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. 

 

Spoiler Alert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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.

 

 

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

Not Everyone Gets A Trophy In My House Boy….

Me to sweet babboo during our intensive Foosball game. Ha, he thinks I’m gonna let him win, nope he’s got to earn it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a hard ass. But I’m not going to let him win either….balance fuckers. We all need balance. 

And since I’m a Libra, I’m all about the balance. If you’ve seen my Fb or IG you may have noticed I’m all about those hashtags too.

When you’re going to start receiving chemo, you may have a bit of a freak out. I freaked the fuck out, bad. I cried every step in the infusion suite….But we know this is part of treatment. These toxins are to clear our bodies of any last remaining cancerous cells…

You’re going to be sick.
Sick as fuck.
You’ll be hungry, but can’t 
You’ll have to urinate, but can’t
You’ll want to sleep, but can’t
You’ll want to walk, but can’t
You’ll want to eat, but can’t
You’re going to be sick
Sick as fuck

For what seems like days, weeks, months, years…..when in reality it’s only been two and a half days….that’s how bad this shit fuck’s you up.

When I spit, I had to grab it with my hand…too weak to even rid my mouth of spit….

You think I exaggerate? Nope, not one lil deet. When you pee, you kinda let it drip (like the peens do) because you are too weak to even reach around and clean your pikachu….Yes, it’s that bad…no shit.

Forget ginger chews as the mouth sores rebel very quickly. Forget water, it hurts to swallow. I ate nerds. Boxes and Boxes of nerds…the big boy that’s a five serving…ha! One serving for me…yummy nerds.

It’s been 272 days since my bilateral mastectomy, and a few weeks since new tit exchange; you’d think at this point in the game I’d be able to look down at my self (my chest) and not cry, wrong…..When I shower, I do all I can to wash my fakeboobs in the quickest fashion. It’s so odd. Bizarre and sad. My boobs brought great enjoyment to me for many fucking years. Now I’m a clean slate. Still in my human skin, but a bit perky and nipple-less…Just the mere sight and I’m immediately reduced to tears. That gorgeous woman standing with me is Dr. Lisa Tolnitch of Carolina Breast Care; she saved my life December 22, 2015 by removing many tumors and two cancers from my left breast.

So those of you that have been here since day one, know I’ve bitched a lot. I also want you to know your bo,dies. Feel your boobs. Know your lumps, bumps…..I was unsure as to which direction I wanted to take this blog. Cause you know, cancer is gone, treatment is complete, new boobs in place….

We all know presecreening is essential to our health. Had I had a mammogram at 40, my cancer would have went undetected until my next mammo at 45….And while I did catch my cancers early on, there were still so many tumors a lumpectomy wasn’t an option for me….It may be for you.

Don’t let lack of insurance, fear of needle pricks or any other ism/excuse hold you back…if you find a lump, get that fucker checked out ASAP!!

K. Now for some goodshit…you know my pot of fucking gold……I thought my parting gift from the breast cancer game was fake tits…..wrong…..I’ll be one of ten featured models for Macy’s Model walk for strides against cancer! Yes you read that right! Me a model, for fuck sake!! So stoked to be a part of that. The models are encouraged to sell tickets and create a team…Team #badboob is currently in 18th position for The American Cancer Society, Greater Raleigh! So readers, boob feelers, friends I’m sharing my link with you here in hopes you’ll show some support be it monetary or sharing with your friends. I want Team #badboob to knock this #makingstridesagainstcancer walk so far outta the park. I know I can do it, with your help. Obv….

I‘ve raised over $235.00 this weekend…Not bad since the official American Cancer Society Making Strides Against Breast Cancer campaign hasn’t officially kicked off yet!
I’m asked to sell 4 seated tickets for family to watch my modeling gig….3 of the 4 have been purchased. If you’d like to help my family by purchasing that 4th seat, please submit $25.00 to my PayPal, firedaizey@gmail.com, monies will be turned into organizer during my fitting.

And….if anyone wants a #badboob shirt, let me know! We get free shipping on orders over 12!!
Donations For Team #badboob Here.

 

When You Find That Long Yellow Hair…

while going through your winter clothes and want to cunt punch cancer….

On the other hand; I’ve never had so many compliments on my ‘hair cut’. Seriously. Never. Men, women, all of them tell me it’s a great look ask me where I got it cut, etc, etc…..I tell them it’s new growth and they’re all oohs & ahhs…So I think I shall be rocking the ‘Ripley’ (of which I had to google) and a few comparisons to Eleven from Stranger Things, which is a kick ass fucking show—I’ll take it. And thank you for the kind words. After my bad hair life, glad to be able to enjoy this aspect, for the first time. Ever. 

Did I mention the mouth sores/metal mouth? Fucking brutal– Gah….It got so bad at one point you forget all the good times you’ve had, as you all you can focus on is the burn, or loss of taste-buds. Oh yeah, chemo affects your nails too. It’s been almost four months since my last chemo and my nails are still brownish and fucked up….oh yeah did I mention my internal plumbing thinks it’s still receiving chemo as my bowel movements have been more like rocket rides to space…..better leave that escape hatch open…Fortunately for me, the sores disappeared rather quickly and leaving my mind or being suppressed (I’ll decide late).

I was tired and lazy while on chemo. Not lazy like check Facebook an hour has passed lazy; like real life lazy. I was so weak I could not wipe when I pee’d or hock a fucking loogie…no strength at all. Felt as if I were in a goddamned horror movie where the heroine is trying to escape in a room of muck but gets stuck instead….no where to turn….sleep a few minutes on the floors. Who cares? I didn’t shower for days. I was in a hallucinogenic state, lack of nutrients….so many pills. Ladies do invest in personal wipes to keep your pickachu squeaky clean [insert cry laughing emoji here] as you’re not going to want to shower or any other fucking thing. Any little things to make the chemo process a bit easier.

Ladies, I found the perfect post masecto bra….the Genie bra. Seriously, it seems as if my life quest has been finding the perfect bra for my gigantor breasts, even with reconstruction, I’m still looking for good sports bras. All those fuckers are racer back style and always end up with my neck hurting. So, I took the plunge and bought the $9.99 Genie in the box…..Put that fucker on…..immediate love! My only gripe is I should have gotten a smaller size, but not in stock. The reviews state to go smaller as well. But, I fucking love it! It does lift, separate and support so much more than I anticipated!! Can’t wait to shove my breasticles into a small and see how comfy that is. You can step into it as opposed to pulling over your head. Arms and shit is already sore, need all the relief we can get. And my pits are still kinda numb and swollen from those expanders….

Oh yea, did you know you have to register your implants? I’m sure those who’ve had enhancements know this info, but I’d never heard or imagined such a thing. I realize it’s for replacement, recall or some shit. Check your tits. Have your partner check. Know your body, the bumps & lumps….be aware of what’s happening inside…you could possibly save your life with early detection. I did. I was never one for self checks, and I had lots of exploration….Those who aren’t sure how to check, contact your doctor, google, YouTube. I found the best way to check, after discovering those lumps, because you know I was obsessed with the tumors in my tit, I had to feel every single fucking day it was in my body, and best way for me was to bend over and feel around like that. Mine felt like an eraser tip from a pencil. It was not malleable…That set off more alarms. I’ve lost too many to this ugly disease, and yes I’m being greedy; I don’t want to lose any more of you fuckers. xx

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