Monday, April 25, 2016

There Are More Than 100 Types Of Cancer

THERE ARE MORE THAN 100 TYPES OF CANCER

Two types developed in my tit. My motherfucking tit. Fucking breast cancers.
HOW BAD IS IT THAT I COULD NOT REMEMBER WHEN LAST I SHOWERED? IT WAS SOMETIME LAST WEEK. BUT WHEN? WHAT DAY?
But I am using Piperwai. My pits smell so nice. This week was a good week. My energy was back, well sort of.
And did you know there are people out there who will kick the living shit out of you when you are down because they are angry at the world and you seem like an easy target being all weak and shit….Well guess what fuckers? Kick those goddamned toxic people out of your life….Now…. Don’t wait till you want to cunt punch a bitch, just get rid of them now. Go ahead…..I’ll wait here….Get rid of those toxic bastards now….Ain’t no one got time for their piddly ass games….We’ve got cancer to beat and shit!
WE AS A SPECIES ARE DUMB FUCKS.  
WE DO SHIT.
WE FUCK UP SHIT.
WE REPEAT THAT SHIT
WILL WE AS HUMANS, EVERY LEARN TO PLAY NICE?
I HIGHLY DOUBT THIS.
So, it’s kind of a good thing chemotherapy has rendered me almost hairless [sarcastic emoticon here]. My arms are such an odd smooth. Plus, having these expanders filled to fucking monstrous proportions make it difficult to reach the pits….Boom….hair silently falls out….freeing time in the shower…. and not fearing I’ll fall over and accidentally Zorro slice my fake tits off….Hey it could happen…..If you were with me on FB years back, you may recall I Zorro’ed my ass-cheek pretty goddamned good.  Had a pretty gnarly scar there too. My eyebrows & lashes are barely hanging on, mascara pretty’s the lashes a lot. Interestingly enough the majority of my head follicles have fallen, but not all & there is new growth trying to happen up there. I know it won’t stick till after last infusion on May 20. It’s tough to look in the mirror and know this is my life at the mo. It’s all temporary, they say. Any collateral effects from chemo can be corrected, they say.
Items I’ve saved on past 78 days since beginning the chemotherapy infusions include but are not limited to: Shampoo, conditioner, hair styling aids of any sort, razors (and we know how expensive those fucker are), bobby pins, straightener, hair color, and I’m sure there’s more shit but chemo brain in in overdrive this week and my brain is not using all it’s cells.
When’s the last time you’ve really felt your boobs ladies? Check all those sweet mounds of joy, regularly. Seriously girls had I not known my boobs so well, that lump I first felt 167 days ago could still be growing in me. Imagine the havoc those two fast growing invasive breast cancers would have done to my body….
AS IT WAS, I GOT OFF LUCKY, I STILL HAVE MY LIFE SANS BOOBS.
So it’s off with tits [125 days ago] to remove the cancers. As you may recall, I chose immediate reconstruction so in went the expanders. Some days I feel they look pretty good, and other days (most) I feel like a fucking freak. The expanders are nice enough boob shaped, but they also ride into my pits[like a balloon or a ball], and not at all round on the bottom….Oh new tit exchange how I await you….74 more days and I will be closing the breast cancer chapter of my life. Almost my entirety of 42~ again this story is not told to you for pity, it’s part of the journey.
The plastic surgeon will be removing my power port when he installs the implants. An out patient procedure, he says. Though I have found websites that make jewelryout of the power ports. I think that’s a smashing idea and if I get to keep my port, it will be fashioned into some sort of kick as piece of jewelry.
And thank fuck! I can not wait to get this port of my fucking chest. The port has seriously bothered me every day since it’s installation. It always burns as if it’s trying to scratch it’s way out of my chest. Just two more chemo infusions….I can do this shit….I can and will continue….Not gonna lie, thought it’d take me down for the count a few times. You feel as though you are spiraling into a delirium, or I did at least.
Oh and yay, guess what? I tested positive on the BRCA2 mutation. So that means the playground is closing shop; about damn time. I’m so over my monthly’s. Hopefully with the equipment gone & my estrogen positive receptors, the hormones will cease to rage…the acne will stop. At 42, I had to call my oncologist for another script of doxycycline this week~for fuck sake, my face is broken out like crazy.It’s temporary, they say. Fucking pimple fuckers. Causing pain, when I want to smile. Causing pain if I accidentally touch one of them….I’ve been breaking out since I was 9, I’m seriously over it by this point in my life. Fortunately I’ve not developed neurapathy. Neurapathy is a common side effect, they say.
The sun is shining. Get off your ass and get outside now. Explore some shit with your own sweet baboo. Or have a mission. 5 year olds are mission having motherfuckers. xx
https://badboob.wordpress.com/2016/04/25/there-are-more-than-100-types-of-cancer/

Monday, April 18, 2016

I always knew I'd get breast cancer

I ALWAYS KNEW I’D GET BREAST CANCER

Posted on April 18, 2016 by badboobandshit under alopecia, bad boob, badboob, beer, benefit, bilateral mastectomy, biopsy, blog, bravery, Breast Cancer, breast cancer awareness, breast reduction, breath, breathe, Cancer, cancer free, cancer is a whore, cbc, celexia, chemo, chemo port, chemotherapy, concern, depression, double mastectomy, drain bulb, early detection, emotions, environmental, exchange surgery, expanders, facts of life, family, feel yourself, fighter, finances, fml, freaking out, friends, friendship, fuck cancer, fuck you, generosity, gift, grief, guilt, hair loss, happiness, health, hero, holidays, hope, hormone replacement therapy, hospital, implants, Invasive ductile carcinoma, invasive lobular carcinoma, journey, kicking cancers ass, life, life changing, life sucks, love, mammogram, mark up, mastectomy, menstruation, mindfuck, motivation, nerves, nervous, Oncotype DX, parenting, party, peen, period, plastic surgeon, post op, power port, presents, proceeds, raw, real life, recovery, sacred, scared, smile, snoopy, spirit, strength, strong, suck it cancer, surgeon, surgery, survivor, tamoxifen, testing, titanium marker, tits, tumors, Uncategorized, viral, warrior, weight, xanax
CALL IT A PREMONITION OR INTUITION, BUT I ALWAYS KNEW I’D HAVE BREAST CANCER.

JUST NOT AT 42 YEARS OLD.

I mean, seriously.

I enjoyed my boobs way too fucking much, I just knew I’d lose them one day. But I thought I’d be in my 70’s or 80’s when I was through playing dress up with them and wouldn’t really care about getting my jollies anymore….ya know….tossing them around my neck for a scarf….tucking into my pants….ah the good times with my old natgeo’s….le sigh….

But here I am, early 40’s and a breast cancer survivor for 118 days so far….

Fuck, I barely survived last week. I’d developed chemo induced laryngitis and thrush. And the puke-o-rama I mentioned months ago that I did not experience from chemo. Well fuck me, that shit changed real fast. I puked, a lot, last week. I dry heaved, a lot, last week. My oncologist prescribed me three different anti-nausea meds….puke/heave city. It’s such a joy to be sitting on the toilet with the trash can on your lap, sweating profusely and telling your sweet baboo to get away from the bathroom, just give you a few minutes privacy…..Goddammit, he doesn’t really understand why I’m getting sick. He knows that me and Mr. Badboob went to get my medicine, if I got medicine, why am I getting sick–he wants to know….

Fortunately, my sweet baboo stayed with the in-laws a couple days. And I spent those two days in bed. The entire time he was gone I tossed and turned, sweating through the fucking sheets. I felt such guilt from having him gone. See, baboo had went camping with friends over the weekend and he said he wanted to stay home….no baby you’re going to Grandpa’s & Grandma’s. In my heightened emotional state or delirium, if you will, I cried and cried. I felt as if I ‘pushed’ him on….but I knew I’d be in no shape to properly care for him. Thank you again #1 gpa & gma. [insert mushy heart emoticon here]

Friday, after I felt I could not go on any further, I called the cancer institute, explaining my symptoms, come in for an IV they said. You’re dehydrated they said. At this point it had been a full seven days since I’d had my last infusion and I was still delirious.

GODDAMNED FUCKING CANCER

GODDAMNED FUCKING CHEMO

GODDAMNED FUCK ALL

So, in I go for fluids. 19 drove me in as I knew I’d not be able to drive myself. Hell, I could barely sit up right. Ah……I still felt like ass after the IV. My whole body hurt, from the port to the tissue expansion. Ha, did I mention with last saline fill I tore a pec? The fuck? Evidently, it is possible…But, it was an improvement. And for the first time in almost a week, I had an appetite. 19 picked up Mediterranean food (my fave) for us while I was in infusion. I gobbled that shit up on the way home. It was so nice to feel food in my stomach again.

By the weekend I was feeling much better. They gave me Atarax via IV, to combat the nausea they said. This should last me three days or so, they said. And goddamned if they weren’t right. I can’t say the nausea completely subsided, but it did curb it quite a bit. They’re going to ‘try’ to have it in stock for my next infusion on the 29th. Try, motherfuckers? You better have that shit in stock, I’m thinking.

I lost a lot of weight last week. And with any luck, I’l be down to my birth weight by the time summer rolls around. [insert snarky emoticon here]. I seriously did lose weight, am glad for that. As I was not happy being a fatty again after I worked so hard to get my weight down.

As I type this today, I feel better. The sun is shining. Baboo is happy that his mommy is snuggling and running around with him again. As we snuggled Saturday, his head rested on one of my expander-boobs, he got up saying he didn’t want to hurt me (my expander boobs are hard as football), I told him he wasn’t going to hurt my. Then he reached out, touched my boob and said, “hashtag, badboob.”

BE KIND KIDS

XOXOXO

Monday, April 11, 2016

To Scarf or not to scarf today

TO SCARF OR NOT TO SCARF

That is the question I ask myself this morning.
I awake most mornings the same as I have since receiving the chemotherapy infusion, 60 some days–feeling ugly and wondering how the fuck I’m going to make it through the day with out totally losing my shit. I’m so fucking appalled with my appearance….What with the bald head, marred barbie like tits [sans nipple & areola], plastic devices inserted into my veins to deliver the toxin that is chemo….that makes me toxic in real life for 48 hours after infusion.
No embraces or preparations of food, mine or others.–48 hours they say.
These glimpses of my mind are in no way a cry out for attention & totes not for support. It’s part of the process of healing and I just happen to be sharing my journey with breast cancer and the collateral effects. Thank you for reading.
IF YOU FUCKERS YOU DIDN’T SUPPORT ME, YOU’D NOT BE HERE.
SIMPLE
YOU WOULD’T WANT TO READ ABOUT MY WALL CLINGING CHEMO POOS, OR SWOLLEN ANGRY PORTS, OR HOW I LOST MY TASTE BUDS OR ANY OF THE OTHER FUN GROOVY STUFF I WRITE ABOUT.
Then I look in the mirror and see this bald ass head & clear hazels green eyes peering back at me. Depending the day, my face can clean & clear like a fucking Neutrogena model. Other days, meh not so much.It’s like s fucking land mine explode on my face, those days hurt; a lot. My stomach is round & robust….not in a good way, esp with the hairless situation. I’m full of self induced bruises [because fucking clutz]. My body is a hot fucking mess at the mo.
The plastic surgeon tells me he’ll remove all fat from old natgeo boobs, the fat below reminds me of floppy waffles. That badboob skin has been hanging out down there the past 111 days post bilateral mastectomy taunting the fuck out of me. But boob-be gone. Get the fuck outta here with your goddmned cancers.
 I FEEL LIKE A BEADY-EYED LITTLE MOLE. THOUGH I’M SURE I COULD BE EXAGGERATING THAT, EVER SO SLIGHTLY…POSSIBLY….SURPRISINGLY MY EYES ARE CRYSTAL CLEAR. I THOUGHT THEY’D BE ALL BLACK & SHIT. AND WITH A LITTLE MAKE-UP, I CUT DOWN ON THE HIDEOUS FACTOR; YOU’RE WELCOME. SURPRISINGLY, MY EYES ARE SUPER FUCKING CLEAR.
Sweet baboo went camping this weekend. And lucky fucky for me kids, the OBI,  Nuelasta self-administered itself approximately pm [27 hours after chemo] Saturday evening. It took a total of 45 minutes for it to administer. We could hear it clicking with each release of Satan’s Elixir. I could feel that shit coursing through my veins via a very tiny catheter. I won’t feel like total assbag until sometime Sunday night. Then it will feel like death knocked my ass out…my legs feel like they’re in quick sand….my brain is absofuckinlutely mush at the mo…can’t drink any thing….feeling like you’re going to vomit any mo….or shit yourself…oh I could go on and on….
I’LL BE LUCKY IF I CAN GET OUT OF BED TODAY
 JUST 38 DAYS LEFT OF CHEMOTHERAPY TREATMENTS!
–I CAN SO  DO FUCKING DO THIS SHIT!

Currently my back is killing me and one of my expanders is causing a great deal of pain. I had my final expander fill last week. I have 460 units of saline in each of those bad boys.
19 is not working Monday. I’ll persuade him take sweet baboo to park, allowing me to rest whilst continue this goddamned toxin from build up from my body. Speaking of build up, it’ a couple of days since I’ve really went…thinking it’s time to break out the plastic Dexter style then prepare a bath….it may be a messy one….for fuck sake.
The Grandparents are planning to take Sweet Baboo Tuesday through Thursday– and holy fuck you guys–this makes me happy beyond belief. It’so much better having them just a few hours away from us  at the coast. Mr. Badboob be working 12 hour days & I’m be sitting toilet side puking & squirting in tandem–so not a pretty site for any human.
THIS I KNOW IS TEMPORARY
THE BALDNESS
THE SICKNESS
THE BLOATING
THE WANTING TO DIE
THE SELF LOATHING
THE TEMPORARY 

BUT MOTHERFUCK, TEMPORARY IS A LONG FUCKING TIME

I’ve met so many goddamned bloody good folks during my blogging venture. Those who find me are usually new to your cancer diagnosis & still trying to process what in the actual has just happened to you. I am here for you my sweet babboober’s. Fuck cancer in the ass. This ride is not easy by any means. Almost every new step for me has started in tears for me. But you wipe them away and continue walking while trying not to get shit on your shoes.

Monday, April 4, 2016

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Badboob's

ONE LITTLE, TWO LITTLE, THREE LITTLE BADBOOB’S

When I began #badboob 128 days ago I had no idea what the fuck I was going to blog about. Hell, it’s evident by my rambly sentences & awful typos, I still don’t know what to blog about.
YET HERE I SIT.
AND HERE YOU READ.
I KNEW I WANTED TO TELL MY JOURNEY WITH BREAST CANCER.
IN MY WORDS.
WITH MY TRUTHS, OBSERVATIONS & SHIT ABOUT LIFE.
MY BITCH BOOB DEVELOPED CANCERS, FUCKING PLURAL.
104 DAYS AGO, CANCER TIT HAD TO GO.
I AM CURRENTLY UNDERGOING RECONSTRUCTION VIA EXPANDER METHOD.
For the most part, feedback regarding #badboob has been overwhelmingly positive.I honestly had no idea so many  would want to read about my cancer journey, but each week almost 500 of you fuckers click my link. Thank you. I love hearing from you….your stories of lump discovery…your stories of a loved ones breast cancer….how you cry and then laugh whilst reading my ramblings…..how you read my blog to your significant other, and he enjoys it.
Obv, my writings aren’t for all. And you know what? You don’t have to read this shit. No one has to read it. I am writing to release the poisons from my mind. If no one reads, so be it. If every motherfucker reads, bonus! As I stated when I began this blog, my story is no better than yours, I just happen to be chronicling this particular journey with breast cancer at the mo. Some of you just happen to be reading my shit. And shit is what I write about, among other topics. What sort of boring cunts would we be if we all had the same thoughts and interested in same boring shit?  Kinda glad we’re not all Stepford & shit.
Last week was decent. It finally felt as if my chemo-fog was lifting. I could see the sun again. I felt the spring air. I shared laughs and went exploring with my sweet baboo.
And ya know that 20 pounds I mentioned gaining since my surgery? I think I’ve shat it all out! See kids, one plus to having had undergone chemotherapy the last nine weeks is anything in your body will swiftly be pushed out by the poison. Only nine more weeks of treatments left. Since I feel as if I’ve already flushed my large intestine, I suspect I’ll weigh about 45 pounds when I finally reach the fucking finish line on May 20. [insert winky face emoticon]
You learn a lot about yourself when you experience a life changing event. You will do things you never thought possible, your mind will take you to some very dark places; almost fooling you into staying rather than trying to find your way back. I have never, ever felt such depression in my life. You learn a lot about others compassion toward you when you experience a life changing event as well. Friends you thought would always be there for you suddenly show their fucking true colors, leaving you with one less ally while shaking your head wondering what the fuck. Then you have your friends you always knew would be there, some bonds even strengthened during this time of crisis. Others you will form bonds with and become instantly inseparable as your journeys are so close. You will find friendships and support in places you didn’t know existed but are forever grateful to have connected.New friendships offer new perspectives. During time of recovery, new perspectives are extremely important for growth and full recovery.
I’ll forever be indebted to those who have offered words of encouragement, support, sent gift cards, made meals, just let me cry on your shoulder or watched my sweet babboo during the day or overnight-most helpful especially days I can’t even get up or walk without vomiting or shitting on myself on days 3-10 after a chemo infusion.
Nothing about breast cancer has been fun. Losing my tits a month after I turned 42 fucking sucks. Losing my hair because of chemotherapy fucking sucks. Losing days at a time due to toxic sickness fucking sucks. Never once have I said ‘why me’. Know why? Shit happens. Life sucks. Thankfully, Mr. Badboob has been by my side since day 1 of my cancer diagnosis. If you’re fortunate enough, you will find your own Mr. Badboob to help navigate the sea of fucked-upness.
This week I get the bewbs filled again, the last fill I hope. These fuckers are already bigger than I wanted and most uncomfortable. I will also receive chemo infusion number 4-Oh happy happy joy joy.
Thank you to each and everyone of you motherfuckers who have reached out to us. I appreciate it and love y0ur fucking guts so hard.
Be kind. xx