Stop that shit!

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

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

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

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

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

I’m swole, but not in the ‘hey girl, you look swole’ kinda compli

it’s more like ‘damn girl, you be swole as fuck, fix that shit’

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

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

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