I am Hanz And I Am Franz

And we are here to ‘Pump You Up‘–Holy fuckamorolee!

This is how I feel after my first saline fill-up in my breast tissue expansion process, like fucking Hanz & Franz with their overly buff bodies….I have read that it hurts….I have read some women stop before they reach their desired cup size….and fuck me….I can see why….the pressure is insane….I’m told the expansion process takes 4-6 months.

Here I am, two days after first fill & I’m crazy sore. It’s such an odd sensation really.  I’m told the pain subsides by the end of day two….waiting….Next fill is in two weeks, just in time for me to get used to my ‘new normal’ only to be pumped up again.

I have some hematoma action going on where #badboob once resided–all normal I am told. I’m healing nicely, I am told. Thank fuck for that glimpse of shiny lining.

Once my breast tissue is expanded to desired size, then I’ll go back under the knife to have the implants installed.  I found out I can choose between gel or silicone implants. For all the research I’ve done in the past 59 days, post cancer diagnosis, there is still so much shit I do not know about.

goddammit. fuck all. fuck cancer.

So, I’m looking at 4-6 months of saline fill-ups. Oh happy happy joy joy [another sarcastic eye roll here]…. walking around with a big square looking chest, those expander fuckers are not flattering in the least bit….wear loose tops….wear asymmetrical patterns….wear layers all the breast cancer, fucking feel good, books say.

And fuck it, if I wasn’t clumsy enough before, I know have to contend with walking into a wall, falling down, who the fuck knows what else, so I don’t pop these fuckers. The first question the nurses ask at every appointment is have I fallen recently? No has been my answer. But let’s face it guys, it’s only been 30 days since bilateral mastectomy….indubitably I will fall….graceful I am not….clumsy as fuck I am….happy I am not having to worry about remaining upright without toppling into something lke the goddamned spazz I am….

I’ll be deciding upon my treatment plan over the weekend.

Mr. Badboob and I will discuss pros and cons regarding my options. Obviously, I want to remain healthy and cancer-free. The decision will be tough, no doubt. My stomach has been in fucking knots since learning of my options.

Fortunately I’m still relatively young and healthy enough, so they say, to bounce back & not become a shell of my former self, so they say.

I continue to be humbled by all your guys’z support. Thank you everyone who has been here so far and to those that will be here for me in the future.

Now, time to get off my ass and walk the dog.

Oh, I don’t think I mentioned, I ‘jogged’, momentarily, for the first time post-op, when walking the dog….uhm…what a bizarre feeling that was. Before, I’d have to hold my boobs down just to walk so those fuckers wouldn’t suffocate me….you can imagine the challenges I faced while running….so bizarre to not live with the fear of knocking myself out via boob to the face anymore [snarky eye roll insertion].

 

 

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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!

 

Hey, Stifler, How’s The “Pale Ale”?

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

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

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

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

My five did a fanfuckintastic job with my toes. xoxox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Ready Or Not, Here I Come

You Can’t Hide
Gonna Find You and Take it Slowly

Those who could relate know the world ain’t cake….(the fugees)

41 days ago I found a lump in my breast.

32 days ago I learned I had breast cancer

1 fucking day both breasts will be removed.…motherfuck you cancer….goddammit….

8428 days ago Christopher and I declared our love for each other. [I realize that fact is in no way relevant to cancer. But I do love this app for keeping up with shit for me. As I’m normally scatterbrained or ‘free spirited’ as my hubby would say.]

Today I sit here, drinking my protein enriched coffee, reading some rather lovely posts & bullshit posts on FaceBook, strapped my 30ff’s into my bra for one of the last times….

Okay, cancer I get it, point made;  you’re a fucking bitch.

I know too many that have died or who are afflicted with this beast currently.

But really cancer, six tumors, my entire tit? That’s the most traumatic part for me to wrap my head around. It’s a dramatic goddamned turn of events. 

I, of all people know life is not easy, but goddammit tumors–couldn’t you have positioned yourselves close enough so all I’d require is a lumpectomy?

The cancer is only in one breast, but I am choosing a double mastectomy because I sure as fuck do not want to have to go through breast cancer again down the road.

Needless to say….I’m fucking paralyzed with fear. I’m a blubbering spastic goddamned mess today. I am going to try to enjoy the day to the fullest. Singing silly Christmas songs and playing who farted? the boy or the dog.

Today I will not let cancer take my joy.
Today I will not let cancer take my love.
Tomorrow I will let cancer take my breasts.
Tomorrow I will not let cancer take my life. 

Erm….Disrobe, Completely?

Fucking nude during surgery?
The fuck?
Damn.
You’re taking my tit’s.

At least spare me the decency & allow me to keep my babyslide covered.. Fucksake man. I know you gotta be sterilized and shit– but can’t you can spray me down with lysol & fabreeze before surgery, no?

I know in 6 days when I get up on the table at 1:30 all modesty will be discarded…..Surgery at 3:30 pm….They’ll put meds in my veins to knock my nervous crying ass out. Then do their thing….I’ve never had an actual surgery. Watching M.A.S.H. & Nurse Jackie none of those patients flipped out about having to be nude. They doctor’s were all drunk & high and hardly any of their patients died….So I got that going for me.

It’s enough I’m losing my boobs after so many years with them. All the up & downs, spills, cries, lopsided days, captured snacks with my bra meals for my children, awkward seatbelt position….Ah I could go on. Oh boob, you scamp! Just give me a pair granny panties or some shit.

The double mastectomy and reconstruction should take 3.5 hours [if all goes to plan] then I’ll be onto recovery approximately 8pm….The mom in me is thinking how late in the evening this will be for a five year old to be running around the hospital with my older manchildren and husband. That gets me weepy. Crazy right. I have cancer. All I can think is how this is going to fuck everyone else’s schedule up…..Breathe Tara….Relax Tara….It’ll be okay Tara….We have no family nearby. So he will be running around hospital with us, just as he did when we lost Jackson.

Not the best place for a child. But you do what you have to do. Right?  Then there’s that fucking guilt again. Mom guilt? Not sure. I feel selfish knowing they’ll be there waiting for me so late in evening. The mind is a dangerous thing kids. It takes you places you totally don’t need to go. I know those thoughts are silly. Most importantly my family wants me cancer-free. They don’t give a fuck what time of day this occurs. Neither should I.

GAH!! FUCK YOU CANCER

6 days till showtime kids

xx

 

 

Are You Fucking Kidding Me

Fuck you cancer.
Eight more days cancer and your ass [my boobs] are herstory.

While I know my cancer isn’t terminal, at least not this go round, I do have friends that are living with terminal cancer. The fuck? They are living with terminal cancer. I am living with cancer. And who the fuck knows what you [reading this] are living with.

But we live with & go on with shit that is thrown our way. With life. Fucking dodging shit at every turn until we find that tree to hide behind and catch our breath.

We as humans are a miraculous lot of bastards. If you don’t keep going you’ll fall down. Who the fuck wants that in life? We may stumble a bit but fuck that’s some of the good times. Those life stumbles….ya know?

So you’re hit and boom….11 days till Christmas–stocking stuffers & shit still needs to be santa’ed–cause I know I’ll be recovering on Christmas-cancer free. Shit I’m not even sure I’m sending cards this year.  {Then there are oil changes, tire rotations and all that shit. Yeah, that’ll probably delayed till after the New Year. Those that have just hit with that fucking monkey wrench, I can relate….totally} Things. Bullshit. We all have it. Mine is no different or important than yours.

I looked in the mirror today….really looked the first time in 21 days….erm, cancer….the fuck you do to me? I notice my eyebrows are getting a little shifty….hell my eyebrows are sparse enough now….curious to see how the treatments will make them. The hell will I to pluck then?….wrinkles like a mofo….need to replenish my water supply due to the uncontrollable stream of tears that….why the fuck does my shoulder hurt so?….why does it feel like I have an earache, but not really?….Oh cancer, you scamp….is that how your’re affecting me making me feel like I’ve got palsy…..eight days bitch….damn you bad boob….affecting every other aspect in my life too….fuck off cancer.

I am more than aware it’s not the tits that make the woman….this I know….it’s the heart, spirit, and soul; all of which I know I am rich in. I will continue to grow and cultivate love for myself, family & life with my cancer free and toxin free boobs in eight days.

 

 

 

Simmer Down Now Boob

Before the breast cancer diagnosis, 20 days ago, I simply had a problem with breathing & being in the moment. In more ways than one. I was always preoccupied with getting the next task done–mom’s you can relate. no?–and I have chronic bronchitis. So I legit can’t breathe properly most of the time. But I’ve adapted to that shit & the asthmatic wheeze that has been with me since childhood.

But this #badboob. I tell you what. For me, taking a moment to breathe is increasingly more difficult cause I’m a nervous fucking wreck.

I’d like to envision myself as calm as Katherine Heigl’s character in Knocked Up when she surrounds herself with candles and shit in bathroom in an attempt to zenout…. But never reach that zen.

While I do try to breathe, it’s usually unsuccessful.

Love/hate my boobs depending on the day and shit. But fuck (I know, I know) they are mine goddammit. Cancer you are a whore.

Cancer is claiming my boobs on December 22nd….this is a fact in my life at the mo….that bitch called dibs & shit….no fucking take backs….goddammit….a rule is a rule…Aaaaand here we are in life & shit….

Your choice is your own
My choice is my own
We all have different choices to make with cancer, fucking cancer! I say.
My cancer. Your Cancer. Our Cancer. Fuck you cancer.

I’m choosing reconstruction immediately post mastectomy.

Granted a breast reduction has been a dream since my teens. I’ve had the most fanfuckingtastic volatile relationship with my boobs. Being well endowed for quite sometime time comes with many problems such as chronic neck/back pain, grooves on my shoulders from bra and not being able to buy bras here in the states for years [I’d have to order those bitches overseas]….

While I am beyond relieved I’ll be getting a reduction, it comes at the cost of cancer and a mastectomy. I had fully resigned myself to the thought with further exercise and toning of my body that would be the extent of my reduction.[Using my NatGeo’s as a catchall, scarf, bird perch]

While I’m at a comfortable enough size now-my back still kills me and the U.S. still carries no bras my size- but these are my boobs, damn you cancer.

 

House Of Peen

If I didn’t know I had cancer

I wouldn’t know I had cancer

That bears repeating.

If I didn’t know I had cancer

I wouldn’t know I had cancer

I came the this realization last night as loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, doing normal shit. Thinking how the hell can people not know they have cancer growing in them till they discover a baseball sized tumor? A fucking baseball size tumor?? And some of you are thinking how the hell could I find my cancer when it was only slightly larger than a pea? I realize I found my cancer, five fucking tumors full of cancer, very very early early. Hell, that lil ole cancer was probably just a day or two old when I found that sneaky bastard.

Astonishing! I mentioned it earlier this week, had I not known of the cancer, I would think I’m just bulking up after all the holiday fun [insert sarcastic eye-roll here]. It’s been 31 days since I first felt that lump, not searching for it either, just happened to be caught up in a moment. bam….what the fuck is that tiny lump in my boob? Coincidentally, it’s been 31 days since I’ve had carefree relations with my husband (carefree in the sense that when I found the lump I knew, just knew it was cancer) my mind/brain/thoughts/actions have completely changed in so many ways the past 31 days. I’ve only officially known I’ve have cancer 18 days. 18 long motherfucking days of trying to normal shit all while knowing my boobs, whom are trying to destroy me, will be sliced and diced in 11 days. I can tell you the tumors feel slightly larger than a quarter now–to give you indication of growth etc.

Many of you don’t believe me when I say I’ve never had many girlfriends.

Sure, I’ve got one or two close ones and you chicks know who you are. But when It comes to girlie shit, I live in a house of peen. I am out-peened in the house [unless 19 or 21 need to change their plug when they get pissy–then their vag levels are on par with mine. Parents, you know boys can be moody fucks just as well as girls] My sons are learning a lot about breast cancer, treatments, and my boobs; of which they don’t want to hear, but they are adults and my sons. They need to be educated too.

To all you girls who have reached out to me, thank you.

To all you girls who have reached out to yourself, thank you. When you find cancer, most likely at least one you reading this will develop breast cancer, rest assured I will be right here to support you as you’ve supported me while living in my house of peen.

lets get back to our boobs….feel them….know them….enjoy the fuck outta them….I am going to try my best to enjoy my boobs, bad or not for the next 11. –This will be futile attempt. I need to psych myself some how ‘eh?

*sidenote:  I will never capitalize that bitch cancer, lower case in my book, it doesn’t deserve capitalization. 

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob

When I Get Nervous……

I stick my hands under my armpits and then I smell them like this…. 

Ha! How I love Molly Shannon’s character Mary Katherine Gallagher!

Ya wanna know what cancer smells like kids?

It smells like fear, armpit and ass. Well the pit and ass may be me–It’s been days since I showered. No need to shave in the winter right ladies? Makeup is a moot point as anything applied to my face is instantly rinsed away with tears. And with this short hair who the fuck cares or knows if I’ve combed it today? A little dry shampoo goes a long way…..

Ya wanna know what cancer feels like kids? It feels like I’m going to puke.

That sick feeling has not left me since 11/19-when the biopsy was being performed. I feel those tumors weaving their menacing veins all while weighing my breast down. There is no telling what sort of evil has been done to the inside of my body. Fuck me. That’s a lot of time with my brain and boobs to think…..

Here I am 12 days away from Operation Tit Removal….How does one say goodbye to their #badboob?  This I will to need research a  bit more and report back to you guys.~~Rest assured folks, I will tell you all about it!

……Let alone recovery from breast removal–Currently there is an unfamiliar pain in my shoulder and neck….naturally emotional me thinks cancer has spread and I won’t be even be mobile by the evening~~not true~ I know it’s not attacked me that severely  yet….I’m hoping anyway. There’s no telling the damage done already. Fucking cancer, goddammit.

Here I am walking around smelling like fucking Pigpen in my cancer funk leaving the lovely scent fear and bile in my wake…..

Every step that damned cancer boob throbs, seriously December 22nd can not get here soon enough. Fuck off cancer.

12 more days of trying to be normal. Cleaning the walls, the bathrooms, the closets, the corners in the house. Those corners that haven’t been touched since we accidentally spilled milk back there three years ago. I know people will be visiting and shit. I don’t want you guys to be scared off by the ginormous dust fuckers that’ll great you at the door.

12 more days of trying to be normal. Trying to smile and have fun with five. 12 more days of walking the dog. 12 more days of playing outside, laughing, smiling, making sweet memories so five can think back and hopefully have fond memories of this Christmas.

And if I can get my shit together, hopefully I’ll pull myself together long enough and take a fucking shower.

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob