in the middle of act one's cliffhanger.
Sorry for taking all of this time off, and for ruining the smooth transition from one post to another.
(yeah right. not really)
Since I know there has to be someone out there who's chomping at the bit to hear all about the pre and post surgery fun.
(I hear crickets)
I figured I'd pop back in to share a little taste of some of my adventures in cancer land.
So.
In keeping with tradition...
the common overuse (of parentheses),
incorrect placement of periods and commas...
the lack of proper sentence structure,
and my strange addiction to...yes...and improper usage of...ellipses...
here ya go.
(you're welcome)
After returning home from having the double mastectomy, I couldn't take full, satisfying breaths.
You see, as it healed, my chest was to be kept tightly bandaged...wrapped snugger than a pair of extra small Spanx on a hippo. I spent basically a solid month in the throws of an almost constant panic attack.
A panic attack that was sometimes so consuming that I was only partially phased by the six rubber surgical udders dangling from my chest. Each one of them, a heavy, fluid and blood filled silicone egg engorged with grossness. Repulsive, biohazard sacks that I had to empty several times a day to measure the obscene drainage. I had to keep a written progress report of the squirt volumes and the cloudiness of each one, so that the plastic surgeon would know when infection risks were low, and they were safe to remove so that I could have my final reconstruction without any issues.
For eight solid weeks...and, mind you, I had those things brilliantly hidden; stuffed inside my shirts and tucked into my cargo pants' pockets so that no one would have to see them. But somehow the damn tubes managed to get snagged on random handrails, chairs, bar stools, car doors, drawer pulls, door knobs, and even random elbows...painfully catapulting me around town.
Human Boomeranging.
(fucking, cursed things)
There were...
All of the months spent on the couch alone...
all of the long days enduring treatments alone...
all of the time spent driving to-and-from appointments alone.
(simply because I didn't want to bother anyone...not even my husband)
Chemotherapy gave me...
A bald head just days before I turned 40, and a sandpaper tongue with pebble sized tastebuds that infused everything I ate with the metallic essence of burnt aluminum foil.
(the birthday cake sure was pretty though)
Dangerously high fevers, and debilitating, crippling joint pain from the Neulasta shots.
Brain fog, insomnia and endless fatigue.
Sudden, full blown, chemo induced menopause, and all of the sweat drenched mood swings that went along with it.
The damn treatments even sped up the development of the arthritis that had begun in a few of my fingers and in both of my ankles and knees.
My body raced from 39 to 60 literally overnight.
(awesome)
A bald head just days before I turned 40, and a sandpaper tongue with pebble sized tastebuds that infused everything I ate with the metallic essence of burnt aluminum foil.
(the birthday cake sure was pretty though)
Dangerously high fevers, and debilitating, crippling joint pain from the Neulasta shots.
Brain fog, insomnia and endless fatigue.
Sudden, full blown, chemo induced menopause, and all of the sweat drenched mood swings that went along with it.
The damn treatments even sped up the development of the arthritis that had begun in a few of my fingers and in both of my ankles and knees.
My body raced from 39 to 60 literally overnight.
(awesome)
And what started out as a rather festive morning in my household...celebrating my last day of chemo wound up being one of the worst. Around 10 am, my 93 yr old grandmother was found dead (and cold) on the floor of her kitchen in NC.
The night before, she told a friend that she was feeling better than usual, and apparently had gotten up bright and early to enjoy feeling good for a change.
When they found her, water was still running in the sink, a full coffee cup sat on the counter, toast was in the toaster, and there was cooked bacon in the microwave. In lieu of her usual cold cereal, she had been in the middle of making something special for herself.
The funeral home literally did me a solid though
(too soon?)
and kept my grandma on ice until I was well enough to travel out of state for her funeral...
3+ weeks later.
(mahvelous)
The night before, she told a friend that she was feeling better than usual, and apparently had gotten up bright and early to enjoy feeling good for a change.
When they found her, water was still running in the sink, a full coffee cup sat on the counter, toast was in the toaster, and there was cooked bacon in the microwave. In lieu of her usual cold cereal, she had been in the middle of making something special for herself.
The funeral home literally did me a solid though
(too soon?)
and kept my grandma on ice until I was well enough to travel out of state for her funeral...
3+ weeks later.
(mahvelous)
There was the robotic hysterectomy/salpingo oophorectomy, and the resulting irreversible, terribly uncomfortable vaginal atrophy.
And, because I'm not allowed to EVER take any kind of hormone or herbal therapy because of my mutation, the menopausal side effects will go unchecked for possibly A DECADE or MORE.
(wheeeeee!)
I am also now "Osteopenic"...
meaning, I have "Pre-Osteoporosis"...
meaning, I am officially deemed fragile...
meaning, that I am one clumsy stumble away from a shattered something.
Meaning, Dammit Mabel!!
I see you eyeing that last Citracal BOGO.
Put it down and back away.
(atta girl)
There was...
the wig that went airborne in Macy's parking lot, and the one that half melted when I reached into the hot oven...
and my lashes decided to fall out AFTER chemo ended...coming back for good, albeit shorter and thinner, six month later.
And my eyebrows got funky and weird looking, but they came back, too...sort of.
The right one's an asshole and has arrogantly refused to fully commit.
Much internal rage was flaring when not one gxddamned underwire free, NON PUSH UP bra could be found... ANYWHERE.
Until...Target happened.
(Fuck off, Victoria)
The foobs took about a year to heal 100%.
However...
over time...
drumroll please...
they did some "settling".
These nippless oddities have morphed into a pair of misshapen, square-ish, freak show tits.
Mostly numb...and without any feelings other than the random "phantom nipple" sensations, and the incessant itching along each scar ridge...these blasted things have annoyed the piss out of me since their initial trip through the meat grinder.
I've lost count of how many times I've bounced into and off of things (and people) because of these rubber dodge-balls.
Hell! I can't even gage how tight I am hugging someone now...and if they have fake boobs too, which one of us is going to be the first to explode!?
(What. it could happen)
And from the random post-hugging-looks I've gotten...from both males and females, I am quite certain that I've left quite a few dents, bruises, and "what-the-fucks" in my wake.
(keepin' it classy over here, boss)
And how about the two puffy perma-pockets of trapped underarm fluid that protrude oddly from the sides of my bras and tank tops!?
What about those?
They're so large I can't even hide them in normal, sleeved shirts.
I have camel toe pits now!
Each one looking like a raw, split dough ball that's been squashed sideways by a spoon...
freshly popped forth from the end of a refrigerated Pillsbury biscuit can.
(and just as startling)
but oh so fortunate am I to live in Florida!
there's a positive...
every day is paradise...
ahhhhhh!
(it used to be)
Guess who is incredibly intolerant to hot weather now?
(hint. she's tattooed, blonde and bitter)
Whenever I get too warm, my insides become curdled...reviving the nauseous, internally scorched sensations of the chemo days past.
(joy)
PLUS
I just had a pre-melanoma removed from my leg!
Since discovering that the most aggressive form of skin cancer also runs in my family...
ON BOTH SIDES of the family...
(we tend to be over achievers)
the Doctors' orders are to stay out of the sun for like...
FOREVER.
Holding onto any remaining vanity at this point, is futile,
since we all know that tan fat looks better than white fat...
and I refuse to slather myself in 100+ spf zinc oxide while temporarily assuming the identity of Powder.
(I'm not as gifted)
But then...
Salvation!!!!
in early 2014...when I FINALLY started to feel good and "normal-ish" again...I was able to resume my former "gym rat" workout habits.
I jumped in cardio, and immediately started lifting light(ish) weights again...
so stoked I was to reclaim my health and fitness.
(YAY!)
Right?
ummm...
nope.
(of course not)
Due to the severe muscle atrophy and general overall weakness caused by the treatments and the months and months (and months) of inactivity, I injured my back while doing one of my favorite exercises...deadlifts.
(Ta-Daaaaaa!!!!!)
Two discs...herniated so severely that I was immobilized for months.
The pain was excruciating...it was so OFF THE CHARTS bad, it almost made the entire breast cancer experience seem like a joyride.
(almost)
I ate opioids like candy until our insurance finally allowed me to get a nerve block so that I could start physical therapy.
So kids...I guess the take away lessons here are to feel your boobies and to never injure your back.
(and should you injure your back while feeling your boobies, you're doing it wrong)
