Stick with me here.. I am going to work backward. I am going to talk to what I am feeling in this moment and I will do subsequent posts to rehash my glorious cancer adventure, but for now I just need to vent.
I honestly think I am more pissed now that chemo and surgeries are done then before I received the dreaded diagnosis. There are people (doctors included) that have this mentality that once chemo and surgeries are done and your tumor markers are normal that life just fucking resumes as if it were all just a really bad dream. Life can never just fucking resume. I went from feeling normal and healthy, to having toxins crammed through my body wrecking havoc mentally and physically to kill tumors. There is no saying, "Well, that shit is done, let's go back to the good'ole days." No! Never! You will never be the person you were before. Never! Maybe you are not supposed to be... Maybe us special people are touched by cancer, because something in us needed to change. Nope, that is straight bullshit. Cancer is the lottery and chemo is the megaplier (or whatever the fuck it is called.. That fucked up extra ball that everyone holds their breathe to see and then with panic search their lottery ticket for the magic number to find out how big they won).
Even the title is frustrating. Is it post-cancer frustrations? No, because there is that looming doom and gloom that your cancer will become metastatic (basically means the original cancer moving to another place in the body). In my case, breast cancer can move to my bones, lungs, liver, or brain like it is a damn squatter.
Squatter: "Oh, you got fancy and had your tits removed, well screw you, I'm going to take up residence in your lungs."
Me: "Well, stand in fucking line, dip-shit, because I already have asthma!"
Not much of a comeback, I know, but fuck cancer. It can literally eat shit!
Here is my perspective post-treatment:
I cannot get my mind to stop thinking about cancer and all the damn what-ifs. I am constantly reminded of cancer from the moment I wake to the moment I go to the bed. Yeah, there may be times of peace but boy, they are few and far between.
I move just right and I feel the pain in my abs from DIEP flap surgery. Oh, you don't know what that is... Well, that's the beauty of google! Go fucking google it and look at all the fantastic and fun pictures!
Scar tissue can become hard and lumpy. They always ask, "Are you doing self examines?". I always laugh and think "are you serious???". No, I am not fucking doing self examines! I don't have a clue what to feel for. They say, "it will feel like a hard BB." You mean like the one my breast surgeon found, sent me for an ultrasound (because one saving grace are no more mammograms), and then the radiologist says, "Well, I think it is fat necrosis" (a fucked up phrase for scar tissue). "Come back and see us again in 3 months..." Then the cycle just repeats!
Or how about learning that other people you know with cancer were doing great now have stage 4 metastatic cancer. What a fucking kick in the dick that is for them and now you, more so them, but it really fucks with your head.
Next is the amount of scars associated with surgeries like the DIEP flap, and the fact that your tit area looks like a face with no eyes, nose or mouth. Just stop and picture that for a moment... There is a face and on that face is absolutely nothing but skin. Here you have been staring in the mirror at your blues eye, proportional nose, full lips, and now that is all gone to be replaced with just skin. Better yet, think Ken and Barbie's crotch with their pronounced mons pubis. Oh, what's a mons pubis, you might ask? That is the pudgy, poochy, pubic bone, tissue area that is covered with pubic hair. The mound of faux genitals on Barbie. So, there it is. I have to two mons pubises or is it pubi on my chest. It is a complete trip to look in the mirror and see Barbie and Ken doll crotch mounds for tits and no nipples staring back at you. Tits and, especially, nipples are weird to begin with, but once they are gone that is whole other level of strangeness.
Oh, man, and if you have a squeamish spouse, you might as well just hang up any prospect of dick. "Its not you its me." No, it is me but you are just too chicken shit to admit that it is a difficult idea to wrap your head around fucking a woman with no nipples or no hair. Look I didn't lose my clit in this process just my tits. Just because you lose your balls doesn't mean that your cock won't function (or so I hope!).
Oh yeah, the no hair thing is really sexy. I fucking looked like Humpty Alexander Dumpty from Puss in Boots the Shrek spin off when I first lost my hair during chemo,
and then by the end I looked like the dancing bald guy from the Six Flags commercial.
I really should have had all my teeth removed and asked my spouse if a good ol'fashion gummy blowjob would make a difference. My hair is still not all the way back, and is completely uncontrollable. It literally looks like my grandmother's helmet-head haircut, and to be completely honest it rivals that of Conway Twitty. I am sure there are people out there that would fuck this male-country-singer-grandma-hair woman, but I don't think I could be that person.
Another doozy is being thrown into early menopause because of chemo only to start menstruating again. Talk about a roller coaster of emotions that shit is... Everything leveled out when chemo ended, and then wham I get weepy, angry, happy, sad in a span of 20 minutes and don't understand why. Then two days later I go to the bathroom and think someone shot me in the vagina and it is clearly bleeding to death. Maybe my clit did fall off. Nope, I am just going through puberty, again, like I am 13 all over. Starting your period was horrific the first time. No one wants to go through it a second time. No one!
I am hyper analytical and a major problem solver. I love puzzles. Logic puzzles are my favorite, because they are like a whodunit. I get obsessed to where when I start one I have to finish it. Matter of fact, one of my sayings is there is always a solution to problem. Not any fucking more! I have played out just about every scenario I can think of in my head to try and solve the mystery of how I was lucky enough to win the breast cancer lottery.
Did I drink too much alcohol? Um, let's skip that question!
It is not cigarettes, because I don't smoke (remember I have asthma).
Is there something in the water from all the fracking? Probably not or more people around would have cancer (I think) or we would be in some Erin Brockovich type shit.
Was it my low vitamin D levels? Again, hard to say, because if you do search you find that most of America is vitamin D deficient. And you know that everything on the Internet is true!
I don't have the gene and I don't know of anyone in my family to have had breast cancer. It is a damn conundrum wrapped in an enigma of... I am never going to fucking know how I was so fortuitous, and that right there folks has driven me the most mad.
I want to solve this problem, so I never get cancer again. I hope I win the lottery. I hope I have sex. I hope I live forever, and most of all I hope I never get cancer again. Ever! But like the other secrets of the universe I have to accept the fact that I may never (well, I might one day figure it out) know why my tits revolted so I had to cut them off!
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