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.

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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

Wow Mom, Your Boobs Are Getting Really Big

So says my sweet baboo. I know baby, I say, they are….And I like your head better with hair, me too baby, me too. But I am getting used to seeing you with no hair on your head mommy, even though I like you with hair better, I still love you. I love you too baby….

You’re going to be tired, they say.
Listen to your body, they say.
You’ll want to rest, they say.
You will feel like vomiting, they say.
This will be over, they say.
You will see the end, they say.

Goddamn you cancer

I should not be having conversations with my five year old about mommies losing their boobs,  about cancer, about mommies and daddies dying from cancer, about kids getting sick and recovering from cancer, about me being sick from chemo and not being able to play….we should be talking of butterflies and fish in our stream and dressing our dog up for a monster truck parade.

Last week was one of the most horrific weeks of my lifetime.  Monday I received the Nuelasta shot [Satan’s Elixir]. Goddammit. I’d never felt such chills, pains, aches, pukes, squirts, fever and fuck all’s in all my fucking life. Last Tuesday, I found myself hunched over the toilet violently hurling the remaining apple cobbler from dinner the night before.  Seriously thought I was fucking dying guys, no lie. Fortunately Mr. Badboob stayed home till lunch….allowing me to puke and shit it out unencumbered…. Think about your worst hangover….now multiple that by 100, still not even close to the amount of funk I was feeling. I felt as if I was having an out of body experience. All I could do is sleep and try to keep the slickness at bay. Skin felt fake and light.

I was so fucking tired…. like falling asleep walking up the stairs tired….falling asleep brushing teeth tired. I felt like a goddamned narcoleptic I tell ya…You will be tired, they say.

Expander fill number 5 last Wednesday & the first time in the 97 days post bilateral mastectomy I felt proportioned.  Finally my boobs larger than my stomach….yay….But considering my stomach is fucking gigantic, it’s not saying much. The first day or so after a fill, my boobs are leading the way and knocking everything over. Thing is, these fuckers are fake and I can not feel shit….So opening the closet door, I’m chopping my boob off or my boob gets in the way of the washer lid….Seriously,  these expander fuckers are goddamned bizarre. And I still need one more fill he says, you will be over inflated he says….I’m no longer a hairless dumpy spazz. I’ve some curves back, albeit my boobs are up under my arms at the mo….

In the meantime, I have found some tanks I can wear in public. Thank fuck I won’t be forced to sweat it out in hoodies this summer. One good thing about the chemo is the pube loss….Since my surgery it’s been tricky to shave the pits….I’m granola but not grow your pit hair out granola….so this helps, slightly. Sweet Baboo remarked the other day that I must be getting the best super boobs because they were so hard & big now…. yeah something like that sweetie.

The final reconstruction will wrap up this horrific ordeal. By then, cancer will have taken up almost an entire year of not only my life, but my family’s life. I’ve all forgotten what intimacy and normalcy feel like. I’ll be able to use shampoo again, not have to worry about toxic urine or not being able to kiss Mr. Badboob because mouth sores caused by chemo are too irritated, or feeling like I’m going to pop an expander, or looking in the mirror and just crying and crying because I hate what I see….oh fuck you breast cancer.

Last week really fucking drained the life from me. As luck would have it, both days I secured assistance for sweet baboo, plans fell through…. and you know,  I shouldn’t be surprised, but motherfuck….. So sweet baboo and I played lots of bed-fort games and other games that didn’t take much energy from me. We binge watched Fuller House and had lots of low key fun, talked of the Easter Bunny and his helpers. We talked of days when I’ll be better and how much fun we’ll have at the beach with grandpa and grandma this summer.

Hey You Empty Promise Fuckers,

Stop that shit!

Before reading this rant, know it’s not directed toward anyone specifically. This rant is a generalized observation I’ve made from speaking with others, like me, who’ve had life altering events happen to them….So read on knowing that you read my disclaimer….this rant is not directed toward you…I’m super fucking grateful for all the help The Badboob Family has received thus far. There will be no way I can fully repay all you generously beautiful souls who have helped our family-namaste.

We’ve all done it. Offer up our assistance in one form or another to a loved one who is in a time of need. Well that shit needs to stop, imo. The person you making empty promises to are most likely at one of their most vulnerable points in their life. Unless you actually plan on cleaning house, cooking dinner or watching a sweet babboo….quit offering it up….cause people kinda get excited about that shit….thinking you’ll get an hour free by myself to sit upon the toilet, expelling chemo, without any knocks on the door….r thinking that dinner is covered on those days follow chemo when you can’t life….

So with that said, you well meaners, follow up with those promises. mmkay? Good talk.

#3In talking with my oncologist Friday, she suggests adding two more rounds of chemotherapy in my regimen. Mr. Badboob and I had already been discussing the topic of additional chemo’s based on our beginning convo’s with the oncology team at the start. Something that was mentioned in the beginning -six infusions- since my OncoType score was on the high end of intermediate, she wanted to evaluate me after the first two infusions. to see if my body seems to be tolerating the chemo pretty well….my body is….so she wants to add two more infusions. They look for weight loss, eye appearance, general complaints etc…..She said at this point it’s all clinic recommendations as everyone’s cancer and caner plan differs. Now instead of April 8 being my last infusion, nine weeks later on May 20….I will receive my last chemo infusion…May 20….Pushing the new tit exchange out to some time in July….Oh fucking joyous of times. Boom- schedule has been extended another nine fucking weeks. So that finish line is still there, some sneaky bastards moved it on me….must keep going….will not stop….

While I fully understand the tits don’t make the chick. It’s all the good stuff that defines you, your beauty, your life. Blahdefuckinblah But goddammit….these expanders. Nice and full on my pecs, square and flabby on bottom- like a floppy waffle. Not to mention the power port still inserted under my collarbone. blah

I’m swole, but not in the ‘hey girl, you look swole’ kinda compli
it’s more like ‘damn girl, you be swole as fuck, fix that shit’

My boobs played a staring role in my bedroom life for many, many fucking years. As you can imagine, I am still mourning to loss of my tits….gosh….it’s only been 90 days since the cancers were removed from my breast. It’s still tough for me to grasp just how this event changed not only my life, but Mr. Badboob’s life as well. Breast cancer has affected everyone in our home. When most of the scars have healed & brain goes back into a semi-normal mode, I will forever be different from this experience.

This breast cancer has been a total mind fucking, life alerting, catastrophic event in my life. With so much focus from the plastic surgeon to ensure my new boobs will look fanfuckintastic, I will have no sensation. I will no longer to be able to draw pleasure from my lady mounds. My chest feels unreal, my skin is bizarre, I don’t feel like myself and I know this self doubt is reflecting outwardly….I’m positive I appear to you as a hairless, pot bellied lil mole. No you say. You look great they say. Yeah, yeah, yeah…I get it.

I’m headed out to receive another Neulasta shot in just a mo. The smells of death have just begun to churn within my gastric track. Then the bathroom will soon be filled with the wall clinging smells of death.  You may or may not recall, I received this satanic shot after my 2nd chemo-infusion it rendered me completely useless the Tuesday and Wednesday that followed. The nurse did apply a Neulasta On Body Injector to the back of my arm. The idea behind the OBI is the patient can remain home because shot is self-administering. Fuck yes I say! Sign me up [they actually did not have any OBI’s for chemo #two]. So we’re leaving the chemo clinic, I am changing from a long-sleeved hoodie into a short-sleeved hoodie and motherfuck! The goddamn OBI falls off! Oh and best news, that was the last one, but if we wanted to wait a few hours they’ll get another one from the other office. Motherfuck. I’d just learned 4 hours before that they’re adding two more infusion and & this fucking OBI fell off….tears….tears….tears….picked up left foot, moved….picked up right foot….moved….continues….

 

 

 

I Tossed My Out My Spanx In Haste

Ah last summer you may recall a Facebook post I made in which I denounced my Spanx then proceeded to toss them all away in the trash. So happy I was to toss those uncomfortable ass fuckers away! After I lost 75 pounds, I was wearing size 3’s! Me a 41 year old mother of four fit her skinny ass in size 3’s!

After I was almost 200 pounds dropping to 131 was a huge fucking delight for me. And I let all you fuckers on Facebook know all about. I posted picture after picture of my new skinny self. Fuck, I worked hard in those 10 months to lose so much–goddamn right I was going to be proud and share with all my quote friends. Now, I’m a former skinny fatty again. [insert frowny face emoticon here]

Well fuck me now kids. I’ve gained almost 20 pounds since this whole debacle has begun, 124 days since lump discovery. Goddammit! I tried on every pair of shorts over the weekend, only to get discouraged and totally pissed when my sesh was over. Fucking fuck. And when I see you at Foodlion and tell you I’ve gained almost 20 pounds and you say ‘good for you’, no fuck you….this is not good. I realize most lose weight with chemo because of the whole puke your brains out thing….but this weight gain is not good….I do not approve….My onco assures me and damage done from chemo we can reverse….we shall see.

Here I sit, 82 days post masecto, fat as fuck, bald as fuck, face broken out like a prepubescent teenager, expanders filled to under my arms [read: my arms will not go down, flat to my side, because of expanders], nose bleeds, swollen moon face due to chemo, sick to my stomach, intestines decaIMG_5305ying, leaving the smell of death in my wake, my belly looks 14 months pregnant-thanks chemo gut; how I loathe you so….You know it’s bad in the bathroom when your 5 year old tells you to spray something…..5 year olds live for stink! Not Chemo stink & when the fuck will it stop smelling like death?

I’m scheduled for my 3rd chemo infusion this Friday, the 18th. This will be 3 of 4! Thank fuck–I can see the finish line……I’m almost there guys! Goddammit, chemo number 2 coupled with the Nulasta shot practically took me out….not gonna lie, thought I was dying…not looking forward to Friday.

I’ve accepted the fact that I will hide my hideously grotesque body in hoodies and capri like sweatpants [sorry Mr. Badboob, I know how you love those pants I wear oh so much] until the new tit exchange. I found lightweight hoodies at Kohl’s. Since I’m crafty & shit, I’ve cut the sleeves off the hoodies–boom! Short-sleeved hoodies! Granted I’ve only 4, so those 4 will be in heavy goddamn rotation all spring long….but you do what you gotta do. If you see a fat bald chick with bad acne a fat gut and faded hoodies walking about this spring….be nice….it’ll be me & I’ll be a hot fucking mess.

I did save and found one piece of my remaining fat clothes over the weekend, I’d sold majority of fat clothes on eBay in 2015. A skull hoodie, fuck yeah! So now that’s short sleeved too! Whoohoo for being crafty.

Have you ever had acne so bad it hurts? I mean hurt, hurt…like to even smile or life kinda hurt? Well kids, that’s how my face felt. I purchased tea tree oil, soaked cotton pads and taped to my chin….twice over the weekend. It looked as if I’d had a face lift with the bandage on my chin. But fuck, it was the only way to get relief from those pulsating monsters….goddamn acne….goddamn chemo….goddamn mother nature….and your generous monthly gift to me….Ah yes, I was blessed with my period this weekend.

So not only is my body trying to push the chemo out, it’s also pushing an egg down my baby slide….stay away….grrr….Though I didn’t feel pissy prior to start of rag, just overall blah & discontent.

Now my stomach is big enough to drag the table when walking past. Boom, instant table cleaner….I guess being a fatty does have a perk.

Make a good one!

 

I’d Hug You But I Can’t Lift My Arms

 You’re so brave, they say
You’re so strong, they say
You’re a survivor, they say
You’re a warrior, they say
You’re a fighter, they say
You’re a winner, they say
You’re an inspiration, they say

from the moment I was born

the cards were stacked against me

I am….simply….me

Growing up, the only thing I’ve known how to do was fight, (not physically mind you) to stay alive. So when cancer decides to invade my fucking boobs and claim them, I had no choice but to fight again….I mean….given my past….why the fuck would I think the Autumn of my life would be any easier than previous seasons?

They prepare you, a little before a bilateral mastectomy. Expect to be sore, they say. You won’t have full range of motion they say. You’ll feel like a fucking Tyrannosaurus Rex, they never said….ever….Some of you may know that when you get home after having your boobs sliced off, you can not move your arms for quite sometime. So when you try to life around the house, you’re kinda just tossing shit around at a slight arm’s throw because your arms are like a goddamned t-rex. Seriously, I felt like such a tard….Tossing shit around….It was quite comical….once I got past the crying and trauma of surgery, I could giggle about it at times. Tossing the towel over the shower rod was the worst. Ha. Lol. Give it a try tomorrow….after your shower…toss your towel over over the rod while keeping your arms at your sides….you’re welcome.

Last post, I’d just completed my second chemo infusion. I didn’t think it was too bad…wrong….boy, was I fucking wrong….The Monday following chemo I returned to the cancer suite to receive a Neulasta shot. Holy fuck me! I thought I was dying sometime around 4:30 am Tuesday morning. This shot causes bone pain, they say. And goddammit–they were not joking. I awoke with my teeth audibly chattering, I was hunched in pain, was sweating while freezing, sitting on the toilet as I thought I was going to expel the toxic chemo from both ends….not a pretty site. I ended up curled up on our recliner, trying to rest as much as I could. I was not able to life the next day. I put an SOS out on FB & called on someone to watch my sweet baboo. Friends came through. Thank you everyone who offered up help. I will need it again. If you are a local SAHM with your own sweet baboo, hmu yo..

Thank fuck I’ve only two more chemo’s to go! Halfway fucking there I am! I can almost see the finish line….after I expel my remaining innards….I’ve spent so much time in the bathroom this week [and why a I telling you? Why are you still reading? Because this is cancer folks. It’s ugly. It’s brutal. It’s bowel shaking…literally]….but if you recall….1st chemo I ate all the Imodium Ad’s….got backed up…gaining almost 12 pounds….not this time buddy….no siree….I’ll stay loose in the caboose if that’s my only way to avoid releasing a 20 pound chemo-poo again….I think I may have lost my small intestine sometime this week. [insert laugh till you cry emoticon here]

Friday, 72 days post bilateral mastectomy, I received another 90cc of saline per each booblike object placed within my body. I totally feel pumped up. Like my body was blown  [like a punching bag] up to mimic that of a football player, the shoulders. I’ve received a total of 370cc’s total, 185cc’s per boob, of saline whilst undergoing renovation….Boom!….now I’ve got quote boobs again…but they’re still such an odd apparatus to sport. Totally hiding this shit out in hoodies for the next couple months.

I don’t know what size volume the average chick chooses as I’ve not researched that. At this point in the race, I only want to remain cancer free….if at the finish line, I have fanfuckintastic set of new tits, well hey, those’ll be my pricing for beating the fuck out of breast cancer! They’ll be my prize for winning and not giving up…even when I want to….this week was goddamn brutal guys. I do not wish chemo upon anyone.

Scientists that are working on discovering cures, keep at that shit! I’ve no doubt you will find a cure….

Breast cancer is not all pink ribbons blowing carefree like a goddamned Summer’s Eve commercial.Breast cancer is home wrecking, life destroying, life altering and all around fucked up.

To those of you who’ve called me brave, inspirational & strong, I certainly don’t feel like an inspiration. My situation has given me the opportunity to allow you fuckers into my chemobrain and oh what fun you’re having eh? Seriously, I’m not a superhuman. I am just me. Kicking cancer in the fucking ass. Just like you would do….stiff lipped….unwavering….

Suck it cancer and damn you badboob.

 

 

Not a brave face…but simply my face

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