Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay

plucking chin hairs again…Looks like I’m not going to get it today…That bastard couldn’t wait to begin production again instead of wasting time….

See the thing with this blog is, I usually forget what I’m going to blather on about. I have kick-ass thoughts & shit, thinking ‘yes I must add this’, but know what folks? My short-term memory is shit, therefore I spend hours trying to remember to no avail. So here we are with a total off the cuff blog, with one big ass run on sentence. And then once I hit publish, that perfect fucking title will come back to me….I should jot my ideas down…..

Chemo has:

  • made me love and appreciate my family more
  • cured my bad hair life
  • curbed my drinking
  • made me cuss like a motherfucking goddamned sailor, joke…I’ve always talked this way. 
  • strengthen my bond with Mr. Badboob
  • broken bonds I thought would never break
  • traumatized me beyond belief

Let me give you the numbers run down, for those of you new to blog….found lump in my tit 293 days ago, my  boobs were then removed 284 days ago….Then chemo, hysterectomy & new tit exchange took place six weeks ago.

We’re approaching the one year since lump discovery and with chemo behind me, my mind has been really reviewing the events from the past month….I’m really starting to freak out. Why? Cancer is gone. Treatments are over. Now that I’m not obsessed with next phase of cancer  removal, my brain has a lot of free fucking time.

#Badboob has connected to me to so many fanfucktastic women, for that I’m grateful. I’m not pleased with the fact all my connections have been because we have toxicty trying to kill us….But with support, it’s so much easier. There is not right or wrong way to deal with cancer. Some take it, beat it, move on. Some rely on their faith to guide them. Others deal with getting all those crazy ass thoughts out on the screen in hopes others will see and know they aren’t alone. When I first began regaling the tale of my fucking badboob, thanks to Mr. Badboob’s insistence, I had no idea what would come of it. I just knew I had a large social media presence and wasn’t afraid to say what I felt, in my own real & raw words. I’ve talked shit about everything and everyone in this thing over the past few months. But it’s all here, for you to read. So you don’t have to talk behind my back….fuck you if you are…my feelings, crass as my descriptions may be, don’t affect my parenting or wifing.

I’ve had time to think about what has happened to me and my family. I mean really think. It’s been the most trying time. But we made it. Now for me to get my head out of my mind and use my energies for good. If I stay where I am, I’ll never fully ‘recover’. I know on the outside I appear normal enough, I’m not. It’s ok to ask questions. I’ve discovered the small things with sweet babboo. We’ve had an incredible summer exploring and shit.

I have a skewed vision of the world and goddamnit, I’m fine with that, I embrace that shit!
I’m living!
Not hiding anymore to spare your feelings.
This is my story. My fight goddamnit.

To those newly diagnosed finding yourselves here, hello and welcome to #badboob.

 

 

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And Then She Was At Peace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What A Long, Strange Trip It’s Been

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So here I sit. 

Post-op. 

Boobs are banded super fucking tight for two weeks. 

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

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

So. Many. Tears. 

You think what the fuck? 

Is all this worth it? 

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

You Have Grandpa Hair Mommy.

Gee thanks kid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much love and all the feels to you guys.

xx

 

 

 

“Look Mom, A Girl With No Hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So When You Say Psychosomatic,

You mean like he could start a fire with his thoughts?

With all do respect, wanna know what really fucks me the fuck off?
Those of you who are intentionally avoiding sick folks.
Why? Because we don’t know what to say Tara. 
Why no texts? We think a lot about you, just never reach out Tara.
Why no correspondence? We just couldn’t be around you, during treatment Tara.
Well fuck me for disturbing your life and making you uncomfortable. And why you peeping my shit, just to keep up in your own right.  Ya know, breast cancer survivor wasn’t on my bucket list either fuckers….seriously….don’t read too much into this….just getting the thoughts out….I get it, life gets busy and there is really no way to get away from your duties….the duties never end. Soooooo the above statement is a huge generalization of the fucked up shit I think about. While it is hurtful as those comments have actually been said to me, I do get it.

The more I wrote this blog and chronicle my #badboob, the better I feel….I get it….It’s healing me…..it’s cathartic….it’s growth in life….It’s kinda cool though cause I’ve never been writing. Never.  Anyone can have a blog and let their demons out, case in point motherfuckers, welcome….word by word, my scars are slowly fading….fuck you cancerous tit….fuck you cancer….it fucks with a girls head….just sayin….don’t be a stranger….to that lady in the coffee shop….to that gent at the Subway….there is a lot of evil out there. My heart is filled with love for you, the readers, it goes beyond this blog, my life, my real life.

I want you to love. To be kind. To protect. To teach our young.

I’m grateful for my husband and children. I’m grateful for my gifts & blessings during my breast cancer journey. My gifts have been great and small, from the surgeons who donated their services, free, to everyone that has reached out. I now see opportunities in places I would have not normally noticed. I know when I am looking back on my journey, I will be looking ahead at how to help other cancer patients. I’m still not sure what my calling will be, but I know it will be meaningful and I will be helping some of you fuckers out there. 

So many souls

So many cancers

So many tears

IDK if you’re new to the saga of my  formerly saggy #badboob or have been here since day one [you day one fuckers I thank you. That’s fucking dedication. And I like that.] but I’m happy with a bunch of shit too. Dr High, one of the most  highly skilled plastic surgeon in the RDU area.  Dr. Tolnitch the best breast surgeon in my area….I mean, shit they both went above and beyond for a patient….that patient was me….fucking me! Holy shit, the gifts are growing. I’ve noticed an influx of growth in gifts post masecto. I thank you much. The creativeness that goes behind your action to ensure I open with a smile is always achieved.  So many online ‘virtual’ friends, local friends, new and old [fuck guys, the majority of us are well into our 40’s and some have tiptoed into your 50’s & beyond], so much fantastic food, so many prezzies, so much money, so many home bake deliciousness, groceries purchased, shoulders, smiles, hugs, prayers, all of it; thank you.Big massive hugs to each and every single one of you fuckers.You are seriously the best.

Fortunately I’m a SAHM working part-time from the computer and my boss has been incredibly understanding. Fuck me, If I were sole bread winner; we’d have died of starvation months ago because the rain destroyed our cardboard home. For realz. No shit.

My insurance is due to be canceled in 11 days. My medical procedures are scheduled in 29 days. What in the fucking fuck? Seriously motherfucker’s, I’ve been on the phone with so many agents, made and emailed so many copies of the same goddamned information, multiple fucking times. I have a hearing a few days before my surgery. To see if I am worthy of their insurance. This should be a fucking blast. I can’t wait. Whoohoo

One of my favorite ways to sleep is stomach down, it’s a bit difficult to do with the expanders & port. You know the drill, you toss to this side with pillow, that side sheet kicked off foot until you fall into a semi-comfortable-but-your-brain-won’t-quit-kind-of-sleep. Whew….it’s fucking exhausting. I realize that is a small complaint in the complaints of life. I am glad to have some small, trivial shit to bitch about. ~~Seriously cancer this, scar here, doctor’s there, the list never ends. Never Ends….So while I  know some of you beautiful souls living your life with chronic pain [such as I do], some of you are paralyzed, someone is newly blind, some have babies, some don’t, someone just had a miscarriage, someone just lost limbs fighting for us in America, someone had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer….There are so many scenarios. So many people. So many ailments. So many cancers. So many drugs. So much treatments and planning of treatments….the list will always goes on….the list never quits.

From my prescription bottle to yours, make it a great one.

Time Keeps On Slippin, Slippin, Slippin….

Fucking Life

Fucking Death

Shit. Does. Not. Stop. Ever.

If you’re one of the lucky ones, you’ll get some laughs along the way with little memory of the hardships you’ve endured….

Bills still need to be paid….cars & homes maintained…appointments & shit will need to be done….booboo’s cared for….loved ones loved….compromises….lots of fucking compromises….and just because you had cancer and a few rounds of grueling ass chemo….so fucking what?…Life. Does. Not. Give. A. Goddamn….get your treatment and get off your fucking ass.

So lemme tell ya, there’ve been a few [very few mind you] perks from chemotherapy. It’s been pretty fucking nice not having to look for that hard, sneaky fuck of a white chin hair….sometimes it’ll pop up on the left side, others the right….and I can almost never pluck that bitch first try…I no longer have to pluck nipple hair….ever…. again….been using the same razor [just to get the strays] for months….fucking score, right!…no periods in months….with the playground being demolished in a few weeks, that’ll be one monkey permanently off my crotch….lots of time has been saved in the shower….conditioner & shit….boom I’m done in mere minutes….money has been saved on make up and shit….with no eyelashes, I don’t need mascara, duh….with monster fucking pimples, no need to use foundation to try to cover, it only makes it worse….and with shitty puke fest, I’ve saved a shitton of money on my vehicle and fuel….so there have been some good points….very small, minor money saving occurrences during my breast cancer jaunt.

Weeds are tall as fuck outside

We laughed hard as hell in the living room

Spider webs outside

We played rescue garage

Still dusty as fuck inside

Splashed our asses off in the pool

Fucking life does not stop

Maybe next weekend we will dust the house, weed eat the yard, mow the lawn and leaf blow the spiders that have taken up residency in the corners of our home into the wild oblivion.

The scale has finally begun cooperating with me again. Thank fuck for that small feat. By resuming our walks with our lumpy yellow dog, the pounds are slowly dropping off. Goddamn three or four weeks of inactivity and the pounds take it as some sort of fucking invitation to jump back onto your gut or ass….or arms….or neck….gobble gobble….fuck, once I grow double chins, there’ll be more places to hide food on my body. [insert wow face emoticon with hands to mouth ala Home Alone fashion here]

Seriously can’t stress what a constant, itching, burning pain in the ass the power port is. I feel its presence with each step, cough, word I speak….the incision site was really bothersome last week, over the weekend I noticed it had begun to scab slightly….and that fucking plastic ‘vein’….my gawd….remove that bitch today! Please and thank you. Thank fuck this fucker will be removed in 35 days. I’ve talked to so many breast cancer survivors who say they do not experience any problems from their ports. Hallefuckinlujah to you! I seriously am envious. There’s enough bullshit to learn and deal with once you find you have cancer and I’m sick of the port. The method of delivering the toxic chemo should not be another obstacle. But it could be worse. This I know. There are so many other outcomes that could have happened once the super doctors removed the cancer back in December. Fortunately, easy. I got off with my life. I am titless, but have plastics being installed. I am not terminal. I have lots of look forward to and accomplish yet in my life.

I was scared as fuck when I discovered that lump 216 days ago. I cried hysterically, dramatically & violently every fucking day up till my bilateral mastectomy 174 days. I also know I’m not the only one scared in life. A lot of us are. Life can be a ginormous fuckstick at times.

35 days from now the new tits will be install as well as my lady bits being removed.

Sweet Babboo will be beginning his stint with the public school system in 77 days. That’s only 76 good mornings before he’s released into the world. Infuckincredible. The badboob family had sons graduate in 2013 & 2014, for fuck’s sake. With my first two sons, I was the young parent. Now I’ll be the old, granny parent. [insert crying emoticon here] Fucking yikes I say.

I believe I’m out out the chemo induced hell…my bowels are still outta whack…my brain still scrambled….my life is still fucked….but I am here….the sun rose again this morning….time to suit up and splash in the pool.

 

Chemo’s Over, So Now What?

Well fuckers I’m still  bald.
I’m still in daily pain.
I still wonder when and if I will feel like myself again. 
The cancer may be gone, the chemo over, but the scars are to remain with me for a lifetime.

Breast cancer has totally fucked my world. Now imagine if you will an even harder fucking…That’s how hard chemo has fucked my world. I will shave my head a few more times as the sprouts I have now are intermingled with bald patches. And as much as I’d like to hair back on my head, I don’t want bald patches….and here we are.

I completed chemo over three weeks ago and am still feeling the effects. My face is completely wrecked by hard cystic acme pimple fuckers….at 42 I feel I’ve lived long enough to put the acme portion of my life behind me….Seriously…..enough is enough…..every school picture I’ve some sort of nasty pimple sticking our poking fun of me diminishing my esteem….Every….fucking….picture….The neuropathy that I experienced at the beginning of my treatments has progressively gotten worse. The neuropathy may get worse, they say….I’m so tired & my memory has….what the fuck was I even saying?….Oh yeah, my short term memory is one busted ass bitch.

Oh so fucking tired.

Now, if there’s something you should know about me is I’ve always been a ‘tired’ person. I’m tired by nature. But fuck [heehee] me, this kind of tiredness is completely new to me. Seriously, I wake up only to think about going back to bed. Badboob is a tiredboob.

But now when I sleep, I wake up covered in sweat, on my head….The fuck? How the hell can my bald ass head sweat so much? Did my head sweat this much when I had hair? I don’t think so. Goddammit. I’ve never washed my pillowcases so much.  Hormone replacement therapy will give you hot flashes, they say. And know what? I’ve not even begun the HRT….Oh joyous of times. I can’t wait to see how much I’m gong to sweat once I begin that regimen in a few weeks…Oh yes night sweats how I look forward to thee…..

Oh yeah, if there is something else you should know about me is that I love beer. Almost any variety, flavor, what have you…So imagine my delight when not one but two of my visiting guests last week left a six-pack behind!!…mmmm, beer.  It will bring me great joy to consume those delicious beverages in the hot summer sun whilst sitting poolside.

Speaking of summer sun, we began swimming this season.

Whoohoo!! Sweet Babboo is a total fish in the water. With the breast cancer and chemo bullshit going on, I’ve not had time to order that cute mermaid bathing suit so many of you are purchasing this season [insert sarcastic eye roll] from the Facebook ad….shush gals….I’m just fucking with you…You’re so totally cute in your shiny new suits and abs of steel. Meanwhile I’m wearing the same suit as last season sporting my abs of icecream with those sexy floppy waffles shoved into my bathing suit top….Oh man. I’ve put on so much weight. How the fuck does one even gain weight while going through chemo? I’m sure I’ve posed that question before.

Something I’ve noticed with myself & swimming this year, I’m not trying to suck my gut it. I’m just letting it all hang out….

Don’t have a towel to wipe the table? Try the new stomach fold over folks! Grab one side of that stomach, flatten & make that table your bitch ladies….Boom table is clean and you have snack crumbs for later. [thumbs up emoticon here]. You’re welcome. So, what I’m getting to is acceptance. Acceptance of myself….It’s so hard….Oh so hard for me to even look at myself in the mirror.

So, I take it as a huge feat not to be sucking my gut in the whole time while in the water. Small victory for me.

I am truly struggling with my appearance. Those who see me, offer a ‘you look great’. I know you guys are just blowing smoke up my ass. It’s really hard to look past all this ugly and see the glimmer of beautiful light and life shining. I know there is light in there just trying to break on through…..I hope to see it one day. It will be a long time in the making that’s for fucking sure.

Make it a good one gang!

 

 

Somewhere Over The Toilet…..

Is where I sit sweating  profusely.
Is where I sit puking
Is where I sit, wondering if it’s a false hurl alarm or the real shit.
I’ve never been so out of my mind in pain/confusion/and general fuckedupness

Imagine your worst hangover. Then multiple that by 1,000,000,000 stabby knives slicing up and down your gut….That’s the closest I come describe how chemo makes me feel. And fuck me I’m on a lighter regimen, they say…. I can’t imagine how much death has been starring you down….[You chemo warriors with the higher toxins to kill the residual cancerous cells….You are my fucking hero. My fucking inspiration. My goddamned light and my guidance.] That summary doesn’t still doesn’t convey the real feelings of chemo and what it does to your mind, body & soul.  It’s like you want to rip the skin from your body in hopes of relief from the chemo storm brewing in your body.

Last week was spent preparing for being chemoriden this week. You know, I kinda dusted, kinda cleaned and our iRoomba is still kicking ass…. Fortunately I’ve still got plenty of badboob chemo foods to get me by the next week or so. Sweet Babboo has enjoyed the badboob chemo foods as well, a huge thank you to all who sent this chick with the floppy waffle tits snacks & prezzies. I truly and humbled by the amount of support I’ve received since November.

I reached a milestone in this breast cancer journey, my last chemo infusion!! Whoofuckinghoo~so excited to cross that day off my calendar. I will not need radiation, thank fuck on that. I know there a still a few more hospital procedures for me in July….One step, one day, one nervous tear leaking from my eye at a time. These last few steps should be easy….new boobs!! ….Oh yeah!!….Have you seen a post-masecto chest? It’s not pretty, but I do have titanium holders where my nipples should Changebe….wonder tits activated….

Leaving the cancer center last Friday, the girls asked what I’d miss most about chemo. Erm, the puking and spraying from both ends. The one positive is I’ve not had a period in months….chemo makes you pre-menopausal they say. I am glad I’m not having to shave every other day, no razor bumps! But seriously, with the prices of fucking razors, we should not still be experiencing razor rash in this day and age~~someone get on that. And I’m kinda digging having no hair to fuck with. Boom, I wake up, put on my black tank and I’m ready to go.

Everyone’s experience with cancer various so greatly. One thing we, the fighters, the warriors, wish for….is for us to tell our story in our fucking words with our goddamned experiences. We don’t want you retelling our story. We don’t want you to edit our story as to how you think it should be told. I’m still wrapping my head around that mindset. If you love someone, love them now. Not for what you hope to mold and shape into your perfect fucking image. If you claim love for another, love them as they are, in the now. Don’t try to detour them with your fuckery.

Just accept
 Just Love
Just Listen

You may find joy in watching your loved one flourish with wings she always knew she had but scorn kept her from doing so.

Life is fucking hard enough. Last thing we need is lay low when the fucktards come marching by. Last thing we need is to feel we must bottle our emotions. Cancer of any sort will rock your fucking world. Some are more graceful than others with their story, but ultimately, we want to be loved. You don’t know what to say? Howabout a simple ‘hi’ or put an arm on my shoulder. Chemo takes your brain on some crazy ass scenarios-not knowing what is real or imaginary- Just don’t shy away because we are/were sick.

From my toilet to yours…..

Mistakes Were Made

Oh yes they were.

Fucking you think you have your shit together [well, I never really thought I had my shit together, but I’ve got comfy blankets and built the facade blankie fort]. You live the with diagnosis and medical treatments. The poking, the prodding, all modesty has been tossed aside when your chest has become the focus for many–clearing the cancer then the reconstruction of the breasts….life has adjusted, as well as it can considering, cause you know fucking cancer and loss of boobs at 42. You look straight ahead, try to hold your head high when all you want to do it hide.

But hey, your oncologist prescribes a shitton of chemo/cancer meds. You’re sedated, you live, you learn, you laugh, you cry & cry & cry & cry until you think your tear ducts have actually dried the fuck up….Oh but no. There are more tears, there are always more tears. The tears that fall in the shower. The tears that escape while hugging someone. The tears of pride when seeing your spouse and child playing together. The tears of life.

You may get used to your new life, but you may never like it. Well, I don’t like it. Obv, I’m glad I have my life. Obv, I’m glad I’m not sitting here with six apple sized tumors in my tit at the mo. But,  but what would life be for me today, had I not discovered those little pea sized fucking lumps?

badboobThey say our experiences shape us and prepare us for what’s ahead….what the fuck am I being groomed for? I do hope to make a positive impact in the breast cancer community. Whether it be by counsel or friendship. You don’t have to be alone. You shouldn’t be alone. 

Life may be easier if we were easier on ourselves, if I were easier on myself. If I loved myself more. If I laughed more. If I forgave myself more. Who the fuck knows. I feel, the majority of us mean well, but we are too goddamned harsh on ourselves and selfish. I am learning to love and forgive myself a bit easier. I’m beginning to surround myself with positively radiant souls whom I adore with all my heart. I’m tired of being tired, sad & sick. I want energy, levity & longevity.

Last chemo-infusion is Friday gang!! Did you hear me?? Just a few more days and my last dose of chemo will course through my veins fucking up absolutely everything inside and outside my body. Then, I can begin to wean myself from the pharma-cocktail I’ve been taking for months. I will be able to look toward the exchange surgery and know that is my reward for having successfully kicked cancer’s ass to the curb! Last week was a pretty good week, this week should be fucking great too. Next week, well not so much. I’ll take up residence on the loo with my trash can. I’ll sweat out toxins in my sleep. I’ll feel as if I’m going insane within my mind. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of being sore. And just when I don’t think I can handle anymore and am ready to toss in the proverbial towel…the chemo fog will lift. I will see the world with clear eyes and sharp mind again. And I will once again thank everyone who called, cooked, prayed and loved me when I could’t love myself,

Be kind to yourself.