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

 

So, You’re Going Through Chemo?

Yup
Your hair is going to fall out?
Yup
That sucks
Pretty Much

today

So yes, I’ve been pretty much been waiting for that shit to fall out since my first chemo infusion 2/5/16.

Forward to day 14 after the first TC Chemotherapy Infusion aaaand my hair begins to fall the fuck out…right there in the fucking shower…sliding down my back….sliding down my legs….I knew it….You knew it….Those who will be undergoing chemo will experience it….watch the fuck out I say….yes the pubes…all the pube & pit hair too….I knew this phenomena would not happen the first day of chemofuckingtherapy. Day 13 they say the hair will begin to fall from the scalp. And of course, they called it.There was no way I could avoid losing m hair. I’d been sweating it and freaking out all week. Those who were there for me via text/talking to help talk me off the ledge, I appreciate you so very much. Sunday afternoon and fuck this shit! Mr. Badboob will you shave my head? Of course he obliged.

And holyfuck me
What a mindfuck
It looks decent enough
I look decent enough
You fuckers are all too sweet to excancer girl
with all your flattering comments & shit.
xoxo

Mouth Sores? Try Magic Mouthwash, they say. Magic mouthwash my goddamned ass. I had such high expectations in my mind regarding this magic mouthwash. I just knew it would relieve the burnt feeling my mouth has since receiving my first chemo infusion. I never actually got mouth sores. Rather, my mouth burned, like a motherfucker. It felt as if I’d sucked on a lemonhead for hours and my mouth got puckier burnt. For a few days last week, nothing could relieve it. Especially not that fucking devil’s mouthwash goddammit.We shall see how infusion number two affects me this Friday–oh happy, happy, fucking joy, joy.

At 56 days post mastectomy, I received my third expander fill. Another 90 cc’s. We talked of my volume, expectations & shit. I’m going small this time around. No more fucking NatGeo’s for me, thank you. And after living with the last fill this week, I’m honestly happy with my size now. But since there are expanders beneath my pecs, I won’t know how I will look after the new tit exchange later this spring [that’s big fucking source of anxiety too. obv]. They sit higher & wider than implants and it’s quite bizarre- they expanders are very booblike the plastic surgeon says–uhm, no shit buddy. My chest big & boxy–or at least feel that way-like a goddamned linebacker I am.

Positive – I did begin working out again this week. This is a huge accomplishment for me. As I’ve sat on my ass recovering long enough & I’m ready to feel toned & good again. Do you know that it’s possible to gain weight while on chemo? The fuck? I know!! How in the actual fuck of fucks does one gain weight during chemotherapy? Idk….but I have…a fuckton of weight too…not 2 or 3 pounds….but over 10….I kid you not….so while I’m so glad chemo is not the puke-fest from Stand By Me….I did not want to have to get used to seeing yet another form of my fat & deformed body in the mirror while recovering….goddamn you breast cancer.

I had to ask what to use as clothing because I had no idea how to dress this expander chest, goddammit. Sweatshirts were the general consensus which brought me to Ross and waiting an hour in their fucking check out line & sweet friends who had delivered some sweatshirts to me. I’ve got some of you bringing me scarves, hats & shit too–thank you all; for everything.

Friday the 26th I will be sitting in the chemo suite at the Duke Cancer Center. This will be infusion number two of four.The port is healed and hopefully the lidocaine cream will work it’s magic again on the power port. I should not feel a thing. Nor should I need any extra sticks. That’s the point of the port, one easy to use access point.

Make it a good one.

Get off your ass and explore it all

 

 

Hate To Break It To You, But Girls Do Poo

10 days after my first chemotherapy infusion and I’m still feeling uneasy. It’s difficult to articulate while keeping it within the realm of understanding for the mere mortals that roam the earth aimlessly. I really don’t know what the fuck that is to mean, I wrote it yesterday and kinda like it. Just need to bring it back home for the point and score.  I can say it is not the puke fest I imagined it would be.

Some days it feels as if I’ve given birth to a potato…the chemolaced poos are no joke….goddammit….don’t say you’ve never felt that relief of dropping a deuce so solid it brought a tear to your face…[insert crying emoticon here]….I know you have….at least one time….I once smelled a chemo-poo & thought I’d smelled death….That fucker lingered for hours…Seriously, it was so putrid. I had no idea smells like that could be emitted from the human body. And no, it was not mine. At that moment in time, I could only hope to never have to endure that in the bathroom, well guess what, little miss TC chemo regimen, your poo smells like death.  And other days, it feels like my ass is vomiting…oh joy….fuck….I know  this is a lot to digest in this paragraph…So moving on….

Do you know what happens to a five year old & a pair of scissors left unattended for four 1/2 minutes? He gives himself a Dwight Shrute. No shit, my sweet baboo looks like Dwight from The fucking Office, poor fucker. lol We’ve yet to fix his head. It’s actually not that bad if you comb it over just right. [insert winky-face emoticon] Mr. Badboob cut and colored my hair crazy cool purples& blues one last time before it all falls out last night. We really should fix little Badboob’s Shrute too.

Tomorrow I’ll go to the plastic surgeon for expander fill #3. I think I’ll try 95 units cc with this fill. First was 100, and way too fucking much. Second, was 90 and I still felt relatively normal. Though it’s strange as fuck watching the expander fill before your eyes. Boom. Instant tits. Well, pecs at least, but it’s instant. I’m not sure how others feel, but I feel big and boxing and still clumsy as fuck. Chemo Brain. Lol. That’s a funny term. It’s given because the chemo drugs make you forgetful too. But if you’re also on a regimen of shit, you’re going to be forgetful . So there’s that.

The power port has finally settled itself the fuck down. Thank fuck. It’s still irritating as hell, but tolerable. The 26th will be my second chemo infusion session. This one should not last the four hours first one did, only about two hours, they say.

Not only is chemo excreted through your saliva & waste kids, it’s also released through your skin. Welp guess what kids? I’ve had bad fucking skin since I was 9. No lie. Every motherfucking school picture of me from Pre-K to graduation, there is a fever blister or pimple of some form or another glaring back at me, preserved forever. Gotta love that Scott/Irish blood, eh?  Goddammit, the last thing I want to be walking around with a boxy uneven chest, bald head and massive fucking pimples on my face at 42.

Oh , did I mention the nose bleeds and mouth sores yet? I feel like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia with my bloody post nasal drip and scratchy Demi Moore voice.

 

 

 

 

 

One Down Three To Go

Alright motherfucker’s shit has been real here.

This last week was crazy! Beginning with that suck ass early wake call-up rude bitch in our ears. Ending with my first of four chemo infusions. We were able to get together for a much overdue visit with family. Unfortunately I was feeling shitty & slept the better portion of the day away, but the boys had a good time.

This week I’ve felt all new feelings of pain and anxiety within my body and mind. It’s all so fucking crazy. And I swear this little power port fucker for chemo is going to crawl out of my body. It’s so goddamned foreign in there-der that’s why it’s being all stupid and shit. I seriously want to rip this bitch out.

Sleep has been crazy enough the past 48 days post masecto. With the port healing, sleep is even more uncomfortable.  Can you believe it’s been 48 days that I was under the knife and skilled hand of surgeons having my cancerous tit sliced off? I sure as fuck can’t believe it. I discovered the lump 90 days ago. 90 motherfucking days! If we were in Kindergarten, we’d be gearing up for our 100 day celebration of #badboob.

Though school is in session for 180 days, so why not mark the 90th day as the halfway point instead of day 100? Hmmm? Teachers please answer me this.

When they administer chemotherapy to you, you are instantly fed a new vocabulary and so many health hazards within the home. Holy fuckamorolee. The chemo is released by your fluids and waste. You are advised to stay away from meal prep of any sort for at least 48 hours after an infusion. It’s hardcore shit. How’s that for toxic thoughts?

They tell me I will feel a strange, explainable fatigue and not to fight it. Just lie down they say-ha right. That’s totally feasible with a five year old running a muck.  Good thing weather has been so gloomy, my sweet baboo loves cuddling in his sleeping bag with a hot mug of cocoa. Hopefully that course of action will prove successful over the next few days.

The thing with kids is that you’re sleep deprived from day one. Technically speaking, I’ve be deprived of sleep since 11/28/1994, so what’s another few months of deprivation, eh?

My chemo schedule is every 21 days, with my last one on April 8. Thinking in terms like that, it doesn’t seem too far away. Though I hear, from many people, that you don’t really know yourself until you go through chemo. You don’t know your strength or will. I’m determined as fuck to beat this shit right the fuck outta me.

By summertime my new tits should be installed and chemo will be an awful memory. In the meantime, I’m waiting for results to come back for my chances of ovarian cancer. I’ve just had new revelations into my family history, so it’s probably safe for me to assume I’ll need my lady bits ripped from my body too. We shall see.

Be kind. Love yourself. Love those around you.

 

I Have To Get Up When? Motherfuck!

4:52 am BEEP BEEP BEEP

Fuck’s sake, 4:52? The fuck is the alarm going off so goddamned early? ah, yeah–my port placement is happening in an hour and half….

Flash forward-5:10 am. I am sitting here at my lappy entering another quick bloggie before we begin our adventure {insert sarcastic eye roll here}. There is no make up to apply or hair to fix this morning, seeing as how I’ll be under sedation drooling on myself shortly. So, I’m actually surprised that it took me eight whole minutes to get ready.

They say this is a ‘simple’ out patient procedure. See kids, the thing with waking up at the fuck-this-shit-o-clock for hospital procedures, you are not to eat or drink anything past midnight; like a goddamned Gremilin. So no chocolate malt infused protein coffee for me this morning–the struggle is real fuckers.

With the threat of chemo looming overhead and taunting me to no end, I began researching chemo cold caps. Have you seen this technology yet? It is supposed to be worn during chemo infusions and the idea is that it freezes your hair follicles resulting in little to no hair loss, on your head anyway….I’m sold!…Thinking to myself. That is until I see the price associated with these magnificent little beasts. Then several friends went to amazon seeking cheaper cold caps. Yes, they do have an assortment, but those reviews are not too favorable. The ice keeps melting, or leaking or causing problems. The last thing I need is more problems once the chemo drip begins. We shall see what comes of it. I really don’t need to purchase a cap as I’ll only be using it four sessions, a loaner cold cap is what I’m seeking.

Oh yes, after we leave the hospital, around lunch time, they say….I’ll be headed to the plastic surgeon for my second saline fill. This should be fun as the last fill hand me immobilized for days after. Fingers crossed they release me with a good pain med today as I don’t think the tramadol’s will cut is for the next few days.

Mr. Badboob is waking Little Badboob at the mo. We packed his bag of hot wheels & electronics last night as they will be hanging out in the lobby during the port placement. Not exactly where we wanted our sweet baboo this morning, but eh, what are you going to do?

Just checked my stats: I first felt the lump 83 days ago. And my bilateral mastectomy was 41 days ago. It’s still such a mindfuck and some days so hard to wrap my head around all the information, paperwork and bullshit that goes along with cancer.

Make it a good one kids. Feel your boobs. Hug your family. Be kind.

28 Days Later

And I left the plastic surgeon’s office thinking that first fill-up was not that bad….holy fuck me! Boy was I mistaken! –I know I already bitched about this last post, but seriously, the expander method seems a bit barbaric to me. IDK about this–after living with double K cups and then most recently double F boobs, I may just stay right here with a sweet little A cup….We shall see.

So 28 days later, I received my oncotype score –while not too bad, it wasn’t the best–it was right in the middle. With a middle score, my oncologist presented me with many options. And in true Libra fashion, it took me a long time to deliberate. It was a long, long fucking weekend. I weighed the pro’s & con’s. I consulted with family & friends. I researched the chemo med’s she wanted to pump through my veins. I even had an extremely insightful call with Dr. Susan Love, those of you that know anything of breast cancer, know that Dr. Love is heralded as one of the best of best when it comes to breast cancer care, facts & recovery. I took everyone’s advice….and when oncology called, I told them to schedule my port placement. Le Sigh--Chemo port will be installed on 2/1/16.

Not gonna lie kids, chemo scares the ever living fuck out of me! Almost more so than have my breasts mutilated by cancer.

Today makes 35 days post bilateral mastectomy and I feel pretty good. Little Badboob and I will get motivated in a mo to take dog for a walk. It will be a balmy 60 degrees today, which is fucking insane, considering just days ago we were under a state of emergency due to the ice storm/blizzard that slammed the East Coast. We lost power for 25 hours, fortunately we have a gas fireplace and shitton of camping gear. Without missing a beat, Mr. Badboob had cooked up a full breakie replete with fresh made coffee during our power outage.

My chest swelling has pretty much subsided. Looking at my profile now, I feel like a prepubescent Tara. I have no boobs, just massive looking pec’s at the mo–pretty goddamned strange if you ask me.

I’m looking at 4 chemo treatments every 3 weeks, hopefully sometime late May or early June I’ll be able to look back at this long road and sigh with relief that I’ve made it. I hope that by going the chemo route, I’m not opening some sort of sneaky ass Pandora’s Box, my family history with illness is not the best. But I also know I must do all I can to preserve my health for myself and my family. A month after I turned 42, I found the fucking lump that literally changed my life. I’m hoping as I near my 43rd Birthday in October, I’ll still be able to declare that #cancerfree status….we shall see.

Local folks– I implore you to reach out to us during treatment times and watch my sweet baboo. From what I hear you feel fine during chemo. Then days 3-7 after, you feel like ass and don’t want to do shit. Those of you with small kids, know not doing shit is not an option–kids do not stop. I will need some relief, if only for a few hours at a time.

Now it is time for me to get off my ass and explore it all with dog and Little Badboob. Make it a good one!

I am Hanz And I Am Franz

And we are here to ‘Pump You Up‘–Holy fuckamorolee!

This is how I feel after my first saline fill-up in my breast tissue expansion process, like fucking Hanz & Franz with their overly buff bodies….I have read that it hurts….I have read some women stop before they reach their desired cup size….and fuck me….I can see why….the pressure is insane….I’m told the expansion process takes 4-6 months.

Here I am, two days after first fill & I’m crazy sore. It’s such an odd sensation really.  I’m told the pain subsides by the end of day two….waiting….Next fill is in two weeks, just in time for me to get used to my ‘new normal’ only to be pumped up again.

I have some hematoma action going on where #badboob once resided–all normal I am told. I’m healing nicely, I am told. Thank fuck for that glimpse of shiny lining.

Once my breast tissue is expanded to desired size, then I’ll go back under the knife to have the implants installed.  I found out I can choose between gel or silicone implants. For all the research I’ve done in the past 59 days, post cancer diagnosis, there is still so much shit I do not know about.

goddammit. fuck all. fuck cancer.

So, I’m looking at 4-6 months of saline fill-ups. Oh happy happy joy joy [another sarcastic eye roll here]…. walking around with a big square looking chest, those expander fuckers are not flattering in the least bit….wear loose tops….wear asymmetrical patterns….wear layers all the breast cancer, fucking feel good, books say.

And fuck it, if I wasn’t clumsy enough before, I know have to contend with walking into a wall, falling down, who the fuck knows what else, so I don’t pop these fuckers. The first question the nurses ask at every appointment is have I fallen recently? No has been my answer. But let’s face it guys, it’s only been 30 days since bilateral mastectomy….indubitably I will fall….graceful I am not….clumsy as fuck I am….happy I am not having to worry about remaining upright without toppling into something lke the goddamned spazz I am….

I’ll be deciding upon my treatment plan over the weekend.

Mr. Badboob and I will discuss pros and cons regarding my options. Obviously, I want to remain healthy and cancer-free. The decision will be tough, no doubt. My stomach has been in fucking knots since learning of my options.

Fortunately I’m still relatively young and healthy enough, so they say, to bounce back & not become a shell of my former self, so they say.

I continue to be humbled by all your guys’z support. Thank you everyone who has been here so far and to those that will be here for me in the future.

Now, time to get off my ass and walk the dog.

Oh, I don’t think I mentioned, I ‘jogged’, momentarily, for the first time post-op, when walking the dog….uhm…what a bizarre feeling that was. Before, I’d have to hold my boobs down just to walk so those fuckers wouldn’t suffocate me….you can imagine the challenges I faced while running….so bizarre to not live with the fear of knocking myself out via boob to the face anymore [snarky eye roll insertion].

 

 

Cancer Robbed Me….

cancer robbed me of a lot of goddamned shit.

Cancer robbed me of time with my youngest. I found the lump seven days after five’s birthday. 19 days later I would be in the hospital with doctors tearing into my breast tissue with their precision scalpels & shit. Those days leading up to surgery, I knew picking five up & giving him super-duper swirlaround hugs would be some of my last times actually doing this with him…..All children grow, this we know….Not all parents are going through recovery during those last days when your youngest is growing by leaps and bounds. I knew during my months of treatments & recovery & bullshit that goes along with cancer that I’d not be able to to this with him once I fully recovered, because he’ll have grown so much. Shit, months down the road, he’ll likely be taller than me. I cherished these hugs. I recited in my mind his smell, laughter & hugging back. I inhaled his essence….knowing that cancer will be behind us one day….months from now….years from now….this nightmare would be a distant but life changing event….he’ll continue reach up to my chest every now and again asking how my boobs feel or if that’s where my boobs were….he’ll tell the cashier at he grocery store “go to hashtag badboob if you want to read about my mommies cancer”….ha!….what a sweet and loving little boy….I know he’ll grow into a strong and compassionate man….he does, after all, have a two pretty damned good role models….While cancer has robbed me of picking him up, it hasn’t robbed me of loving him, harder, every day.

Cancer robbed me of intimacy. Not only with my spouse, but with myself. In the 60 days since the diagnostic mammogram, it’s mostly been fear and worry discussed between me and Mr. Badboob. It has robbed me of sleeping, quite comfy might I add, in the crook of his arm. Instead, the 27 days post-masecto I’ve been sleeping in a cushion of pillows, all but alienating him from my embrace….so unfair cancer is.

Cancer has robbed me of my tits. Fucks sake, I’m only 42–wasn’t quite ready to get rid of them….even if I’m getting new tits installed….it just won’t be the same. My upper portion of my body is still in quite a bit of pain….still gnarly bruised & shit….the hell they’d do? Sit their medical equipment atop me during surgery?….while I’m still in pain, I’m still numb at the same time….don’t know how many of you have seen post-masecto chests…ugh…at the mo, my breasts look awful….and to sucker punch me even harder….I have absolutely no sensation where my nipples were….I mean none….that skin that was once my breasts is gone and mostly likely that source of pleasure is gone….it just means me & the mister will get creative again with sensations and feel goods, when the time is right.

Cancer has robbed me of wanted to get up some days. It has robbed me of giving a shit about my appearance some days. It has robbed me of brushing my hair….though, tbt, since getting my hair cut short back in the summer….I’ve rarely brushed it….preferring to go with the ‘cute messy look’, but now, I hardly even bother with the dry shampoo….It has robbed me of so many simple pleasures, like simply sitting up–pain free. Or not having to peel a sports bra off my incision spots….for those of you that don’t know…the self-healing tape they use, sticks to your clothes….you must carefully peel off your affected area….nothing like receiving a kick while you’re down, eh?

While cancer has robbed me of so much, I do realize, it has strengthened some bonds. It has introduced a new dialogue in our home. We speak more. We hug more. We laugh more. And of course we cry more. Fuck you so very hard breast cancer!

Please for the love of fuck….check yourselves ladies….I was able to catch my breast cancer before it wreaked too much havoc within my body….besides the loss of boobs.

Cancer will not rob me of enjoying today.

 

 

It Started Out With A Lump….

How Did It End Up Like This?

Here I type 25 days post bilateral mastectomy.

Holy Shit! I still can not believe this is my life.

Breast Cancer Survivor has now been added to the list of many amazeball things [insert sarcastic eye roll here] I’ve accomplished.

A fucking survivor I am….goddammit!

It’s still hard to fathom I accidentally found the lump in a moment of intimacy, because I didn’t want my fucking boobs flopping around–now I have no boobs–That was 67 days ago for fuck’s sake. I do not tell you this story for pity. I simply tell this story to get these crazy thoughts outta my head. What a fucking mindfuck.

Tuesday, January the 19th will be a busy day for me and my #badboob. I go to the plastic surgeon, first real post-op appointment with him. The plastic surgeon did make his rounds the morning after surgery….fucking around 6:00am….Who the hell is up that early? Doctors and the medical workers that’s who….the real superhero of my story….I am not the hero. I did not remove the cancerous tumors from my breast, they did. I just laid there drooling under sedation & shit.

I will be receiving my first fill-up. Then onto the oncologist to learn of my cancer treatment plan.  Will I be on chemo via port or pill? Will I be on hormone replacement therapy for the next five to ten years? Fuck if I know. I mean, I will know Tuesday, but at the mo, I do not know, ya know? And fuck me if I’m one of those bitches that balloon to 600 pounds while on hormone replacement therapy~~Gah!!

I was told HRT users can sometimes go into early menopause…..this does excite me….just a tad….seeing as how my baby-slide has been closed for sometime & those pesky fucking periods are so yesterday….bring it on or better yet….free uterus to good home….only serious inquiries considered.

Local schools are on holiday this week and I’ve a new sitter lined up for five! I know they’ll do great! I’m relieved we found someone close enough and trusting enough to leave him with during these medically necessary appointments. We’ve done a few meet & greets & shit….those of you with children, you know how difficult it is to secure someone to watch your child.

Now to get all those fuckers scheduled for school holidays, I’ll be set.

With lack of boobs, I tend to slouch much more than I ever did. That, to me is such an odd sensation. I’ve hoisted those babies up for years….shoving them into ill fitted bras….straps that leave marks hours after bra has been taken off via secret pull through your tee shirt move….for years & years I’ve put up with those mammoth beasts….and now they are gone….soon to be replaced with implants….face palm….mind blown!