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.

 

 

 

It’s Been 180 Days Since

Since I found that fucking lump in my left boob. Goddammit. Motherfucking cancerous lump….so sorry but every post may begin this way….It’s a lot to ‘get over’ or ‘move past’….I mean seriously….who the fuck would be able to just bounce back from cancer? I know we bounce everyday. I’m not saying I’m stuck either. 
Got the breast cancer diagnosis 167 days ago. Needless to say this have been one fuck of a year. But, I am almost finished. Really guys….I am almost there. I know I said this last week too. I also know I thought I’d not make it through last week. Chemo is the most brutal goddamned thing I have faced in my life. I’ve shot a few babies down my slide, thought I’d die then. But that pain was swift then and I had a human to cuddle. That made the pain so worth while. Chemo, well with chemo I know I still have my life when I finally climb my way back to the top.

Speaking of the baby slide, yesterday was Mother’s Day. While it was pleasant enough in the badboob home, I’m so over all these fucking Hallmark holidays. I lost my own mother when I was 12. I’ve lived on this fabulous fucking earth for 30 years without my mother. While I do miss the notion of a mother, I can’t really say I miss her as a person.  I never had a chance to get to know the real her. I have a few photographs.  How can you miss someone you never really knew? In 2014 Mr. Badboob and I experienced two major losses, back to back, in our lives, knocking us both for a big fucking loop….so much sadness….everywhere fucking sadness….fucking life….fucking death….A day set aside to celebrate  Mom or Dad is swell, but instead of kissing ass one day–just don’t be assholes. Then we won’t need special days. Everyday will be special if we’re cool about and not fucktarded. Give it a try will ya….extend your hand to a stranger, see what happens. Give a compliment, see what happens….Better yet, leave me a comment….I want to hear about random acts of kindness.

Looking ahead…only 11 days till my last chemotherapy infusion! 

Yippee fucking skippy gang.
I’m almost done.
You’re almost done cheering me on.
Can you believe it’s been 94 days since my first chemotherapy infusion?
I’ve had toxic shit coursing through my body, mind, heart & bowels for 94 motherfucking days….

Seriously, I’ve felt love & support from my friends on social media for years. I’ve shared a lot of shit with you guys, a lot more than necessary at times, fuck it. I never thought I could feel more lifted or supported, you guys are absofuckinlutely incredible to me and the whole Badboob family. Thank you for all the meals, notes, prayers, prezzies & healing vibes last week and every week since my boob decided to be a whore and get cancer.

Fuck me. What a year.
I’ve been through challenges before.
Hell, my entire life has been has been a fucking challenge.

There will be no way I could fully & properly thank each one of you…..but I’m working on it. This challenge is definitely different than others I’ve faced. Yes, I had cancer. But life must go on. Bills still need to be paid. House still needs to be cleaned. Kids still need to be cared for. Spouses still need attention. Your life can not stop because of cancer, you may slow down & reevaluate the important shit, but you must keep going….life keeps going whether you want it to or not.

I’m still in a fuckton of pain today. From the power port to torn pec….but the sun is out. We learn to deal We learn to go on. We learn to live.
From my chemo induced delirium to yours, make it a good one.

18 Days Til The Last Chemo Infusion

Whoofuckinhoo! Know what that means fuckers? I can see the finish line!! I am stronger than breast cancer. I will kick this bitch to the curb and not look back….

If I can make it past this week….You know the feeling of the flu? The flu that feels like you’ll die with every step & breathe? Every bone & joint aches and if you’re lucky enough to get a stomach virus atop the flu?….Welp, that’s how I feel currently.

The feeling where you’re sitting on the toilet with trash can on your lap….Not sure which end you will spew toxic waste, but knowing it will happen….soon….

I’ve never been on a cruise, but I can only imagine what it feels like to be seasick…..As, I’ve felt seasick since Saturday. Nothing is released in over 20 minutes [still toilet side] and the mo you get up to stretch your legs & whatnot, that’s when the magic happens kids….fuck you chemo.…I hear my baboo calling for me….fuck you chemo….my bowels feel as if they’ve been squeezed clean….fuck you cancer….You will have constipation they say.

Anyhoo, looking ahead, 77 days, I’m scheduled for the new tit exchange surgery and hysterectomy; same day. I’m not sure if I’ll be staying the night. Both surgeries are out-patient. Reason for the hysterectomy was my brca2 mutative positive~~lucky me!! Being brca2 positive means my chances for ovarian and cervical cancers are increased….time to close up shop….another abandoned playground. I’ve done the research. Having both procedures should put me down close to 2 weeks, hence the dates on the meal list. I was trying to be proactive to get those dates lined up for all those lovely badboob supporters. Having both procedures same day, means one recovery….If all goes well [and fuck me, I’m sure I’ll encounter a challenge or six] I should be healed and well with a but of hair growth by the time sweet baboo starts Kindergarten in August.

Well motherfuck. Don’t you just hate spending time on a project only to not have the fucker save. And now you must redo. And you don’t keep notes. So this post blog will be nothing like the one I constructed yesterday. Such is life.

I had chemo infusion number five Friday the 29th. Earlier in the week, sweet baboo and I picked the sweetest most delicious strawberries, came home & made smoothies~yum. I was ‘bulking’ up on C and antioxidants from the berries.

  I sit here knowing the nausea I feel this morning will be nothing compared to what I’ll be feeling shortly. 

I sit here knowing my body is about to explode. In a gnarly ass way. 

phontoOn an insistence from a friend, I’ve created the Badboob Chemo Food Amazon Wishlist. I by no means expect anyone of you to get me anything….but so, so many of you have asked how you can help comfort me. I know the feeling….Knowing a friend is suffering, but you can’t physically console, so we purchase stuff in attempts to perk up said friend….It is working guys. Every well wish, message, text, of support helps to carry me along further….Thank you so very much.  The wishlist contains gift cards to restaurants [to be used with Take Them A Meal], medical goodies for surgery in July, blah blah & shit like that. But you guys!

You guys are ordering and sending us goodies, prezzies & surprises. Not gonna lie, feel like total ass, chemo is fucking brutal [how many times have I said that, probably every blog since receiving chemo]. But knowing I’ve so many out there rooting for me and the whole badboob family….no words….lots of big sloppy emotional chemo induced tears….I will forever be grateful to everyone who has shown supoort and compassion during my breast cancer jaunt.

I will seriously never be able to give a proper thank you to all you beautiful people walking this journey with me. I’m so flabbergasted that you guys feel touched enough to reach out, truly humbling. Friends. Old. New. You’re all fanfuckintastic.

From my toilet to yours make it a good one kids.

I Always Knew I’d Get Breast Cancer

Call it a premonition or intuition, but I always knew I’d have breast cancer.
Just not at 42 years old.

I mean, seriously.

I enjoyed my boobs way too fucking much, I just knew I’d lose them one day. But I thought I’d be in my 70’s or 80’s when I was through playing dress up with them and wouldn’t really care about getting my jollies anymore….ya know….tossing them around my neck for a scarf….tucking into my pants….ah the good times with my old natgeo’s….le sigh….

But here I am, early 40’s and a breast cancer survivor for 118 days so far….

Fuck, I barely survived last week. I’d developed chemo induced laryngitis and thrush. And the puke-o-rama I mentioned months ago that I did not experience from chemo. Well fuck me, that shit changed real fast. I puked, a lot, last week. I dry heaved, a lot, last week. My oncologist prescribed me three different anti-nausea meds….puke/heave city. It’s such a joy to be sitting on the toilet with the trash can on your lap, sweating profusely and telling your sweet baboo to get away from the bathroom, just give you a few minutes privacy…..Goddammit, he doesn’t really understand why I’m getting sick. He knows that me and Mr. Badboob went to get my medicine, if I got medicine, why am I getting sick–he wants to know….

Fortunately, my sweet baboo stayed with the in-laws a couple days. And I spent those two days in bed. The entire time he was gone I tossed and turned, sweating through the fucking sheets. I felt such guilt from having him gone. See, baboo had went camping with friends over the weekend and he said he wanted to stay home….no baby you’re going to Grandpa’s & Grandma’s. In my heightened emotional state or delirium, if you will, I cried and cried. I felt as if I ‘pushed’ him on….but I knew I’d be in no shape to properly care for him. Thank you again #1 gpa & gma. [insert mushy heart emoticon here]

Friday, after I felt I could not go on any further, I called the cancer institute, explaining my symptoms, come in for an IV they said. You’re dehydrated they said. At this point it had been a full seven days since I’d had my last infusion and I was still delirious.

Goddamned fucking cancer
Goddamned fucking chemo
Goddamned fuck all

So, in I go for fluids. 19 drove me in as I knew I’d not be able to drive myself. Hell, I could barely sit up right. Ah……I still felt like ass after the IV. My whole body hurt, from the port to the tissue expansion. Ha, did I mention with last saline fill I tore a pec? The fuck? Evidently, it is possible…But, it was an improvement. And for the first time in almost a week, I had an appetite. 19 picked up Mediterranean food (my fave) for us while I was in infusion. I gobbled that shit up on the way home. It was so nice to feel food in my stomach again.

By the weekend I was feeling much better. They gave me Atarax via IV, to combat the nausea they said. This should last me three days or so, they said. And goddamned if they weren’t right. I can’t say the nausea completely subsided, but it did curb it quite a bit. They’re going to ‘try’ to have it in stock for my next infusion on the 29th. Try, motherfuckers? You better have that shit in stock, I’m thinking.

I lost a lot of weight last week. And with any luck, I’l be down to my birth weight by the time summer rolls around. [insert snarky emoticon here]. I seriously did lose weight, am glad for that. As I was not happy being a fatty again after I worked so hard to get my weight down.

As I type this today, I feel better. The sun is shining. Baboo is happy that his mommy is snuggling and running around with him again. As we snuggled Saturday, his head rested on one of my expander-boobs, he got up saying he didn’t want to hurt me (my expander boobs are hard as football), I told him he wasn’t going to hurt me. Then he reached out, touched my boob and said, “hashtag, badboob.”

Be kind kids
xoxoxo

 

 

To Scarf or Not To Scarf

That is the question I ask myself this morning.

I awake most mornings the same as I have since receiving the first chemotherapy infusion, 60 some days–feeling ugly and wondering how the fuck I’m going to make it through the day with out totally losing my shit. I’m so fucking appalled with my appearance….What with the bald head, marred barbie like tits [sans nipple & areola], plastic devices inserted into my veins to deliver the toxin that is chemo….that makes me toxic in real life for 48 hours after infusion.

No embraces or preparations of food, mine or others.–48 hours they say.

These glimpses of my mind are in no way a cry out for attention & totes not for support. It’s part of the process of healing and I just happen to be sharing my journey with breast cancer and the collateral effects. Thank you for reading.

If you fuckers you didn’t support me, you’d not be here.
Simple
You would’t want to read about my wall clinging chemo poos, or swollen angry ports, or how I lost my taste buds or any of the other fun groovy stuff I write about.

Then I look in the mirror and see this bald ass head & clear hazels green eyes peering back at me. Depending the day, my face can clean & clear like a fucking Neutrogena model. Other days, meh not so much.It’s like s fucking land mine explode on my face, those days hurt; a lot. My stomach is round & robust….not in a good way, esp with the hairless situation. I’m full of self induced bruises [because fucking clutz]. My body is a hot fucking mess at the mo.

The plastic surgeon tells me he’ll remove all fat from old natgeo boobs, the fat below reminds me of floppy waffles. That badboob skin has been hanging out down there the past 111 days post bilateral mastectomy taunting the fuck out of me. But boob-be gone. Get the fuck outta here with your goddmned cancers.

 I feel like a beady-eyed little mole. Though I’m sure I could be exaggerating that, ever so slightly…possibly….Surprisingly my eyes are crystal clear. I thought they’d be all black & shit. And with a little make-up, I cut down on the hideous factor; you’re welcome.

Sweet baboo went camping this weekend. And lucky fucky for me kids, the OBI,  Nuelasta self-administered itself approximately pm [27 hours after chemo] Saturday evening. It took a total of 45 minutes for it to administer. We could hear it clicking with each release of Satan’s Elixir. I could feel that shit coursing through my veins via a very tiny catheter. I won’t feel like total assbag until sometime Sunday night. Then it will feel like death knocked my ass out…my legs feel like they’re in quick sand….my brain is absofuckinlutely mush at the mo…can’t drink any thing….feeling like you’re going to vomit any mo….or shit yourself…oh I could go on and on….

I’ll be lucky if I can get out of bed Today
 Just 38 days left of chemotherapy treatments!
–I can so  do fucking do this shit!

 

Currently my back is killing me and one of my expanders is causing a great deal of pain. I had my final expander fill last week. I have 460 units of saline in each of those bad boys.

19 is not working Monday. I’ll persuade him take sweet baboo to park, allowing me to rest whilst continue this goddamned toxin from build up from my body. Speaking of build up, it’ a couple of days since I’ve really went…thinking it’s time to break out the plastic Dexter style then prepare a bath….it may be a messy one….for fuck sake.

The Grandparents are planning to take Sweet Baboo Tuesday through Thursday– and holy fuck you guys–this makes me happy beyond belief. It’so much better having them just a few hours away from us  at the coast. Mr. Badboob be working 12 hour days & I’m be sitting toilet side puking & squirting in tandem–so not a pretty site for any human.

This I know is temporary
The baldness
The sickness
The bloating
The wanting to die
The self loathing
The temporary 

 

But motherfuck, temporary is a long fucking time

I’ve met so many goddamned bloody good folks during my blogging venture. Those who find me are usually new to your cancer diagnosis & still trying to process what in the actual has just happened to you. I am here for you my sweet babboober’s. Fuck cancer in the ass. This ride is not easy by any means. Almost every new step for me has started in tears for me. But you wipe them away and continue walking while trying not to get shit on your shoes.

 

 

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Badboob’s

When I began #badboob 128 days ago I had no idea what the fuck I was going to blog about. Hell, it’s evident by my rambly sentences & awful typos, I still don’t know what to blog about.

Yet here I sit.
And here you read.
I knew I wanted to tell my journey with breast cancer.
In my words.
With my truths, observations & shit about life.
My bitch boob developed cancers, fucking plural.
104 days ago, cancer tit had to go.
I am currently undergoing reconstruction via expander method.

For the most part, feedback regarding #badboob has been overwhelmingly positive.I honestly had no idea so many  would want to read about my cancer journey, but each week almost 500 of you fuckers click my link. Thank you. I love hearing from you….your stories of lump discovery…your stories of a loved ones breast cancer….how you cry and then laugh whilst reading my ramblings…..how you read my blog to your significant other, and he enjoys it.

Obv, my writings aren’t for all. And you know what? You don’t have to read this shit. No one has to read it. I am writing to release the poisons from my mind. If no one reads, so be it. If every motherfucker reads, bonus! As I stated when I began this blog, my story is no better than yours, I just happen to be chronicling this particular journey with breast cancer at the mo. Some of you just happen to be reading my shit. And shit is what I write about, among other topics. What sort of boring cunts would we be if we all had the same thoughts and interested in same boring shit?  Kinda glad we’re not all Stepford & shit.

Last week was decent. It finally felt as if my chemo-fog was lifting. I could see the sun again. I felt the spring air. I shared laughs and went exploring with my sweet baboo.

And ya know that 20 pounds I mentioned gaining since my surgery? I think I’ve shat it all out! See kids, one plus to having had undergone chemotherapy the last nine weeks is anything in your body will swiftly be pushed out by the poison. Only nine more weeks of treatments left. Since I feel as if I’ve already flushed my large intestine, I suspect I’ll weigh about 45 pounds when I finally reach the fucking finish line on May 20. [insert winky face emoticon]

You learn a lot about yourself when you experience a life changing event. You will do things you never thought possible, your mind will take you to some very dark places; almost fooling you into staying rather than trying to find your way back. I have never, ever felt such depression in my life. You learn a lot about others compassion toward you when you experience a life changing event as well. Friends you thought would always be there for you suddenly show their fucking true colors, leaving you with one less ally while shaking your head wondering what the fuck. Then you have your friends you always knew would be there, some bonds even strengthened during this time of crisis. Others you will form bonds with and become instantly inseparable as your journeys are so close. You will find friendships and support in places you didn’t know existed but are forever grateful to have connected.New friendships offer new perspectives. During time of recovery, new perspectives are extremely important for growth and full recovery.

I’ll forever be indebted to those who have offered words of encouragement, support, sent gift cards, made meals, just let me cry on your shoulder or watched my sweet babboo during the day or overnight-most helpful especially days I can’t even get up or walk without vomiting or shitting on myself on days 3-10 after a chemo infusion.

Nothing about breast cancer has been fun. Losing my tits a month after I turned 42 fucking sucks. Losing my hair because of chemotherapy fucking sucks. Losing days at a time due to toxic sickness fucking sucks. Never once have I said ‘why me’. Know why? Shit happens. Life sucks. Thankfully, Mr. Badboob has been by my side since day 1 of my cancer diagnosis. If you’re fortunate enough, you will find your own Mr. Badboob to help navigate the sea of fucked-upness.

This week I get the bewbs filled again, the last fill I hope. These fuckers are already bigger than I wanted and most uncomfortable. I will also receive chemo infusion number 4-Oh happy happy joy joy.

Thank you to each and everyone of you motherfuckers who have reached out to us. I appreciate it and love y0ur fucking guts so hard.

Be kind. xx

Wow Mom, Your Boobs Are Getting Really Big

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

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

Goddamn you cancer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey You Empty Promise Fuckers,

Stop that shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

I Tossed My Out My Spanx In Haste

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Make a good one!