Spoiler Alert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Just The Facts Ma’am

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Is What It Is

Fuck that shit. I used to subscribe to that notion, shrug my shoulders and continue on….Now, I know, it is what I make it.

And recently have I been working it. From all the angles, meeting all the people, the networking, the bartering for events; so out of my comfort zone. Or was it? IDk…kinda loving the volunteer work. I’m super spastic, some may refer to me as ‘passionate’.

The thing they don’t tell you about life after cancer is how to live. Fuck most don’t know how to live pre-cancer. We are one fucked up lot of bottom feeders. There’s more out there, I’ve seen it. I talked to it and spent time there as a child….

So Tara, your cancer was removed 514 days ago, why are you still carrying on? Well, I’ll tell you why…..cause you’re listening.  So there.

It has been almost a year since my last #chemo infusion. My hair is growing, toxic gut has subsided; but…..But…there’s always a motherfucking but…. The collateral effects from chemo are sooooooooo much worse than I ever imagined. When I first heard chemo can stay with you 5-7 years post treatment, I thought yay right-what a crock of shit. Oh no dear readers, it’s just as bad as they tell you, maybe worse; cause very few go into all the nitty-gritties.

If you’ve read any posts, you know that I’m not really a worrier and just go with the flow. So, I’d been going with the flow of a sore wrist, for over a year…..Turns out I have a severe case of degenerative bone disease, osteoarthritis is the technical term and shit. Take care of yourselves. Had I had my wrist looked at when I first noticed the pain, burning pain, throbbing pain; I may not have had to have it casted. But it is what it is right? Wrong…been looking for wrist guards, compression sleeves and other healing methods to get use of my wrist back. I’ve also developed bone degeneration in my lower lumbar…butt bone…and it hurts like hell.

The past couple of weeks, I noticed I’ve been so ovariemotional….the fuck is wrong with me? Why all this crying? Why the doubts? I’d spent five months building myself back up, going great distances. Hello GMA and WTVD. I finally realized why I was so down again, and trust me, it only took less than a week to fall back into bad mental habits; I’ve not been working out. I’m still using the TRX and Ultimate pull-up, with difficulties. But not working out the way I have been. They way I learned to live again during the LiveStrong program. Oh and still trying to find #JalenFromCapitalOne.

I’ve started feeling lethargic and flabby again, shut up, I know I’m not really flabby, but not feeling totally fit.  Once I made that connection, you best bet I began working up a sweat again.  And know that I know I have a real condition going on, I’ve been more gentle on myself. Cooking has been quite difficult, resulting in more purchases with the restaurants…with money we don’t have…..See the cycle here folks. Those who know, understand.

Post chemo, my body stays cold. I used to see those little old ladies wrapped up like they’re in the arctic when it’s hot as balls outside. Guess what, I’m wrapped. Pants, socks, hoods, hats, long sleeves, give me all the sleeves.  I discovered an awesome NC company called Freakers USA, the best socks and bottle holders…the bottle holder act as great compression for your wrist.

Any my brain, holy fuck. Chemo did a big number in my head. I see information but don’t comprehend or digest it. My brain has like no short term memory….at all. So if we speak, and I ask you again what we just talked about; be kind.
Once I gain footing again, I’ll be able to pay it forward financially, currently all I can do is offer my hand, my ear, myself…I’m making this bitch called life, mine.

 

 

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

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

 

Hey Cancer, Suck My Cock

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

Now onto my original thoughts…..

Ah yes, cancer sucking my cock.

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

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

(marcia, marcia, marcia)

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

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

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

19 days

Off to walk the dog kids and enjoy the sunshine.

Thank fuck Xanax.

peace, love and root beer floats

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob

21 Days

I will be in possession of my boobs for 21 more days. 

It’s been said once you do something for 21 days it becomes habit. Well, fuck me I say. 21 more days, living constant fear of those tumors getting agitated~If I fall down or life something heavy, will one of those tumor bitches reach out and try to grab me harder? –Idk…I’m sure it’s doubtful but doctor I am not.– 21 more days of feeling the tumors grow, slightly, but I do feel the pressure because there are five pansy ass tumors in there. 21 more days of undressing for the shower and feeling complete betrayal of my body. 21 more days of not being able to look at my body. 21 more days of not being able to look at myself.  21 more days of trying to put on the happy mommy face, while still (attempting) to be alert and attentive to my husband as he regales me with tales of his day~~though my mind is racing hard and I hear nothing he says~~sorry babe, that’s not that unusual actually. xx

Armed with the knowledge I will be losing my 30ff’s in 21 days is alarming and comforting at the same time. I now know the day my cancerous tit will be removed from my body. I will then be able to move forward with the physical and mental healing this imperative.

Usually I’m the kinda chick that let’s shit roll off her shoulder, cause I know life is not all fairy tales, snicker-doodles and happy bullshit. It should be and can be, some have experienced that joy, I have not. I personally know life is a motherfucker [not bitter, just stating facts as I know them to be mine, facts, thoughts, etc] and I’d like to cunt punch it.

To say cancer has thrown me for a loop and completely fucked me up is an understatement.  Who knows if I’m handling this properly? Meh~~ fuck you cancer.

21 Good-mornings

21 Good-nights

21,000,000,000,000,000 tears

I will share lots of smiles, laughs and surprises with my family. I will attempt to make the most of these next 21 days.

#Badboob