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

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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

“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.
 

Wow Mom, Your Boobs Are Getting Really Big

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

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

Goddamn you cancer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey You Empty Promise Fuckers,

Stop that shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

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.