28 Days Later

And I left the plastic surgeon’s office thinking that first fill-up was not that bad….holy fuck me! Boy was I mistaken! –I know I already bitched about this last post, but seriously, the expander method seems a bit barbaric to me. IDK about this–after living with double K cups and then most recently double F boobs, I may just stay right here with a sweet little A cup….We shall see.

So 28 days later, I received my oncotype score –while not too bad, it wasn’t the best–it was right in the middle. With a middle score, my oncologist presented me with many options. And in true Libra fashion, it took me a long time to deliberate. It was a long, long fucking weekend. I weighed the pro’s & con’s. I consulted with family & friends. I researched the chemo med’s she wanted to pump through my veins. I even had an extremely insightful call with Dr. Susan Love, those of you that know anything of breast cancer, know that Dr. Love is heralded as one of the best of best when it comes to breast cancer care, facts & recovery. I took everyone’s advice….and when oncology called, I told them to schedule my port placement. Le Sigh--Chemo port will be installed on 2/1/16.

Not gonna lie kids, chemo scares the ever living fuck out of me! Almost more so than have my breasts mutilated by cancer.

Today makes 35 days post bilateral mastectomy and I feel pretty good. Little Badboob and I will get motivated in a mo to take dog for a walk. It will be a balmy 60 degrees today, which is fucking insane, considering just days ago we were under a state of emergency due to the ice storm/blizzard that slammed the East Coast. We lost power for 25 hours, fortunately we have a gas fireplace and shitton of camping gear. Without missing a beat, Mr. Badboob had cooked up a full breakie replete with fresh made coffee during our power outage.

My chest swelling has pretty much subsided. Looking at my profile now, I feel like a prepubescent Tara. I have no boobs, just massive looking pec’s at the mo–pretty goddamned strange if you ask me.

I’m looking at 4 chemo treatments every 3 weeks, hopefully sometime late May or early June I’ll be able to look back at this long road and sigh with relief that I’ve made it. I hope that by going the chemo route, I’m not opening some sort of sneaky ass Pandora’s Box, my family history with illness is not the best. But I also know I must do all I can to preserve my health for myself and my family. A month after I turned 42, I found the fucking lump that literally changed my life. I’m hoping as I near my 43rd Birthday in October, I’ll still be able to declare that #cancerfree status….we shall see.

Local folks– I implore you to reach out to us during treatment times and watch my sweet baboo. From what I hear you feel fine during chemo. Then days 3-7 after, you feel like ass and don’t want to do shit. Those of you with small kids, know not doing shit is not an option–kids do not stop. I will need some relief, if only for a few hours at a time.

Now it is time for me to get off my ass and explore it all with dog and Little Badboob. Make it a good one!

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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].

 

 

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!

 

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.

 

Never Enough Time

Just leave me the fuck alone!—Not actual words spoken. Only what my brain is saying to my little monkey fucker~~now, now, I know he has not actually fucked a monkey. Nor will he as an adult–it’s just a saying guys. [However, if he shows tendencies of wanting to fuck a monkey, I’ll get him evaluated right away.] 

I just need space child.

To pee.
To cry.
To be.
To not have to answer your questions for a few minutes.
Just allow mommy a few minutes of space and get outta my face.

Parents, we all know our little beastlies are automatically alerted when we close the bathroom door, attempt to answer to the phone, or dare share an embrace with your spouse–their fucking spidey senses are on fleek.

But fucking (insert juvenile snicker here) as a SAHM it’s challenging enough. Add to the the knowledge you’ll be undergoing a major breast removal surgery to eradicate poisonous tumors from your body….I know he just wants me to play with him….I do…..There’s that guilt again…..All the while I have 6000 things to do before I go in for a double mastectomy in 11 days.

He doesn’t understand I’m buried underneath a fuckton of paperwork trying to secure insurance, grants and the like for prescriptions, treatments and who the fuck know what else I’ll be needing in the very near future. I know I should be fortunate he’s not glued to an electronic device like most five year old children. And I do engage him educationally. He for the most part is an only child–older bros are 21 & 19 and there’s the angel baby, Jackson, who was to be his lifelong playmate.

But goddammit hunny go play, watch a show….give me 15 minutes…….Go swing, ride your scooter….there are so many things you can be doing instead of bugging the shit out of me.

If you need me in the meantime….. we’ll be playing tag or monsters or trains or cars or snoopy’s or burp contests……

After I finish typing this from behind the closed door in the bathroom under the guise of the flushing toilet. Obv. I’ll get dinner from the oven.

We’ll tickle and giggle for a few minutes before we eat and decorate the tree. And hug that sweet child tonight. He’s not sure the entire scope of the situation but is smart enough to pick up a lot of shit.

The cancer will be gone soon. Recovery will begin.

xx

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

Argo Fuck Yourself Cancer

Ah fuck me….

You’re so strong they say. …Tara 
You’re a fighter…. Tara
You’ll get through this…. Tara
We’ll love you Tara….{ with or without tits [real or fakies]}

I know…I know….I’ll be the same chick with the fanfuckintastical penchant of the word fuck–used in any variant–going against the grain. Because that is who I am.

I AM STRONG

But goddammit, I’m tired of being strong
Or am I
Ya know, truth be told
I really don’t think about the shit in life
I THINK
ABOUT LIFE

The intent of this post is highlighting our abilities as humans to bounce back with such remarkable resiliency we almost always bounce back, stronger than before, speaking our minds more and telling those that need to get fucked, to go fuck themselves.

I am strong because of who I am.

My walks singularly & together with family, friends and enemies

You are strong because of your walk.

We are strong.

My  husband may be the only one that will have my hand this entire journey [that is fucking cancer] . He knows me, my cycles, my moods better than I–no shit. He knows before I know. I should know, but I don’t. Ya know?–We will start the day with an embrace, kiss and one last hand hold…….We may walk side by side, ahead or behind each other, depending upon current mood. [*I secretly may wish for aliens to probe his ass when he pisses me off. He may wish the same fate upon me; fortunately for him, we don’t live in Florida (ha, had too) or trailer park (yup)]….occasionally there may be times when we’ll stand on opposite sides of the same room during the day but at the end of the night, we are in cahoots with each other. That knowledge allows me to calm my chaotic brain and take a semi-deep breath.

I know I am stronger because of me.
we are holding hands
together in life.
the good the bad and the shitty
…..
argo fuck yourself cancer

peace, love & root-beer floats

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob

Preparations

I’ve gotten oven the initial shock of cancer, I believe so anyway.

I’ve begun to look through my reading material with a discerning eye while plugging the emotional eye with Kleenex. It’s all very important shit I need to familiarize myself with. There really are some fantastic resources for cancer of all stages. If I can suck up my tears long enough, I’ll read more later.

14 days from now I’ll be in the hospital.

Hey, do you know you have to sign a consent for them to take your boobs? Sorry, but that’s kinda of funny. Erm, doc I want my boobs back. Sorry Mrs. So & So you signed them away right here, highlighted in yellow. Right before we gave you meds to knock your spazztic ass out. Damn, I signed them away all legit and shit. 

14 more days of knowing I’ve wanted a reduction since I can recall. Those who know me, know I’ve always be well endowed–sometimes, my boobs would enter the room before me, no lie [well maybe a bit exaggerated]. I do love my boobs! Crooked, hanging down to my knees, tripping on them at times if I go without a bra, wrapping those babies around my neck on cold chilly nights, oh I can go on…….Here comes my reduction! But at the cost of cancer-motherfucker. I know once the doctors are done working their magic I’ll have a beautiful set of boobs and hopefully free of cancer!

14 more days of sobbing, mourning part of myself, robbing my time with family, robbing myself of intimacy…..That’s a big mind fuck too. Maybe not for all women/men with breast cancer, but for me it’s a huge mind fuck. This cancer has robbed me of emotional intimacy with myself and husband for far too long. If you ladies fear intimacy with yourself, haven’t tried it, fear the stigma-I highly suggest you take time to enjoy yourself.

It’s no secret, I’ve enjoyed my body immensely. When I was 200 or 130 pounds, I knew all my spots, likes…etc…..Point is, my boobs will be gone in 14 fucking days, and while I’m still going to have fun with myself [so to speak], it’s going to be different. If I can cross this emotional hurdle that I keep stumbling on, I may be able to enjoy intimacy a few more times with my loving husband in the bodies we’ve known and shared with each other the past 23 years.

Explore yourselves ladies.
Enjoy yourselves ladies
It could all change the instant once you find a lump…..

14 more days of preparing the house with five.

13 more days of hiding the elf. This year I got smart, bought a package of blocks, creating a new word each day….SO much easier than trying to be creative with the fucker each night. 🙂

14 more days of smiles, walks, laughter and living life to the fullest and shit!

peace, love & root-beer floats

#badboob

#badbadfuckingboob