Menopause – The Ceasing Of Menstruation

BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutation positive…..fucking mutation positive…humans are a vile mutation on this planet. Humans are continually fucking up this planet with all their evil doings.

Medicinal advancements can now detect some human mutations and remove those body parts that could become infested with more cancers. I tested positive with the BRCA2 mutative gene. I chose to have a complete hysterectomy in an effort to escape ovarian cancer…..Let’s hope scientists will release the cancer cures we know they’ve been sitting on instead of letting [wo]mankind wallow in continual suffering……..

Most women begin their menopausal journey somewhere in their late 40’s. Other women, such as myself, go through a forced menopause overnight when their organs are extracted from their body in one quick, less than an hour, out patient surgery. Really. They can do that shit before lunch. Fucking insane.

It’s been just over a year since I went in for my hysterectomy and implant exchange surgery….. They bandage you up, send you home and you’re left to weep and sweat on your own for the next year. And fucking weep I have done. I’ve never felt so dark in my entire life. Even with a supportive family and friends…..so fucking dark….so fucking blue…no light…no hope of happiness…badboob.pngusually I would muster through shit, because I never really had a choice….it had to be done…but this time, the depression has overtaken my entire being. Everything I’ve known or felt has come into question.


Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that can be brought on by a traumatic event. PTSD can happen after a life-threatening situation, such as a breast cancer diagnosis or cancer recurrence. PTSD can affect your ability to cope with life’s daily chores and inconveniences and make it difficult to function.


It’s real.

Real AF.

I used to think it was a crock of shit. I now realize it’s so not the case. It’s really important to surround yourself with all the love and support you can handle. There is no lonelier feeling than to face this heinous disease feeling alone. You’re going to act batshit crazy, emotional…all of it…you’re literally losing your tits. You’re going to say and do things that others won’t understand.

Crying. So much fucking crying. Wake up crying. Go to sleep crying. In the car crying. In the shower crying. Walking the dog crying. Talking to doctors crying. All of it. All the fucking time. How do you explain the irrational tears when others tell you your sick and shit? No fuck….I feel fucking sick. Then this life. The news. The sickness. The hate in the world. Friends lost to this horrific disease…It’s all just too much…..There is no way to fully explain. No way to explain without seeming like a blubbering idiot. Other women, survivors, hystosisters, they get it…..So the tears are wiped and a quote brave face replete with blood shot eyes is put on and you carry on with dinner and other household tasks. One day you realize you’ve only cried twice or not at all….

One day you realize you actually enjoyed yourself again. One day you had real smiles instead of those smiled suffocated by tears…. Take those small victories and make them big celebrations. Because they are in fact big celebrations! xx

As I mentioned in a previous post, they recommended a five year hormone therapy treatment for me once they completed my hysterectomy.   Upon doing my homework, I found out long term use of the HRT prevents breast cancer and causes heart disease…..Seeing as how I already have had breast cancer and don’t wish for my heart to become further diseased, I opted not to follow that regimen prescribed by my oncologist; instead looking for ways to up my nutritional intake. The hot flashes are no fucking joke. Without warning I’m completely drenched in sweat. Without warning I’m completely fucking freezing. Sweating. Freezing. So goes my night. Covers on. Covers off. Pillow flipped…..

She’s concerned…
What if I have a re-occurrence of breast cancer?
What the fuck if I do?
It could occur with the HRT or without.
At least without, I’ll have fewer health issues to contend with when given the cancer diagnosis; again. 

 

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Today Will Be Better

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

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

Dear OG Boobs –

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

One fucking year of being CANCER FREE!!

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve Learned to Breathe…..

Like breathe, breathe…real full on exhales. You’d think at 43 I would have already mastered the art of breathing. But I’ve found out something, or rather made the connection; I am a shallow breather. I’ve usually been in a state of spazz…arms motioning wildly in circles while I speak, hunched over, trying to clean up shit all the time, all the hunches, moving on from one task to the next without any thought, just auto pilot….Anyway, participating in the LiveStrong program, I was taught how to inhale, exhale, and breathe. With this new living technique, I’ve been able to ween myself from daily advil and ultram. My neck and body was always in a knot — shallow breathing — with proper breathing I can pop out all the kinks and knots in my neck. I stand slightly taller, shoulders broader..no longer hunched…..I’m actually making an effort to control my breathing. I’ts been pretty fucking incredible the past week…Wow….breathing really does help. A fucking lot. It’s also helped my with the chronic bronchitis. My inhaler usage has almost been dropped in half! try it for yourself….breathe in and lift arms straight up, grab at the ceiling, exhale and bring arms down. Inhale, up, bend to left, bend to right….feel those pops…exhale. I’ll wait here, go ahead and repeat. As you find your comfort in stretching, you will notice a difference with your daily outlook.

While I remain fearful for our country; I am able to take solace in the fact I am gaining strength, both physically and mentally. I’m preparing myself in the event we need to flee. Bags and shit are being organized.

Seriously, we have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Most people I know are scared. Scared for their life, our country, our future. WE ARE THE PEOPLE. WE MUST ACT, TOGETHER. WE MUST PLAN TOGETHER to ensure our children inherit a happy earth.

And then what happens, if we do have to flee? All those sick receiving treatments will get all fucked up. I don’t think our species has ever had a smooth sailing moment, and that’s why we need to wake up. Wake up and take stock of the foods you ingest, your lack of activity, your tv time, media…take control of your body. Take control of your mind. Take control of your spirit.

A year ago I was laying in my bed. Had just received first chemo infusion and I was waiting. Waiting for the tears to stop. Waiting for my hair to fall out. Waiting for my body to shrink away to nothing. todayWaiting for me to become a shell of my former self. I waited and waited. I was sicker than sick. i was weak. I was puking. All the horrible things happened to me that I’d read about. Fucking cancer, seriously? So this time last year, I could barely hold my head up, much less walk around; I thought about all the stuff  I wanted to do and would do once I pushed through treatment. Today I am strong. Today I will conquer!

I think I have my shit figured out and boom, I learn something new. No one can really prepare you for a cancer diagnosis. If you’re lucky, you’ll have family around and they’ll stay…not leave when shit gets ugly, raw, and real…..With those few friends and family that chooses to stay you will gain your strength. You will be able to use your eyes and voice to spread awareness….I will not stop talking about my experience. Ever. My experience is still happening. Every day we grow and change. Fuck….speaking of changes~~~this fucking hair on my head. Last week it looked good. This weekend, not so much. Each day my head looks different. Hair is so weird, I’m officially over it.

Don’t think just because you cancer cut out and treatments that you are out of the woods for a reoccurrence. I had a crazy scare last week. Found a lump in my chest. Freaked the fuck out. Had it checked, was just a cyst! Whew! But my point is, you should never stop checking yourself and questioning those surprise lumps and bumps that may arise.

 

 

My Mind is Calm, My Strength Improving……

Day by day. Step by step. Tear by tear……

When you’re so weak cant even hock a loogie properly, that’s a damn shame. When you’re so weak, you take tissue to your face, knowing you can’t spit. When you’re so weak, you air dry over the toilet, knowing you can barely wipe. When you’re so weak, bowels need emptying and you can’t push. You can’t cry. You can’t do anything but sit, rock, and stare. Wait. Wait for the viscous chemo to finish it’s course. That’s the best I can describe the hell that is chemotherapy. 

Also, I wanted to know who takes the weight from their implants off total body weight. These fuckers are practically four pounds, I think I’m allowed to subtract that almost four pounds from the number the scale spits out at me. I mean, fuck, why not right? Then one could argue you can subtract weight of brain…but that would be foolish. The implants are an add-on…So my weight will be what ever the scale reads minus four pounds.

About three weeks ago, I felt my implant shift!!! This development is exciting as hell!! For months I was so down and depressed over the way my reconstruction turned out. It made such a huge impact on my sense of self, I was devastated and crushed about my results. I even went so far as to consult a second opinion to correct the damage (or what I perceived as damage) to my newly designed tits.

So anyway, the implant shifted and my mood lifted. I shit you not! Just like that. I recall the time and all. The moment it slid into place, my brain opened up and allowed all the light back in!!! Have you ever been blue and out of nowhere your mood breaks? That’s exactly what happened to me!!!! {snoopy dance}

Naturally I call the surgeons office and tell them of my good news and ask what I should do to keep it in place… Whatever you’ve been doing is fine…..Uh….no, it just now shifted after six months. Instead of fucking around and have that baby slide back to my armpit, I picked up an ace-bandage and wrapped my chest for three weeks, treating the boob like a new surgery. My muscle was a bit sore when it slid, still is now…..But they are even!!!! Huge on my tiny frame………….But even!!!!! First time I put bandage on, it took two inches off my chest. Yes, I do measure all….

Trying to get back in the saddle has been a bit difficult. Each time I feel better, I run 1000 miles an hour to complete all the shit that hasn’t been done in months. Then boom, fucking sick again. GRRRRRRRRR Just let me be well enough to dust my fucking house. I swear, I can smell the dust….lol…It’s making my issues worse. Getting back into my beauty routine with my Jenu. Omg, have you tried it?? You NEED to. My face and neck went through the ringer in chemo; needless to say my face is restored and shining brighter than ever! 

Ladies that shave….ugh…chemo has rendered my freezing all the fucking time. If I shave, which is rare, I’ll get goose bumps and have to shave right then, again. So you know when you shave your toes and inadvertently leave that one sprout behind and when you walk you can feel the little hair wave as you walk creating a super creepy feeling. Does that happen to anyone, or is it just me. When preparing your cancer and chemo toiletries, you can forget the razor. Buy some nair. Stray hairs will be the least of your worries until treatment is finished.

I’ve got so many grand ideas regarding #badboob and the direction I wish to go, but broke. Any investors out there willing to take a gamble? hmu 
I have such a sense of pride when the newly diagnosed reach out to me. I mean, I hate it because cancer and shit. But, if I can help, especially with this beast of a fucker; then I’m there. No questions. I support you and all your choices.

By now almost everyone reading this has heard early detection can save lives. It’s true af. The moment you feel a lump, get checked. If you don’t have cancer, fucking great; out $50 for a co-pay. But if you do have cancer, you’ve potentially saved yourself from much harm. Once that cancer latches on, that bitch will not stop until it brings you down. All the way fucking down.

And finally. Be nice to each other. There are very real concerns for our world and state of America. We must unite, put our differences to the side and join arms.

You like vanilla.
I like chocolate.
That’s never destroyed a friendship.
Why should it now?

#badboob out

 

You’ll Get Pneumonia In Your Ass, Tara

Uhm, thanks Flo (my grandmother). That always cracked me the fuck up. I mean why my ass? When my lungs were always fucked up? What is the correlation?  My Flo, was always good like that….I’d get a cold in my ass, she’d put my ass in a sling, pneumonia in my ass…..not quite sure why she was obsessed with getting colds in my ass. Not sure her her reasoning for this way of thinking….Could be her mother’s influence. Irene, my great grandmother immigrated from Budapest to Ellis Island, with the family, in the early teen’s…..I know they faced real threats of illness on that boat ride.. What really happened during that trip? hmmm…..

So here I sit with a Vicks bib, tissues, a strong ass antibiotic, and nebulizer watching my guys play in the snow. Yup, I’m the chick that has a hysterectomy in the summer; preventing me from swimming. And pneumonia in the winter; preventing me from snowman construction. Winner winner 43 year old loser. [cry laughing emoji]

So it seems once you graduate from chemotherapy your body will never be the same. Ever. regardless of what those around you may say….You haven’t had chemo in  months. The chemo is gone. You should be fine by now. Wrong! Wrong! and Wrong…Educate yourselves before you tell me how I should be feeling/acting/doing…. Since I finished chemo, 234 days ago, I’ve had bronchitis, ulcerative laryngitis and now pneumonia…..not to mention the ladycave snafu end of September….So what does all this mean?

Not a goddamned thing. Just spilling shit from my brain. Releasing my mind of thoughts and shit. Should you choose to read, awesome, if not…..that’s cool. I’ll still be here.

Before I went to ER for pneumonia, I puked. A few times. I was painfully cold, then upchucked my empty stomach into the trash….and holy fuck me…..I’d been able to push the chemo pukes to the far reaches of my memory, totally forgotten how bad it was. Until I puked. And puke I did. I thought I was dying. The amount of muscles it take from an achy body was hell. Pure hell. That shit was wiped from my mind as fast as it happened. Along with the bone pain, full body spasms…..PSTD I believe is the correct term.

You cancer haver’s…..don’t let anyone belittle your experience. I spent so much time and too many tears on those who I lost. Those friends, those family members, those humans who I thought would always be there for me…..fucking gone. Those motherfuckers who wanted to belittle me, challenge me, fucking fight me when I was already down for the count…..FUCK THEM ALL……I seriously spent a lot of time wondering what I did, what did I say to offend them…..I realized it was jealously, stupidity, and simply being a fuckwad was their problem. It wasn’t until recently that this epiphany came to me….after too many tears and cries…..

If you’re faced with ass fucker dildo heads in your life, please, I  implore you—don’t let them get into your brain. Fuck the naysayers. It will do more harm to your healing than good. Trust me. I’m still trying to emotionally heal from their low blows.

Cancer is not easy. Hear me?? CANCER IS NOT EASY. THE TREATMENT IS NOT EASY. NOTHING IS EASY ABOUT THIS BEAST. NOTHING. And don’t listen to those who say, Oh you got the good kind of cancer. The actual fuck? Good cancer? Yes amputation of my boobs and ladycave being torn from my body, is good. Fuck off into traffic ya asshole fuck and stay there.

Stay true to you. To your heart. Your wants. Your needs. It’s imperative for your physical and mental health

This was more a bitch sesh.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks for supporting.

Love you guys and shit. 

 

It’s Been One Year Since You’ve Been

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

Dear OG Boobs –

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

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

1st Post Mastecto Selfie 12/12/15

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

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

 

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

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

One fucking year of being CANCER FREE!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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