemoshits and all.

If you’re here, please say hi. If you’re going through treatment, say hi. If you’re a caregiver, say hi. Let’s connect and talk. Free of judgment. Let’s talk and shit [haha – I’m perceptive enough to know a lot of you will read whilst on the shitter trying, a quick reprieve in the morning to find your calm for the day, escape your own fucked up realities] badboobandshit@gmail.com.

Spoiler Alert

This is a breast cancer blog, there’s a good chance there’ll be talk of breasts….what cancer did to me, to other women, the mourning of my original set of nat-geo tits, the adjustment of my new ones, the expansion and everyfuckinthing in between.

I’ll wait, go ahead click that arrow back key. No hurt feelings and shit. Just fucking leave and don’t cause trouble. I’ve had enough of that shit in my life.

And as I’ve mentioned in past rants/posts if a breast cancer diagnosis brought you here, that fucking sucks.

Go ahead, grab yourself something to drink. I’ll wait, I have the time. You’re going to need the space and place to vent. This is your safe place. For real. When I was first diagnosed I blogged every thought I had. I felt compelled.

Others go into hiding. Others turn to their god of choice. How ever you choose to deal with your cancer….do not stop talking. DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR ANY OF YOUR FEELINGS.

I spent a good portion of my cancer days apologizing to people who did not understand my words, my thoughts. How can I explain it to you if I don’t even know myself?

 I see now, way after the fucking fact, that I was justified in my manic thinking. Completely. Do you hear me? Do you understand??? DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR WHO YOU ARE. It’s how you cope. It’s who you are. It’s gotten you this far in life and it will help you survive those scary ass dark days of chemo and radiation. 

I was overwhelmed with love, compassion, support, gifts, food, money…..all of it. I’m so very grateful for each and every ounce of love. All of it.

When you’re swallowing handfuls of pills each day just to stay alive, you have no idea which end is up, if there is even an up. It’s mentally dibilitating. You don’t know when you’ll see the sun shine. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to smile again. You are truly in survival mode…..you seriously do not need negative fucking Nelly’s in your life. No offense to any Nelly’s out there.

It’s your cancer. Your treatment. You must advocate for yourself. Stand firm to your core beliefs.  I’ve met so many amazing people through this blog, I already new I had an amazing network of support via my family and social media.

If you’re not 100 percent on board with your medical teams decisions….go seek a second opinion!! Fucking do it. Last thing you need to do is kick yourself later. It’s a slow climb back up and there have been some major fucking set backs…..but ya know what??? I’m better than fucking ever! You will be too. I just know it! How do you know #badboob? I know it because you are here. This blog is not for the squeamish. This blog is for the realists in life. We’ve been shit and continue to clean ourselves off, usually coming out better.

 I say fuck cancer on a daily basis, when I look in mirror….everyday when I look at my reconstructed chest….everyday when I think of the sisters, women, and mother figure taken from my life…..still can’t look without tears. I say fuck cancer everyday, but I can still be inspirational as fuck. You are too. I fucking love you.

I’ve been invited to speak of my experience. Imagine that.  Me speaking……haha yes my talks are void of my usual colorful language. Speaking of your cancer ordeal and bringing a room to tears with your story. Powerful af. You’ll always have support with me, even when it feels as if no one else loves your bloated ass chemo body or radiated burnt skin……you’ll always be able to find sisters who love you for you and don’t want you to change. You’ll never need to apologize with me. I know. I understand.

 

Just The Facts Ma’am

Fact: Cancer fucking sucks
Fact: I survived it
Fact: Surround yourself with positivity an unconditional love
Fact: No amount of Google research can prepare you for any of the shit that will happen to your body and mind.
Fact: There is someone who understands where you are, where you’re going, and they are willing to talk to you. Many survivors become advocates after their fight, they are waiting for you to tap their conscious with your story and touch your heart with their compassion.

What cancer does to the human race is infuckinhumane. Fucking shit needs to stop, like now. So many kids with cancer, seriously? So many new cancer diagnosis’s. Souls taken away from us. It’s all too much…..this is when my mind goes into the dark, and dwells.

I’m working on improving my mind. Ya know what? When you keep replaying events in your head like a loop, it slowly takes you into a dark place. Obv, if given the opportunity to go through breast cancer now, I’d change a fuckton of things I did/said. Some of that shit still haunts me now. I’d also expected different behaviors from certain folks as they probably expected different from me……breast cancer, chemo, treatment, recovery…..all that shit wreaks havoc……but alas, I can only change my ways and my self. I’m so not the woman I was when diagnosed with breast cancer some 601 days ago. Fuck, I’m not even the same woman I was a few months ago. Life goes on……

A year ago I was still suffering with the pain of my breast tissue expanders, crazy chemo port [it was always angry. skin always red and irritated]. So many doctor visits. Pokes. Questions. Fuck the questions. Always the same shit for all the nurses then regurgitate for the doctors…..I couldn’t even think straight, but knew my dates meds and shit like that, didn’t know what I was. Didn’t feel human. None of the shit happening to me, my family was humane. Not one fucking bit.

Anyhoo, here I sit. Getting active in various programs, discovering what type of advocacy work I like and would like to pursue further. Talking with friends. Talking, bei

ng the key. You can’t keep that shit in.  Thanking you all for all your help and support during my bout with breast cancer. Talking with those newly diagnosed. Laughing with warriors over all the inappropriate we need to….just to get by. Others won’t understand. It’s when you stop trying to get others to ‘get you’ will you be able to feel free…..something I learned after the fact……

Today Will Be Better

*I began this post in December, put in hold, updated a bit, held again….

Ripped from me, stitched and sewn and told I’m gonna ‘alright’.

Dear OG Boobs –

It’s been almost two years since you’ve been amputated from my chest. One of you fuckers had two motherfucking cancers, the other, well you were just a casualty of the cancer. Sorry rightie, I had to sacrifice you in the name of cancer. Sometimes you have to do something, even when you don’t want to or never thought you’d have to do, in the name of health. I lived with the knowledge of cancer growing in my tit for 29 days. I freaked the fuck out all 29 days. Every second, minute, hour, all of it was in freak out mode. 

We all know what happens when cancer is left untreated. I can’t even imagine the horrible shape

I’d be in today had I not acted upon the lump in my tit. Had I not bent over at the time to feel that malicious lump, I may have never found it. Had I not been extremely intimate with my body, that lump could have went undetected. I totally feel I escaped something, what? I’m not sure, death perhaps. There have been doctors, testing, unclear test results, poking, sewing, the whole shebang has been done to my body this past year. 

So goodbye cancer tit. I’ll remember all the good times we’ve had. All those warm nights, cozy shirts, crazy cold days, the back aches, the lopsided nipples mocking me…..goodbye tits

 

So here I sit. Type. To you one year later.

And kids, I’ve been cancer free for over a year!

One fucking year of being CANCER FREE!!

Even though I’m cancer free, (as far as I know. not been tested again), I still worry every bump or sore spot that forms in nooks and crannies of my bones could be cancer. Silly I know. But it’s a common reaction, so I have read. Talk about scared, the ulcerative laryngitis I just recovered from, I was certain I’d need another surgery to remove those ulcers. Nope. Thank fuck. They cleared up with meds.

I understand that ‘reconstruction’ means to redo….I knew my boobs would be redone. Obv…They were gone. But I really had no idea the extent of odd discomfort from these Monitor High Profile’s…..The cold. Ermahgerd….fuck me…I’m so cold…..So imagine a nipple freeze if you will. Then remove nipple and whole boob is cold. In the shower the other day, I was freezing. Fucking winter time. So hot water is on full blast, my arms are crossed under my boobs, the hot water is pooling and turning cold….instantly…That’s a big mindfuck. Don’t know if you recall how clumsy I’ve mentioned I am. Still surprised I’ve not popped them while falling up the stairs {cry smile emoji}.

This time of year is usually a bit more difficult for most. Take a moment to extend a smile, your hand. You never know what will transpire from your act of kindness. Not only will you feel better. If you’re like me, you’re trying to be a better person than you were the day before….keep striving to be decent. So you are working on your own journey, while possible helping another one out…..without even knowing it. Unless you guys strike up a convo and become bff’s or some shit.

I’ve not forgotten about all who helped me this time last year. I saved all your guyz’s addresses and shit. I planned to send cards. But slacker.

Most importantly, trust your gut. Stick to your values, don’t let others sway you. Don’t let others snuff your light. Not all will understand your point of view, but it is yours…. Reach out for help. All your feelings, thoughts, and concerns are valid post cancer. Others, who’ve not had cancer, may not understand…..they will try to silence you, your thoughts, and monitor your every move……THIS IS YOUR LIFE. Appreciate those you have. Know their worth. Know your value. 

It Is What It Is

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.

 

 

It’s Been One Year Since You’ve Been

Ripped from me, stitched and sewn and told I’m alright.

Dear OG Boobs –

It’s been one year today since you’ve been amputated from my chest. One of you fuckers had two motherfucking cancers, the other, well you were just a casualty of the cancer. Sorry rightie, I had to sacrifice you in the name of cancer. Sometimes you have to do something, even when you don’t want to or never thought you’d have to do, in the name of health. I lived with the knowledge of cancer growing in my tit for 29 days. I freaked the fuck out all 29 days. Every second, minute, hour, all of it was in freak out mode. 

We all know what happens when cancer is left untreated. I can’t even imagine the horrible shape

1st Post Mastecto Selfie 12/12/15

I’d be in today had I not acted upon the lump in my tit. Had I not bent over at the time to feel that malicious lump, I may have never found it. Had I not been extremely intimate with my body, that lump could have went undetected. I totally feel I escaped something, what? I’m not sure, death perhaps. There have been doctors, testing, unclear test results, poking, sewing, the whole shebang has been done to my body this past year. 

So goodbye cancer tit. I’ll remember all the good times we’ve had. All those warm nights, cozy shirts, crazy cold days, the back aches, the lopsided nipples mocking me…..goodbye tits

 

So here I sit. Type. To you one year later.

And kids, I’ve been cancer free for a year!

One fucking year of being CANCER FREE!!

Even though I’m cancer free, (as far as I know. not been tested again), I still worry every bump or sore spot that forms in nooks and crannies of my bones could be cancer. Silly I know. But it’s a common reaction, so I have read. Talk about scared, the ulcerative laryngitis I just recovered from, I was certain I’d need another surgery to remove those ulcers. Nope. Thank fuck. They cleared up with meds.

I understand that ‘reconstruction’ means to redo….I knew my boobs would be redone. Obv…They were gone. But I really had no idea the extent of odd discomfort from these Monitor High Profile’s…..The cold. Ermahgerd….fuck me…I’m so cold…..So imagine a nipple freeze if you will. Then remove nipple and whole boob is cold. In the shower the other day, I was freezing. Fucking winter time. So hot water is on full blast, my arms are crossed under my boobs, the hot water is pooling and turning cold….instantly…That’s a big mindfuck. Don’t know if you recall how clumsy I’ve mentioned I am. Still surprised I’ve not popped them while falling up the stairs {cry smile emoji}.

This time of year is usually a bit more difficult for most. Take a moment to extend a smile, your hand. You never know what will transpire from your act of kindness. Not only will you feel better. If you’re like me, you’re trying to be a better person than you were the day before….keep striving to be decent. So you are working on your own journey, while possible helping another one out…..without even knowing it. Unless you guys strike up a convo and become bff’s or some shit.

I’ve not forgotten about all who helped me this time last year. I saved all your guyz’s addresses and shit. I planned to send cards. But slacker.

Crying Won’t Help You, Praying Will Do No Good

I used to yell at inanimate objects. Granted I still yell at shit, but not with chaotic rage as before…If I stubbed my toe, I’d yell at the wall. If I spilled shit, I’d yell at it. Lots of shit. Lots of yelling. You know the phrase don’t sweat the small stuff? Most of the shit that gets us down is small stuff. Lots of small shit rolled into one big fucking giant dung ball.

Like all the fucking time….grocery bag handle rips because I’m carrying 18 bags…stupid motherfucker…..laundry basket is in my way….goddammit….all the shit….all the yelling….us

It’s been a little over a year since I discovered that cancerous tumor that led me to the diagnostic mammogram….leading to an ultra sound….leading to the biopsy….all within the same day….How concerned should I be doctor Max, very concerned was his reply….Thus #badboob was born. At that time, I had no idea that bitch boob was hosting two different cancers and six tumors…..motherfucking tits.

For all intent purposes, my cancer is gone. Treatment is complete. Reconstruction is finished. So I should feel good, right?  Wrong. I’m far from alright. Breast Cancer has fucked me up far beyond belief. I’m trying to form my feelings into words. There are no words I can put here for you to read for you to understand how breast cancer affected me and the millions of women battling breast cancer and amputation of your tits. It fucks each person up their own way. Some can bounce back. I’ve never really been one to let shit  get me down…..but this…..this is so hard to overcome.

I’m not pleased with reconstruction results. Like seriously, not happy. I knew I’d never have ‘tits’ again. Although the boob like shapes sticking our from my body add to my ‘normal’ appearance.  But, they are cold and implants are too large on my frame, still having to hoist them up to relieve back pain, they are uneven. I am crushed. After this ride, I’d like to look in the mirror with out tears streaming down my face. My breathing speeds up. My heart jumps into my throat and I literally feel as if I could explode internally. I feel as if I’m literally drowning. Will I always feel like this? I feel the answer should be no.

So many things I could do before chemo that I can’t do with ease today. Brush my teeth, reach my arm behind my back, I use slip on shoes so I don’t have to tie. The neuropathy is fucking crazy. The shakes are hardcore, feels as if I’ve got early Parkinson’s or some shit.

Don’t sweat the small stuff…….it’s all small shit

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.