WARNING! I’M GOING TO SAY FUCK. A LOT.
5 weeks ago I got pathology results that informed me that I have breast cancer. Fucking 35 and I have fucking breast cancer. What the fuck? Really?
In the last 6 weeks I have been poked, prodded, stuck with needles and felt up by so many people with so many things, that I literally can’t even remember it all. I’m trying to keep notes on shit but, it’s fucking overwhelming. Like nonstop. I think I’m finally getting to a point that I can sit down and write about it here and there. I mean, I struggled for several weeks to even say “I have cancer” to people I care about. Literally, I told my mother that I have fucking cancer via text. I don’t care if I go to hell for that. I just could not deal with hearing her cry over the phone so fuck it. She got a text. Just like everyone else I love. In the last week or so though, I find myself getting back as close to normal as I’m going to get. Example, last night one of the kitchen managers at my job said something to me and my response was, “Huh?” and he proceeded to jokingly yell about how he hates “HUH” as a response because that’s all his kids ever say. My response was, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I have cancer,” and smiled and did my best Puss-In-Boots face.
So there you have it. Perhaps you’re a family member or friend of mine and you already know all the above. Then this post is boring and old news. But, perhaps you aren’t one of those and you’re reading this news for the first time. Maybe you are one of the estimated 231,840 new cases of invasive breast cancer cases expected to be diagnosed in women in the U.S. in 2015. Or one of the estimated 2,350 new cases of invasive breast cancer expected to be diagnosed in men. Maybe you’re one of the innumerable individuals who’s just been touched in some way by the evil shithead known as breast cancer. If you are, I just joined your fucked up fraternity/sorority so I feel you. Maybe you have questions. Ask me. I am an open book. Every person’s journey (BTW I HATE that they call diagnosis and treatment a journey but, I’ll discuss that loathing more later) is different but, we can all relate in some way.
So, y’all can look forward to rants about fertility treatments to help keep my dreams of mini-me’s alive, chemo and all the possible fucked up side effects, my irritation at everything, torturing my poor sailor and my crazy friends and their wonderful antics for me. Forgive me if the posts are infrequent at times or rapid fire others. I have fucking cancer and I do what I want when I fucking feel like it.
And if you so feel inclined (no pressure) visit my Christan’s Breast Cancer Sucks Fund Raiser and check out if you’d like to donate. Or send me a virtual hug. Or share it via social media to help me spread the word. Cancer is not only physically and emotionally exhausting but, financially too the bitch.
Paddle Your Own Damn Canoe 