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.

 

 

 

 

 

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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!

Hey, Stifler, How’s The “Pale Ale”?

Where the hell is page one and why do I keep losing it? Seriously, I’ve spent the entire goddamned weekend filling out financial forms and bullshit; and goddammit page one keeps disappearing from me–grr.

Hey girls instant trick to looking thin–Have your 30ff’s sliced off your chest; voila! Instant slimming–So fucking strange to see my clothes in my body now. The fuck has happened to me?  Our family?  What happened to my little piece of mind from the 90’s that remained intact–Fucking cancer….That’s what happened….motherfuckinfucker

This weekend I spent time compiling binder of all the paper work since this rather unfortunate detour of breast cancer occurred. If I can get my my mind off the financial aspect of cancer & quit worrying about the shit, I’m sure my well being will begin to improve.

My husband and five year old completely pampered my Saturday by filing, buffing & painting my nails. FullSizeRender (4)

My five did a fanfuckintastic job with my toes. xoxox

Okay kids, I’ve said this a thousand times already–still can not believe I found the cancer so early as I never felt sick. TBT – I’m beginning to dread the thought of chemo & other treatments required to keep my body healthy. Oncologist did say she has no problem prescribing cannabinoids for me once treatments begin. Having known many friends and family that have used this medicine in conjunction with other med’s and knowing their results were favorable, puts me at ease; just slightly mind you.

One day at a time
One step at a time
Lots of tears

I was able to bathe this weekend [almost by completely by myself]. Candles were lit and smelling lovely. It was such a joy just to soak in the water, trying not to look at my deformed chest, trying to choke back the tears….The site of my body saddens me, immensely. I am so grateful for my husband that will listen and help talk me back to ‘reality’ when I begin flipping out. And I know this is temporary, but it’s still a mind fuck….I know I’ll have a beautiful reconstructed chest, but that does not help my mind or mental well being at the mo.

I’d been under the impression post-masecto chest’s were completely flat & concave. Not sure if it’s the expanders or what, but I’m not completely flat [almost], but I’m terribly lopsided. I hope this will change when I see the plastic surgeon 1/19/16 and get my first fill-up. This process I’m still learning about—the fill-ups, wait time, removal of expanders and eventual insertion of the silicone boob.

Each woman/man deals and reacts to breast cancer in their own way, respectably. I do not feel ashamed or embarrassed by how I look. Unfortunately, many women do. Matter of fact, I’m still wearing all my tank tops etc. I had many tank tops that never fit, no matter how much weight I lost, guess what? with no tits, they fit now….A crazy thing I have noticed though, after the shower/bath I used to pick up my boobs and dry underneath. Guess what kids, with no boobage, there is nothing to pick up & dry–mind totally fucking blown. I know this reconstruction process should take 4-6 months [from what I’ve read], by then I should have dropped the weight that decided to attach itself back to me-damn pounds. *shakes fist* stay off my ass & my stomach damn whore weight!

I still have so much swelling and discomfort, 20 days later, but am told it’s all normal. I am healing as I should be. Sleeping is getting better. But cancer has still robbed us of so much, especially intimacy–which I know will resume to normalcy.

I post this blog to the #badboob Facebook page & my own personal page, will get away from posting on personal page; but curious to know if you, the readers, would be interested in a cancer haver/survivor support group via Facebook? It wold be a private group, obv…..but a good place for us to vent, talk, cry, laugh, etc…..

Now off to finish filling out the financial aid paperwork for upcoming prescriptions and bullshit.

 

 

Boob, You Are Grounded!

The moment I found the lump in my breast, I just knew….I knew the lump was cancer, that fucking sneaky ass bastard, stepped right in and began weaving it’s cancerous cells throughout my breast.

Bitch, you are grounded! Get in that fucking corner and don’t get out. 

     I learned I have cancer diagnosis five days ago. 
     I learned I would be losing my breasts four days ago.

This is what I’ve learned in the past five days :

My cancer has a name. It’s Stupid Fucking Asshole, or in medical terms it’s Invasive Ductile Cancer.

  • I know breast cancer is the most common of the cancers.
  • I know it’s treatable, with little to no occurrence.
  • I know I will kick those five tumors asses so hard.
  • I know my husband and family are holding my hand the entire journey.
  • I know my breasts will be removed before Christmas as the tumors are growing rapidly.
  • Radiation will follow as well as 5-10 years of tamoxifen & possible chemo.

Not only am I concerned for the very near future, I am concerned for the bills that will begin to mount. Bad boob be gone. Cancer boob, get the fuck outta here. Medically and scientifically, I’m sure I’ll recover to live a relative normal life. Though those who know me, know I am not normal.

Because, guess what kids? This chick has no insurance. Ludicrous you say. Unbelievable you may say. Truth I say. I am fortunate in the fact that I found a phenomenal breast disease surgeon, Dr. Lisa Tolnitch, MD, FACS. She has agreed to perform my cancer removal, free of charge. A charity case if you will. I hate the term, I do, but fuckit.  The relief that flooded my heart was overwhelming. I will literally owe my healthy life to Dr. Tolnitch. At a harrowing time such as this, it’s a great relief to know there are kind souls, willing and able souls to help those.

Obligatory funding link insertion here.

Bad boob be gone. Cancer boob, get the fuck outta here.