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. 

 

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. 

My Mind is Calm, My Strength Improving……

Day by day. Step by step. Tear by tear……

When you’re so weak cant even hock a loogie properly, that’s a damn shame. When you’re so weak, you take tissue to your face, knowing you can’t spit. When you’re so weak, you air dry over the toilet, knowing you can barely wipe. When you’re so weak, bowels need emptying and you can’t push. You can’t cry. You can’t do anything but sit, rock, and stare. Wait. Wait for the viscous chemo to finish it’s course. That’s the best I can describe the hell that is chemotherapy. 

Also, I wanted to know who takes the weight from their implants off total body weight. These fuckers are practically four pounds, I think I’m allowed to subtract that almost four pounds from the number the scale spits out at me. I mean, fuck, why not right? Then one could argue you can subtract weight of brain…but that would be foolish. The implants are an add-on…So my weight will be what ever the scale reads minus four pounds.

About three weeks ago, I felt my implant shift!!! This development is exciting as hell!! For months I was so down and depressed over the way my reconstruction turned out. It made such a huge impact on my sense of self, I was devastated and crushed about my results. I even went so far as to consult a second opinion to correct the damage (or what I perceived as damage) to my newly designed tits.

So anyway, the implant shifted and my mood lifted. I shit you not! Just like that. I recall the time and all. The moment it slid into place, my brain opened up and allowed all the light back in!!! Have you ever been blue and out of nowhere your mood breaks? That’s exactly what happened to me!!!! {snoopy dance}

Naturally I call the surgeons office and tell them of my good news and ask what I should do to keep it in place… Whatever you’ve been doing is fine…..Uh….no, it just now shifted after six months. Instead of fucking around and have that baby slide back to my armpit, I picked up an ace-bandage and wrapped my chest for three weeks, treating the boob like a new surgery. My muscle was a bit sore when it slid, still is now…..But they are even!!!! Huge on my tiny frame………….But even!!!!! First time I put bandage on, it took two inches off my chest. Yes, I do measure all….

Trying to get back in the saddle has been a bit difficult. Each time I feel better, I run 1000 miles an hour to complete all the shit that hasn’t been done in months. Then boom, fucking sick again. GRRRRRRRRR Just let me be well enough to dust my fucking house. I swear, I can smell the dust….lol…It’s making my issues worse. Getting back into my beauty routine with my Jenu. Omg, have you tried it?? You NEED to. My face and neck went through the ringer in chemo; needless to say my face is restored and shining brighter than ever! 

Ladies that shave….ugh…chemo has rendered my freezing all the fucking time. If I shave, which is rare, I’ll get goose bumps and have to shave right then, again. So you know when you shave your toes and inadvertently leave that one sprout behind and when you walk you can feel the little hair wave as you walk creating a super creepy feeling. Does that happen to anyone, or is it just me. When preparing your cancer and chemo toiletries, you can forget the razor. Buy some nair. Stray hairs will be the least of your worries until treatment is finished.

I’ve got so many grand ideas regarding #badboob and the direction I wish to go, but broke. Any investors out there willing to take a gamble? hmu 
I have such a sense of pride when the newly diagnosed reach out to me. I mean, I hate it because cancer and shit. But, if I can help, especially with this beast of a fucker; then I’m there. No questions. I support you and all your choices.

By now almost everyone reading this has heard early detection can save lives. It’s true af. The moment you feel a lump, get checked. If you don’t have cancer, fucking great; out $50 for a co-pay. But if you do have cancer, you’ve potentially saved yourself from much harm. Once that cancer latches on, that bitch will not stop until it brings you down. All the way fucking down.

And finally. Be nice to each other. There are very real concerns for our world and state of America. We must unite, put our differences to the side and join arms.

You like vanilla.
I like chocolate.
That’s never destroyed a friendship.
Why should it now?

#badboob out

 

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

Dude, Where’s My Boob?

Here I sit in the hospital bed–cancer free!!

Remember the celebratory ass-slaps & high-fives I spoke of a few times? Well now is the time kids! Slap that ass nearest to you and give your buddy a high-five bitches. 

Holy fuckamorolee what a goddamned ride that was….Now onto healing, recovery and treatment. My sentinel nodes came back clean, which is a very good thing. I’ve yet to talk to oncology to find specific course of action. That will be upon analyzing the tumors. I should have complete pathology report Monday.

I actually have more mobility than I thought I would.  I’m not quite sure what I expected to feel like after surgery–other than traumatized over the fact I had to lose my breasts–I know, I know–There’s your reconstruction Tara.  Der….This I know…But still….Ya know…. Fucking Cancer….I will forever be changed….I am also alive!!

Now that the cancer has been extracted, I’m going to try getting excited about the reduction. Cause guess what? I’ve been reduced. In a big fucking way.

There are some that dream of breast enlargement & some dreaming of reductions. I was in the latter boat. The fake boobs are not installed yet. Expanders were put into me to begin the stretching process. It’ll be a few months until they’re up and ready to go. [insert winky face here]

I knew I was receiving a shitton of prayers, healing vibes & positive energies from around the world yesterday…I felt them all….All the loves…. All the hugs.. All the cries….All the concern….I felt it all….I still feel the positivity now or that could be the pain medication. Fuck if I know. Thank you all for cheering me and the family on for the past 30 days. Everyone has been so great and upbeat….I had no choice but to remain positive myself. I appreciate you guys more than I can ever put to pen.

If all my stats still look good, I should be on my way home later this evening. We will be counting down the minutes till Santa’s arrival courtesy of the NORAD Tracker. Currently there are 21 hours until Santa departs the North Pole guys!! My gift has already arrived. At the skilled hands of the surgeons yesterday, they full-fulled  the two items on my Christmas wish list!   I am cancer free kids and I’ll be home celebrating with my family in the house of peen.

Hmmm-will #badboob continue,  you want to know? It’s no longer a bad boob, that bitch boob was kicked out into the rain….Blogging about this  ordeal has been  extremely helpful for me; by allowing  me to vent and get shit off my chest [see what I did there?], more so than I thought it would.

xoxo

*This post may be filled with more typos & shit than normal*

 

 

I Don’t Know

I don’t know why Boston stinks Sul.

I don’t know why your ear is itchy Sul.

I don’t know what that squirrel is doing out there Sul. 

I don’t know why your butt itches Sul – [well I do boy, cause you need to wipe your ass. It’s your butt, your poop. I have my own to take care of. ]

I don’t know if all the elves came last night to your friends. 

I don’t know how many cars are on the road.

I don’t know how Santa delivers all those gifts Sul – [well I do, but we’ll tell you that sorted tale at a later date.]

I don’t know why you can’t stick your finger through your brain Sul

I don’t know why you can’t leave me alone for a few minutes Sully…..

Yes, I do.

I am his mommy. Mommies are to love, cuddle, nurture and all that happy shit that goes into shaping this little human I helped to make.

Well baby,  mommy has cancer at the mo, and I barely function baby.

Then the the guilt washes over me.

Guilt?

Fuck you guilt.

The fuck? Why? Because of Cancer? That whore! How dare I feel guilty for needing a moment in life to have a cry about shit, but I do because I’m a good mommy (or try to be).

Logical me knows this will be over soon.

Emotional me is still freaking the fuck out. Tissues balled. Tears wiped. xx

peace and love

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob