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.

 

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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

Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay

plucking chin hairs again…Looks like I’m not going to get it today…That bastard couldn’t wait to begin production again instead of wasting time….

See the thing with this blog is, I usually forget what I’m going to blather on about. I have kick-ass thoughts & shit, thinking ‘yes I must add this’, but know what folks? My short-term memory is shit, therefore I spend hours trying to remember to no avail. So here we are with a total off the cuff blog, with one big ass run on sentence. And then once I hit publish, that perfect fucking title will come back to me….I should jot my ideas down…..

Chemo has:

  • made me love and appreciate my family more
  • cured my bad hair life
  • curbed my drinking
  • made me cuss like a motherfucking goddamned sailor, joke…I’ve always talked this way. 
  • strengthen my bond with Mr. Badboob
  • broken bonds I thought would never break
  • traumatized me beyond belief

Let me give you the numbers run down, for those of you new to blog….found lump in my tit 293 days ago, my  boobs were then removed 284 days ago….Then chemo, hysterectomy & new tit exchange took place six weeks ago.

We’re approaching the one year since lump discovery and with chemo behind me, my mind has been really reviewing the events from the past month….I’m really starting to freak out. Why? Cancer is gone. Treatments are over. Now that I’m not obsessed with next phase of cancer  removal, my brain has a lot of free fucking time.

#Badboob has connected to me to so many fanfucktastic women, for that I’m grateful. I’m not pleased with the fact all my connections have been because we have toxicty trying to kill us….But with support, it’s so much easier. There is not right or wrong way to deal with cancer. Some take it, beat it, move on. Some rely on their faith to guide them. Others deal with getting all those crazy ass thoughts out on the screen in hopes others will see and know they aren’t alone. When I first began regaling the tale of my fucking badboob, thanks to Mr. Badboob’s insistence, I had no idea what would come of it. I just knew I had a large social media presence and wasn’t afraid to say what I felt, in my own real & raw words. I’ve talked shit about everything and everyone in this thing over the past few months. But it’s all here, for you to read. So you don’t have to talk behind my back….fuck you if you are…my feelings, crass as my descriptions may be, don’t affect my parenting or wifing.

I’ve had time to think about what has happened to me and my family. I mean really think. It’s been the most trying time. But we made it. Now for me to get my head out of my mind and use my energies for good. If I stay where I am, I’ll never fully ‘recover’. I know on the outside I appear normal enough, I’m not. It’s ok to ask questions. I’ve discovered the small things with sweet babboo. We’ve had an incredible summer exploring and shit.

I have a skewed vision of the world and goddamnit, I’m fine with that, I embrace that shit!
I’m living!
Not hiding anymore to spare your feelings.
This is my story. My fight goddamnit.

To those newly diagnosed finding yourselves here, hello and welcome to #badboob.

 

 

And Then She Was At Peace

Free from pain. 
Free from sorrow.
Free from life.
Able to soar high above and guide us….

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve talked to you guys. A lot of shit has happened. A lot of sadness. A lot of smiles.

My circle of friends lost a beautiful soul this past Friday. Jo’s story, struggle & grace hit close to home for so many. We’d become friends before either of us knew we’d have breast cancer. Just a bunch of silly tweeters playing in the sea of anonymity that was twitter. Eventually a lot of us gravitated back to Facebook, and that’s when our friendship really blossomed.

I’m well into recovery, it’s been 83 days since my last chemo; thank fuck…Hell you may have even seen me ‘brushing’ my hair earlier in the week with that silly ass toothbrush. Laugh if you will, but that toothbrush felt so fucking good on my head. I’d tried a regular comb, but there were some stray fuckers that would not lay properly under my glasses. So I MacGyver’ed a brush….and boom! We have a toothbrush for my post chemo head. I’m only 24 days out from hysterectomy and new tit exchange.

Physically feeling pretty good. The noobies are a bit sore, the scarring isn’t pretty, but they are no longer toxic and I have my life. Which brings me back to the survivors guilt….Especially with Jo’s transition. My mind is all over the place. Happy one mo, crying the next….I’ve always been a bit emotional, crying at silly shit~but sans my lady bits, I feel more batshit crazy. That hysterectomy sucked ovaries….lolz….

I was reminded, by Jo, that one’s problems shouldn’t outshine or diminish the other’s. We all have shit to deal with. We will all deal differently. I admire her strength so much….I  will continue to look toward Joanna for inspiration on days I feel I can not continue……I know I only had stage one cancer and should consider myself lucky. goddammit skippy, I feel lucky as fuck….

But the thing that some don’t realize is even after the stitches fully dissolve, you’re left with the aftermath. In my case, I happen to be looking at some fantastic fake boobs, with vertical scarring from one side to the other. I will always see the scar first. I’ll always remember being traumatized and terrified. I’ll always remember Mr. Badboob holding my hand, putting my fears to rest….TBT, I’d still rather my own NatGeo’s and not have gone through this ordeal. But I have… And many of you have decided  to come along for the ride. You even stayed in the car when I began to veer and slide off said road. A few of jumped out of the fucking car the first chance they could, leaving gaping holes in my heart.

But I must look ahead for my own peace of mind. If I continue looking back second guessing myself, actions, words, I’ll never recover. My family needs me here, now….I don’t have anymore time to wonder why you reacted to me in such a harsh way…..It’s your life fuckers, live it how you want. Keep your toxicity to yourselves, I’m sick enough. 

Now that I’m finally on this side of recovery, I plan to #raiseawarenessraisehell with my #badboob story. I’ve got lots of projects planned, inspired by my stint with breast cancer, obv, but inspired none the less. I will not be shushed, well if I am shushed I’m gonna tell you to fuck off buddy. There is too much sickness out there. Too many people, young & old, with cancer.

We need to find a fucking cure already and put an end to the destruction it has caused.

“Look Mom, A Girl With No Hair.”

Yes honey I see that. She has cancer, the mom replied.  When people have cancer, they have to go through chemotherapy.  And with chemo sweetie, they get really sick and most lose their hair like that girl….aw, shucks….42 and they are calling me a girl….thanks for making my day sweet mom at target for explaining to your little girl about cancer and for thinking I was a kid.

My incisions are fucking frowning at me. Why is this so? Seriously, at the incision site, the lines are rounded down in a frownward motion. Are they mad at me for having doctors mutilate and hack at them? They do not like the breast muscle tissue expander either. Do all post mastecto chests frown? Or is is just mine? This is serious shit, I need answers.

Stretch marks from the breast tissue expansion. Weird. Why is this so? I had so much skin to work with [hello, NatGeo]….only to cut, toss in trash [bye bye nipples] and begin stretching my skin again.

Where have my nipples gone?
What barge are they decaying on?

I have totally faith in the plastic surgeon’s ability….but damn….you really do need to be a patient patient for the good shit to happen and my chest muscles to finish expanding. As much as I hate the discomfort from the expanders, I’m glad I have a competent surgeon….hopefully I’ll have two, not three or four boobs when he is done. I’m ready to be able to feel my arms, chest, under arm & side boob again. Shit’s still numb & sore. It’s a surreal experience showering and not knowing if I’m really washing my body. Let’s not forget the goddamned power port making my life even more miserable. Blah blah blah….bitch bitch bitch….Not necessarily bitching….Just telling my story as I see it….
Will implants frown or smile? I hope like fuck those bitches will be smiling. I know I will be. As the surgery is one of the last steps in my breast cancer journey. In just 21 days, the plastic surgeon will work his magic sculpting my new boobs!! I must say, I am pretty fucking excited to have the reduction I’ve always wanted. My excitement is growing everyday.

I will be entering the autumn of my life with kick ass cancer free tits! If I choose nipples, there will be one more procedure with him. But, I’ve already begun thinking of a beautiful post-masecto piece- pretty sure that’s the route I’ll be going.

How much do the expanders weigh now? His much will the implants weigh? Well I googled that shit and right now the expanders are adding a little over two pounds to my frame.

My hair growth is going well, considering I was  more or less hairless a little over a month ago. I received my last chemo infusion 38 days ago. You can tell by this picture, just how much hair has actually grown in. I’m such a lovely vision of beauty. [snort….sarcastic eye roll inserted here] I’m still a hot fucking mess….I know with surgery less than a month a way, I’ll be a bigger, hotter mess. Ha, with my mastectomy, I was concerned because I had to completely disrobe prior to surgery, I was worried about the baby-slide.  So I shaved and got razor rash…..grrr….anyhoo….I’m not going to stress about the meat curtains as the surgeon is removing all baby making materials….
Still hard to fathom that 230 days ago Mr. Badboob and I received life altering news. The in-laws happened to be visiting us that day. So glad to have had all the love, support & shoulders to lean on from day one. Two hundred and thirty fucking days ago….goddammit. The online support has been more than tremendous. Each day I feel I get a little closer to some of you. The girl power is strong in my group of friends. We are carefully building each other up, to ensure we become the best possible in this fucked up world.

From my misty eyes to yours. Make it a good one.

And for fucks sake, feel yourself ladies. Have your man feel your boobs. Men, you can get breast cancer too….check yourselves.
 

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.

 

 

 

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

 

 

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

 

 

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!