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

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When You Find That Long Yellow Hair…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay

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

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

Chemo has:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

And Then She Was At Peace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What A Long, Strange Trip It’s Been

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So here I sit. 

Post-op. 

Boobs are banded super fucking tight for two weeks. 

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

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

So. Many. Tears. 

You think what the fuck? 

Is all this worth it? 

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

You Have Grandpa Hair Mommy.

Gee thanks kid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much love and all the feels to you guys.

xx