Bowl full of Jelly

Or… fat.

Whew! We have been eating up a storm here, very outside of our "norm". Stepdaughter was here for 2 weeks, so we basically enjoyed the holidays. Worked out, but not enough to balance the gluttony. She doesn't get much home cooking, so I did a LOT. Plus, going out for real restaurant food (they don't have much other than chain crap and fast food where she lives). SO, back on it. Of course the tamoxifen makes it much harder to stay at a reasonable metabolic rate. Or something. But I'm not done fighting yet. And, if it happens that I make it to a year and stop taking this crap, so be it.

My bones. Joints. Grey hair. Metabolism.

But hey. There's a .02% chance that my cancer may metastasize. What? Of course, stats and charts are BS.

Um. That kind of sucks all around. But hubby is scared. So I pop my fat pills nightly. In fact, the alarm just rang. And my tummy is growling but I'm back on the intermittent fasting. Despite the gingerbread cookies on the counter. Screw them.

The weird thing, is that I'm 10 lbs. over my "ideal" weight, and 7 over my "usual". But I fit in everything. I don't look that different. But I feel it. It feels like a burden. So, off it goes.

Otherwise? All the side effects seem so not worth it. I'm looking forward to my next oncologist chat. The one where I tell her the meds still suck, and that I hate them, and then hubby gets a concerned look on his face as she spouts out statistics that are based partially on bullshit studies that don't include the women who dropped out because of blood clots, or new cancers, or just disgust with the side effects.

Yeah, it's going to be great. But, hey. I am really acting much more healthy to counteract the crappy side effects. Except for the past 2 weeks. Time to get back on it and see my abs a bit more clearly. And color those grays (with natural dye, of course… which is why I have to dye it so often!!!)

A new year is upon us, and I wonder - how much longer will I be on the planet? I hope long enough to not scar my daughter. I lost my mom at 18 and it still hurts. And I'm an old lady now. Sheesh...

Christmas!

Played a gig last night for Christmas Eve - the family was all there too - but I was in the balcony (aka The Hideout) and they were in the pews (a name that makes me chuckle. Because I'm 8).

Came home, ate pretty much every shred of food in the fridge, played Clue. A nice Christmas eve for sure!

This morning was great - presents, made a quiche and some cornbread muffins (sausage and cheese, hot pepper and cheese, and, well, cheese and cheese).

Cancer makes me appreciate things a lot more than I used to. So, cancer - you can go away now. Thank you very much.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christmas is coming, the Cancer Chick's trying to not get fat… please put a penny in the old man's hat.

Who is this elusive old man? And yes, the goose is getting fat. Though goose makes me nauseous due to the gamey high fat content - much like duck. Well, it's my fault. The first time I had Peking Duck was in Chinatown - and it was SO delicious that I gorged on it. Before I knew what I had done, I felt a cold sweat and nauseousness not unlike the feeling when I was having my breast biopsy done - the time I nearly passed out with a needle the size of an airplane deep in my now absent breast.

So, maybe if I weren't such a glutton, I would like it.

4 days until Christmas! Holy Crap!

My weight situation is ok, I'm holding again at my "ideal" weight, which actually is 3 lbs. heavier than I'd like to be, but I have to give myself a seasonal break on that. I did have a good workout and a nice long walk today. And my intermittent fasting has been fairly good, even with my stepdaughter visiting. I think she's really interested in what we're doing with our food - I don't know if she's aware that her daddy has rock solid abs now. But she can see that we're both in better shape than last time, which was about a year and a half ago… and going through cancer and crap, it's really a miracle. Even though folks assume that cancer patients are all skinny (and bald). I hate that stereotype. I have hair practically to my butt crack. And I harbor some sort of guilt about cutting it, since I got to keep it through everything. Not that I cut it much before, but sheesh. Maybe for the spring I can get a trim.

Shopping is done. It has to be. I can't retrieve any actual clothing from my closet. And we're having a party tomorrow, so we're not putting the tree up until Sunday night or perhaps sometime Monday. THEN I can wrap everything and have access to my wardrobe again. Luckily, most of my favorite stuff is in drawers and cabinets. Perhaps I should go through my stuff and donate a bit more, though much has been going to the Goodwill, and we have 2 more large bags to deliver.

I have so much grey hair now. It's different than the stuff that is supposed to be on my head. That stuff is wiry, very thick, like fishing line. The new stuff? Tamoxifen is f*cking with me. It's the same texture as my brown hair. But it's white. It's not ready to grow old. I miss my estrogen. Also, my period is almost 2 weeks late. Acupuncturist tried to pluck it out of me the past 2 weeks. No go. Maybe my uterus is empty. I hate that every morning I wake up with achy joints. The grays. The moods. The weight battles. The cravings (specifically, candy - there is this bizarro taste in my mouth that started with the tamoxifen, and I need something overwhelmingly disgustingly delicious to overpower it). It's different from the radiation taste, which required buttered bread. This is more of a "fruity flavored hard, gummy, or other candy". And, actually, my favorite and perhaps most damaging - candy corn. Thank God they don't make them for Christmas. What an awfully strange taste and texture. But it works, for a while.

I'm trying to really switch that over to more reasonable and less toxic things, but I don't want to walk around puking all day. Perhaps it's the diet Gods giving me the gift of bulimia. But I can't handle it. I'm the worst thrower-upper. Hard candy is helpful, except that I always want to crunch it up and get another. Fruit is very helpful, especially berries and pomegranates. Not as portable, but good. And my apple obsession lives on. I just bought 5 lbs. of fuji's at the farmers market this afternoon. And I now eat the whole apple (sans stem) because the seeds are supposed to KILL CANCER. Much like the bitter apricot kernels. I really crave that flavor now. If I could get that to replace this ridiculous candy thing, I'd be way better off.

But what would be really great? If I just stopped taking the fucking Tamoxifen.

Perhaps the 1 year mark will be good enough. That's in less than 2 months. Short term goals. Baby steps. Toxic medication that fucks with my life. Is it worth it?

The age old Cancer Question.

Acupunct- OW!!!

A few points really sang to me today.

Let's hope it brings the shedding of my uterus very soon. If not, one could assume that I'm officially in false menopause.

I baked cookies. I'm hormonal. This could go really wrong… except that my stepdaughter is here! Just arrived this evening. Lots of happy energy in the house! Meanwhile, back at the uterus...

And... Scene.

It's been a hell of a few months. Last night was the last performance in a string of amazing but exhausting work. I played my last note, ran to the dressing room, changed from my 6" heels to my warm boots, and headed home after saying goodnight.

Since last nights venue was so out of the way, my original plan was to cab. No cabs. So I walked to see if any busses were about. Nope. I kept walking. Until I reached home. My thoughts and my equipment and my fabulous false eyelashes and the cold air. It was actually a much needed walking meditation. 

My head has gone through so much. Stress, insecurity, uncertainty... And it's all affected my musical performances. Last night, I was on fire. I know I sounded good. I don't know how - but my confidence came back. 

This morning, I sounded like a fourth grader playing for the fifth time, ever. But that's how it goes. Exhaustion. 

My stepdaughter arrives this evening. And my daughter and I just realized that we haven't done anything in the way of teacher gifts!!! Guess we'll bake tonight. Egads. It's gonna be a different kind of busy! Nice that the family will be together again!!!  

Back off the road to go back on the road… still waiting for my period to hitchhike out of my uterus...

Spent less than a week in Chile, one show - but a long haul out there and back. Was it worth it? Sometimes I wonder, but I did get some time in the sun yesterday and a good workout daily, so YES. Oh, but they also fed us, and it wasn't a healthy place. So YES. I think I came back on par with my bloated self pre-boarding the first 4 hour delayed flight out.

Yup. 4 hour delay. Going out. AND coming back. Luckily we found out while at the hotel about the delayed return trip, so I was able to chill a bit. I would have much preferred to land at 7am today and have not lost another day, but I got back to the crib around 1pm. Showered. Unpacked. Started to re-pack for my flight in less than 3 days. This is how I roll, though most of the laundry that needs doing has to go back in my bag, so I guess I can't fully pack yet anyway.

Exhausted doesn't even begin to describe my state of being, but hubs arrived home soon after I did, he clearly has been doing his thang in the gym because… DAMN. My man is a hottie.

As always, I hate the meds. But I'm in a slightly better mood. I found that asking myself what hubby would do in stressful situations really keeps me all zen and shit. He's like the dude on top of the mountain that people walk for months to ask one question - well, he's way cuter than I'd imagine that mountain dude to be. I also assume that he drinks more coffee and alcohol than that dude. Otherwise, it's totally him. Oh, and we don't live on a mountain.

Speaking of mountains, and no, I'm not referring to my foob… we were stuck in the gorgeous hills of Chile. I mean, surrounded by beauty.

Somehow that kind of stuff makes it all better. Because I never get time to chill.

Time to check out and enjoy the insides of my eyelids. I hope. These overnight flights suck. One night at the hotel I spent time talking with a friend about some major drama, so I didn't get much sleep that night. But you know what? Overall things are pretty good. I am a lucky girl, and I know that every day. Even though I lost my boob to science, and I have to take this wretched medication. I have SO many more grey hairs.

Oh, Lord… please begin to shed my uterus tonight. I actually don't feel like there is much to shed, but I want to remain a fairly vibrant woman and am not ready for fake-o-pause. Especially since I have to go through the real deal down the road.  I was due yesterday. I was hopeful, between the weight gain, the mood swings, the bloating - but that might all be post-Thanksgiving. Tonight it was salad, shiritaki noodles with spinach, and a slice of Ezekiel toast with peanut butter and some cherry jam. Good band name.

Ahhh. Ye olde Tamoxifen Alarm has rung...

Normally, if convenient, I will jump up and take my nightly Old Lady Pill.

I just hit snooze. I could have hopped up for my Scooby Snack, but I'm getting sick of my achy joints, my bone density at level dust, my mood swings swinging harder than any "jazz cat", my excessive grey hairs which seem to be multiplying at an alarming speed (thank goodness for natural-ish hair dye, but shoo, it's messy and costly and just lame!), my scale which surely is broken - in the last week I gained 5 pounds LITERALLY overnight and haven't been able to budge from it - which is still a hairball under my stress weight pre-tamoxifen, but still. I worked hard to get the needle down to my ideal weight, and 5 pounds doesn't sound like a lot to most, but I basically gain weight in my midsection. I don't gain it in the good places. I literally turn into a ball. I'm not there, but I hate that I can't get back to my happy weight. Just 5 pounds. PLEASE. I haven't been on my "a" game, but I haven't exactly been misbehaving, either! We'll see how tomorrow works out - though we're having a party here. Turkey and stuffing and oxtail stew and pies and shit. I haven't cooked like this since perhaps last year's Thanksgiving Misfit Glutton Fest. I LOVE to cook, but my nerves are a bit much this year. I broke a huge glass dispenser. Several other things have gone awry. I think this tamoxifen makes me jumpy like a kangaroo on Red Bull. If something falls from a cabinet, I scream like someone is coming after me with a machete. What gives? Not that I was ever the essence of calm, but sheesh. Anyway, we did ok in setting up as much as we could for tonight - though the freaking pumpkin muffins are calling my name. And asking if butter can come along for the ride. I had a few today - with my miso soup - and after… I decided that a healthful dinner for my frazzled nerves would be Inka and Schmailey's. I have a thing for fake Bailey's - somehow they seem to taste better (and cost less) than the "original". Anyway, I was correct. It was warm and delicious and calmed me down a bit. I'm still a kangaroo, but the Red Bull has left the building.

I know. I should take the freaking TamoxiPoison. Because I want to live. But the side effects, which folks swore would level out after 2 months? Um, it's been almost 10 and it's just getting worse. It's like not studying for a particular class, and by the time you get to the final exam, you can't win. That cumulative crap is something else. I would love to go off the meds for a few months, clean it out of my temple, and kind of give it another shot. Maybe it interacted with the radiation. Maybe that Hulk shit is real.

Except for that part. Yeah, I'm working out. And ok, I don't look bad for an old, cancerous broad. And, no, you can not call me a broad. Or call me abroad - because I always turn my cell service off to avoid the charges. Crap, see? This tamoxifen makes my brain all wonky. Anyway - I'd take the green skin if I could be that bangin'. But all I seem to have is the Hulk TamoxiRage. 

Well, damn, I guess it's time to take my poison and stuff a pound of butter under the turkey skin. Yeah. That's one of my tricks. People think turkey is so healthy - but the truth? If you get turkey that actually is moist and delicious, chances are there is a crapload of butter and oil rolling in it. We only cook it once a year. I'm not a huge fan of it - but my cranberry chutney… mmmm. And seriously, you can't compete with oxtail stew. Hulk Crush. But I'll never give away my secrets - actually I'm full of crap. This deliciousness is my recipe. I do it in a huge slow cooker. I had oxtail stew for breakfast in Indonesia and, as I often do, I was determined to make it at home. This is the closest I could get. It was sweet. Heck, it was breakfast! All the other chumps on tour ordered omlettes and pancakes and crap. I asked the waiter what his favorite dish was there (we were at the Ritz - sounds great until you realized that there was a mass shooting weeks before, so we weren't allowed to leave because the shit was way too dangerous!)

But, I got this great recipe from that trip. Or, the idea to figure it out. Because it is stupid good.  Back to that butter-stuffed turkey… 

TAMOXIRAGE!!!

GRRRRR.

Holy crap. I'm not even bi-polar on this shit. Can you be tri-polar? Or more?

Multi-polar?

I admit, we had a really late night. Actually I think my head hit the pillow at 4am. It was fun, but damn. And for the past few weeks, I've said at least daily: "I'm going to punch someone in the face today". Of course, I'm not violent, but this stuff? This hormone altering pill? Makes you want to punch someone in the face.

I luckily have kept my fist at bay.

First it was the guy on the airplane who, upon my reclining of my seat, started to push it and complained that his knees were crushed. I kept my smile on, and got upgraded. Not mad about stretching my legs out for the entire flight. The flight attendant kept offering me a drink - I think she wanted to get me drunk, but I was fine. I told her that I needed a cup of coffee, and that I was glad that I was ME and not HIM, who was having a crappy day. I didn't tell her that I have cancer - I mean, what's crappier than that?

Yeah. I'd rather be a cancerous woman than a cranky old man. So I guess I'm still ahead of the game.

Anyway, back to today. I woke up around 8 and tossed and turned until 10. Finally got up. Washed my hair. Tried to be productive, which was dumb. Considered going to the gym, but the bed seemed like a better choice, so I sent hubby to pump iron without me.

After all that? We haven't had date-night time in a long time, but damn, if I couldn't get my brain out of my bitch funk. Finally I had some yogurt and blackberries, to help my blood sugar. A big glass of iced coffee, courtesy of hubby - who really tries hard to help. There is just so much that you can do to help a tamoxi-raging woman. Seriously. It's dangerous territory. Tread carefully, people.

But, I got it together enough to hit the diner. We considered something fancier, but I didn't want to "waste" a lovely experience. The diner? F'ing amazing. Fried calamari, and then we split a cobb salad and a reuben sandwich. Only in NYC. That sandwich is the devil. I think I might allow one a year now - it's something I never ordered before, but it all sounded like a cure for some horrible mood swinging.

IT WORKED! A Christmas Miracle! The Reuben Hormonal Rage Cure! I am hoping to get a grant to study this further, perhaps have the FDA approve my Emergency Reuben Packets. In case of tamoxirage, break glass.  Before you punch someone in the face. Mmmm.  Thank you, Reuben.

I think my blood sugar was part of the problem, but still - there's a reason that they prescribe an anti-depressant along with this crap. I don't want to take anything more, but if this shyte continues, I can't afford the Reuben calories often. Oh, because tamoxifen makes you fat, too.

Some days, cancer is more appealing than the "cure".

2 more shows!

Then… home! SALAD! APPLES! Contraband foods as a visitor will be extra delicious. In fact, we have a plane transfer in the states and I hope there's time to grab a salad for flight #2!

I'm SO tired. Soundcheck was early, before noon, then we went out for an absolutely fantastic lunch (I had some sort of shrimp on a tortilla smothered in cheese and bacon… WHAT?) I ordered a coke, and the waiter asked if I wanted diet. My response? "Why? Am I fat???" Ah, I guess the "thin" girls are notorious for ordering diet crud. I was one of them, and I NEVER drink soda, but I'm tired of drinking bottles of water here. Plus, I'm tired. And they don't use corn syrup.

We also had dessert - I had some ice cream thing, I thought he said peach but the shell looked other-worldly, so I think it may have been a passion fruit sort of thing. Regardless, it was delish and not too sweet.

Went back to the hotel and changed into my bikini. Sat by the pool. About an hour - I definitely got tan lines but don't want to get over-sunned on a gig day. Brain and face might not work if I OD!

So tired. Luckily, it's 5pm here and our call is 9pm, dressed and ready. So I'm going to pretend to try and nap for a few hours. It might help.

PS. There's no gym. So I guess it's my day off. Might do some abs in the room, and I did bring a stretchy band to "lift", but I'm just beat.

2 more shows… tomorrow is going to be rough, but on that last show day, I can do ANYTHING.

xoxo

On the road again...

… and, magically - 6 days late, I got my period!

Whoopie!!!  Yeah, remember? I'm on that heinous Tamoxifen. The one that is tricking my body into acting 30 years older. Well, I was wondering why I was craving so much damned sugar, salt and fat. Besides just being human, that's what it was!

So, I've been out of town for 5 days. Worked out every day. Not to out-do my ravenosity. But, it's ok. I'm doing the right stuff that I can, and tonight, I'm staying in. I made an executive decision. Ghetto-rita from the convenience store, along with gummy candy and some nuts. My uterus hates me, but this comfort food is helping. Hoping to fall asleep and STAY asleep - every night I've spent sleeping and waking in spurts of a few hours at a time. Considered napping mid-day, but decided on a walk instead. Which resulted in said snacks. Better than room service - I can't eat produce anyway (except the lovely orange-like fruit I had earlier, thank goodness for peelie fruit in unsafe water territories!) I'm hoping to find an English speaking movie - the typhoon news on CNN is thoroughly depressing and awful. I hate feeling helpless, don't you? I wish that relief would find them faster. People are dying. Shit.

If I can't sleep, off to the treadmill I will go. I detest cardio, but have lifted weights thoroughly, daily. Something tells me that I will find comfort behind my eyelids tonight. Perhaps once I reach the bottom of this margarita. And a melatonin or two if needed.

The nice thing about being on tour - I have very little responsibility compared to real life. I can't clean my house. I can't scrub floors. I can only practice my instrument, wander the town if it's safe, show up on time for soundcheck and gigs, be there for lobby calls, remember to pack everything up when leaving a hotel. And this is why it's good that I no longer tour for longer periods of time. It's a good rest for my brain, but not so much that I forget how to be ME at home, to me and my family.

Off to channel surf. Wish me luck on that sleep deal!

Beautiful frozen birthday cake. RIP.

I had a big chunk of cannoli (minus the cannoli) birthday cake in the freezer. Because I love cake and can't seem to throw out food I love.

However, having asked my daughter and husband if they "want any cake" (meaning, I wanted it!) for the past couple of months with no takers, I finally broke down and sliced a piece off tonight for dessert. I'm uber-hormonal. I figured, why not? And as I indulged in the creamy frosting, the fluffy cake, I realized - I don't need this shit.

So, I threw the rest out. After I practically licked the plate clean. Whatever. I'm hormonal. And I have cancer. I might die tomorrow!

But, I managed to tip the container over in the garbage can to hear an audible, sad, and calorie saving "THUNK". And I felt good about my decision, luckily... otherwise, I can picture myself digging through the garbage to see if I can salvage the hunk of cake. Maybe I could slice away the sides and save the inside. Ew.

There it is. Perhaps I AM growing up. My willpower has been a bit teeter-totterish recently, though I've kept my weight hovering below or on point with my pre-diagnosis weight. Not without effort - it takes SO much work to remain my size with the tamoxifat. But, I'd rather live and be thin, than live and be fat, or go off the meds to make my weight issues easier... and die.

Sometimes, when I look at the situation realistically, or at least in black-and-white, I realize that I have choices. Life is like that, but when you have an illness? Shoo. The crap is in technicolor, but there still is a "good vs. evil" vibe.

Good - stay on stupid meds that may have kept my mom alive for more than she was here. Perhaps she could have seen me past my 18th year on the planet. Perhaps she could have seen 51 herself. But, at least I painted her nails for the first time, at 49. Bright red. I remember it well. Her nails were black from the years of chemo. I finally showed up with a bottle of fire engine red polish and told her she couldn't fight me on it. I mean, at that point - it's not like she was afraid of getting cancer from nail polish! (Disclaimer: I now use all natural cosmetics, including nail polish). Because I don't want any more damned cancer than I have. But she was dying. And we knew it.

I also remember visiting her the day before one of her millions of surgeries. I brought her black lace panties. She laughed - my Very Conservative Mother thought it was hysterical. And, in my 17 year old mind, I had no idea that you don't wear any undies during surgery! But, she appreciated the thought and thought I was a hairball crazy. But, I am her daughter. We were/are different kinds of crazy. She was very rebellious considering her upbringing. Me? Well, I'm rebellious in my own special ways. Never to harm anyone, but just to enjoy life. And really, I'm a homebody and a loner like she was. Nobody guesses from my profession, but it's true. In a noisy situation I'll look for a quiet space, or simply crawl into a little crevice in my brain and hide until the noises calm down. My daughter is the same.

I was on TV yesterday! I missed part of it, since we don't have tv, but caught some online. Now the whole show is online, but I watched enough. I guess I've done it enough times, and while it's exciting, always, I just am too busy and tired to really get caught up. Plus, the mix sucked.

But my girls looked great! Nobody would guess that I had a big bag o' stuff in that dress! It's nice to look and see that I look "real".

Real cancerous.

I admit that I miss having 2 actual breasts. Not that I really needed them anymore, functionally, but it's weird to not feel one side. And not be able to do pushups. Or flys. Dips are challenging, because my foobie crumples up like someone balling up a piece of paper to throw when the teacher's back is turned.  So I just make sure that nobody is looking (except me - I can't help it! It's right there!!!)  And my triceps will NOT die because of this cancer shit. I am not going to have a flabby tricep like this! My great grandma, at a thousand years old, was adorable and spunky and thin, but boy, her triceps pretty much hung to her knees. No, thank you.

So, that's it. My vanity has helped my quest in keeping healthy. Cake in garbage. Triceps intact.

Will be south of the border in a few days for some gigs. I love traveling, but hate the thought of not drinking a lot of water (bottles sealed, please!) and eating NO PRODUCE. Jebus. I am the produce queen. I know I can probably bring my own apples. I heard a hilarious story about someone I know who recently got stopped for an apple in his bag. It was apparently not from Mexico, but imported from the US and forgotten about. He argued with the officer. Finally, he was told that "this apple lost it's citizenship when you flew into Mexico". Come on, that shit is hysterical!!! I'm still laughing about that. Perhaps I will pack a stash in my bag - 10 days without live enzymes is a long time. Let's hope Montezuma is not seeking revenge...

Happy Halloween from my Frankenboob!

A long day. I am amazed that I made it this far... still underslept from last week. But my girl and I did a tiny bit of trick or treating after an appointment, just on the walk home. Enough candy to make her happy, and not too much to turn her into a sugar maniac. In fact, she had 3 pieces. After all, it was taco night. And hubs makes great tacos!

I, however, am a hormonal freakazoid.

Never mind that I dipped well below my "target" weight yesterday for my oncology appointment... (ok, a pound, but that's a lot and in territory I never see) I could NOT stop eating today. Theoretically, I have PMS. But on the meds? Who knows. Woke up 2 lbs. heavier today, so we'll see what happens tomorrow. Taco night, candy rejects from her loot... starving but holding it together.

It's amazing how a woman can eat, more than usual, and her hormones make her tummy rumble like Pooh...

But, there ya have it. Also, Pooh should consider wearing at least some undies. Nothing to see here...

I feel like I'm in an awful funk. Not the funky dancing kind. A "BLAH" funk. Hubs and I are hoping for date night tomorrow before his gig. I would go, but have an early train to a gig myself in the morning. But, we need time to enjoy a meal that someone else cooks, in a restaurant, perhaps dressed cute, away from home where there's always something to take care of. 

We need to take care of us. 

It's been super busy, our careers are at a great place, but we need our heads and our hearts to rock as well.

Time to not be a b*tch!

I spent the last week in tv production. I can't fully explain the torture. I make it as fun as I can, and I love the end result (being on tv), and I do this show every year - but damn.

Got home late Saturday after the taping and have not fully been able to sleep, despite my lack of sleep for a week. My brain is racing, I'm still "learning" music. I'm still going over shit in my head. But, it's over. It airs Sunday. I should be able to turn it off.

Went to acupuncture today. Every point made a point. Sometimes I don't feel them, today? Electric. I felt as if this grey film was lifted from my entire being. I'm not "better" yet, but am a few steps closer to it. I am having quite a time trying to not be a bitch. Trying to not eat sweets. Trying to be the real me.

I'm doing my best - which kind of sucks at the moment. But it's my best. Tomorrow it will be better.

Oncology appointment tomorrow. I'm sure she'll be pleased with my weight and what not. Will discuss bone scan further. Will inform her of the new super supplements I'm taking to combat old lady bones. Hopefully, will schedule a scan in another few months.

I think I was supposed to have a blood draw for my regular doc, like, in the summer. I guess I should call her. I'm SO tired of docs and needles. Except the acupuncture ones. Though today, I cringed at each one, knowing I'd feel them. But, what relief.

Hey, Cancer. Fuck you. Your novelty has long worn off. However, the "girls" looked pretty spectacular in my dress for the show. As long as I strap 'em down tight, it ain't so bad. But I still miss having 2 actual breasts. Oh well. Could be worse - at least my head is still somewhat attached!

And just like that, a life is gone

Just found out that someone in my ex's side of the family committed suicide. This was someone that my daughter adored. They had a connection that amazed me and thrilled me. I have it with her, so does hubby, but this was someone who was "not a parent". Who was cool. 

How do you kill yourself? How do you end your life? Here I am fighting to stay alive. It figures. Folks who want to die, and those who - dare I say - might be asking for it (murderers and rapists etc) - and folks like me, and my mom, her sis, her brother, my cousin... Etc... We get cancer. I haven't been a saint my whole life, but I sure as hell have been doing the best I can with what I've got. 

And what I've got is cancer. 

It's interesting. If I were suicidal, I'd stop treatments. I'd eat soy and sugar all day. I'd do all the things I don't do. It would be easy, I assume, to metastasize. I witnessed my mom give up. I think she wanted to die by then. 

I guess I've got an easy out if it gets bad. But, with my little family, I can't imagine wanting to leave the planet anytime soon. 

Rest in peace. I hope you have found what you needed on the other side. 

Sniff

For all the good stuff I do, I seem to be coming down with the sniffles. This morning I felt it, took a whopping 5000 mg. of vitamin c (this stuff tastes like a lemon on 'roids, or at least what I assume a lemon on 'roids would taste like). I add a packet of stevia. It still makes me shudder. But it helped.

You know how, when you take in a bunch of vitamin c, you end up peeing it out and you know it? I didn't. That means I needed that bodybuilding lemon in my body. I had another dose tonight along with zinc.

I also had a nap. It started out as a 20 minute nap, but ended up being more than an hour. My husband is a saint. I didn't hear him sort the laundry mere feet away from me, and by the time I got up, clothes were in the dryer. I had a dose of organic essiac tea and an apple. I really wanted a bowl of organic cereal, as my hormones are still on a rampage, but I figured that the 3 bowls I had prior to my nap were sufficient.

Needless to say, I am feeling slightly better. I'm going to knock myself on my ass, as they say (whoever they are!) so that this thing doesn't get me. Luckily - haha - I got quite a few bug bites last night and they are killing me - swollen and itching - and all on my left side (the side without lymph??? Give me a f*cking break, bugs!!!) So, I am considering a dose of antihistamine, which I hate - but at least it will assure that I am not only knocked the hell out, but also may help in relieving the swelling. BECAUSE I HAVE NO GAAAAD DAMNED LYMPH NODES!!!  Ok, I have some, but still... it takes forever to heal on my left side. And if I end up with some lymphedema crap, I am going to be one crazy bug killing Mama! I've always been allergic to them, but now? And seriously, why the left side only??? There's also one on my forehead. I have fake bangs that I may clip in, though a baseball hat will do the trick. Or the I don't give a crap if I have a bug bite on my forehead attitude. We'll see how I'm feeling with my antihistamine hangover. And I had planned on a caffeine free weekend, but that might not be good after the meds.

I'm definitely not going out tonight, which I had considered doing. I've got way too much shite going on in the next few weeks and can not afford to get sick. Or be all itchy and scratchy...

Ahhhhormones....

Well, my uterine shedding was scheduled for Sunday, according to my app.  I was starting to get worried that my fake menopause took a deeper turn into Old Lady-Ish-Ness.

Halleloooooooya! It started last night! 3 days late, but there. Of course, with that comes intense hunger - and not for healthy stuff. I have a tv show coming up in a bit over a week, so hopefully the cravings will leave soon and I can again keep myself under control for a bit. You know, the camera adds 50 lbs. Give or take a pound.

Been hot flashing the past week again. Not a ton, but enough to have to wash my hair. Acupuncture was good today - pericardium 6 freaking screamed at me. It's the stress. The heart protector, protecting my overworked heart. It opened up and I feel a bunch better. Let's hope the hot flashes vacate for a bit. I use really expensive shampoo and have a lot of hair!

Bought a new toy - a guitar. Do I play? Not yet. Tonight I learned how to play a G chord. I wanted to continue but I want to break in slowly, the last thing I need is to get guitar string induced cuts on my left hand, leading to infection and eventually lymphedema. So, slow and steady. Build calluses. Do it without going all in like I tend to do with stuff.

Speaking of all in, I bought a Berkey water filter that will eventually save my life.  With a bunch of doo-dads and extras (ok, and 2 raw chocolate bars) I spent over $600. Maybe I'm turning into a shopaholic. But, water is important, and if I can get pure, alkaline water for my family and I (yes, I bought the showerhead filter too!) I don't care about the bill. It helps with cancer AND osteoporosis. I don't have time to save for this kind of thing. Maybe the guitar, but I did get a discount on it via a friend who works at an online retailer that deals in such things...

Meanwhile, I've been fairly faithfully taking my calcium supplements. My hip barely hurts now. Is it the calcium or my brain? Who cares. Let's just hope that I don't crack something. Ever. I hope with the new water filter (hopefully arriving next week) and the supplements and my consistent working out... maybe I can avoid the whole scenario above.

Also, I am no longer allowed to purchase cereal except for my daughter. No cereal is safe with my hormones running around. Even organic millet and rice flakes. I'm such a hormonal dork.

Fading Fast...

So, my tattoo got a nod of approval from the doc on Friday, one week into healing. Some peeling. Saturday, I washed my hair and when I opened my eyes, it seemed my entire areola had slipped down the drain! I guess the water pressure for so long helped my skin peel.

Now it looks so light! I know that it will take a while to even out, and now it's closer to the other side than it was before. But I miss the dark color.

The other night before the peel, I sat up in bed and saw in the mirror that I appeared (from afar) to have 2 actual breasts, not one with a mangled doppelganger who doesn't quite fit the bill, but is a "block away".

The good news is that I'm no longer bandaged and goopified. I have spent so much of the past year in various states of medical dress. In fact, I have a few rolls of different types of tape, gauze, etc. for different stages of breast deconstruction and reconstruction. I guess the crap keeps coming in handy.

It's been a very long week - rehearsals and gigs. Tomorrow is a dance piece - I only play 2 pieces in the show, so I'm hopeful that I'll get to see the others! Not sure exactly how to dress, all black... so I'm sticking with black pants, tank and a vest. Blazer in case it's chilly. Semi-conservative heels, as my 5" usuals may be a bit much. I'll know more after the gig, and will be able to plan better for the future. Last night was dirty, filthy, hysterical blues. I work hard, but boy - my life sure is fulfilling artistically!!!

Now to check on my girl. We were out at a Sun Ra tribute show. Yeah, my 12 year old knows that Space is the Place.

Stupid Cancer OMG 2013

Seriously, I never type things like OMG, TMI, LOL, or whatever else is out there. My 12 year old also does not for the most part, though she seems to enjoy ROFL. Whatever. Pick your battles! PYB!  ;)

But - today was OMG! Hubby has literally clocked in about 5 hours of sleep in the past 2 days, and I felt bad this morning. MY areola. MY Stupid Cancer Conference. But, not only was he up and about and drinking copious amounts of coffee, but he was happy. Personally, I too have to go without sleep from time to time, but damn. He's a real partner.

I'm exhausted and on margarita 1 1/2 (I know my limit!) and have an early-ish gig tomorrow, so this will be short. But - WOW. I mean, seriously. Good vibes, very little "poor me" all day, and the only time we heard it was snippets from very few audience members. It was a very positive day. Get a roomful of about 200 cancer patients and family, and have 99% positivity... you couldn't get 200 people WITHOUT cancer and get that percentage back. You know I'm right. So, what is it about this group?

The reason for Stupid Cancer, in my humble opinion, is to empower, enlighten and network young folks with cancer. I mean, the reason I *probably* stumbled upon them was doing some sort of googling, being mad that I got this shit, and laughing at the name. And immediately wanting a shirt. Hubby and I pretty much have a Stupid Cancer Wardrobe. The stock comes and goes, and I assume with the conference, they will be sold out of some stuff for a while - so check back. My favorite shirt is the one with the fists. But I love them all! And my hat. And my mug. And my cancer cards. And my magnet. And my stickers. Maybe Stupid Cancer should partner with Shopaholics Anonymous.

Ok, Margarita 1/2 (on top of the 1) is hitting me hard, so before I crumble and type some shit I don't want to (or do a face plant on the keyboard) I need to say that I'm super excited for tomorrow's gig. Why? Well, I love the artist and band, but it's a freaking Kid's Cancer event. I mean, seriously. I'm starting to see a purpose in my life here. Did I ever? I thought maybe I was here to inspire young musicians, and I guess that has been going well. But this is getting deep.

Over and Out.

Holy Areoly!

Yesterday was the morning of my newest tattoo - the one that will be least visible, unless I change my career path. I'm sure there's some sort of breast cancer fetish, but perhaps I will not join the ranks of one-breasted porn stars.

That's right. Areola-Mania.

Hubs got home from the gig really late, or early - like 3 or 4 am. Our appointment was 9am. Cruel? I told him he didn't "have" to go, but how could he refuse? I crossed the bridge from having a ripply bag o' water under my stretched out pec muscle, with a big slash across it (yeah, it's kind of rock star, I suppose...) to watching my surgeon mix colors to try and match my existing areola. At one point he had around 10 swipes of color next to the existing one, like an old lady at the lipstick counter in Macy's, trying to decide which one would look best around her actual lips, on her face. Yeah, I actually said one of the colors looked like that. Anyway, my surgeon said that it was tough to match my coloring with what they had. I said - nothing matched before, so I'm pretty sure it will be an improvement.

And I pulled out the First Day Meeting my Plastic Surgeon So I Might As Well Strip Down and Show Him My Breasts photo in my medical chart.

Ya know what? They were crazy different. Color, size, I really looked like a weird photoshop of two women.

So I picked a color and we went for it.

He numbed me. Why? I barely have feeling. But I have enough tattoos to know that THEY HURT LIKE HELL when you can feel, and since this was such an emotional procedure, once again completely altering myself, it's best to not feel pain. I was still surprised though, and sometimes the needle hurt.

Hubby got sappy as always. The whole time, my eyes watered. And of course, I had no pain. I just thought back to my mother's caved in frame, it seemed impossible that she had once had 2 breasts. The horrific mutilation of her body (I'm sure it was the usual back then) left her with so little femininity. I knew that. I knew she missed feeling like a beautiful woman. She was, don't get me wrong, but I look at myself now and think, "What the hell happened???" And that, my friends, is why I got my tattoo today.

It has to be covered for a day, so most likely the unveiling will be tonight. We're heading to a cancer conference in a few, even though hubby is on 3 hours of sleep from 2 nights ago and is probably coming up on his third from last night, unless his alarm has gone off (I'm in the studio warming up, and apparently, blogging). I don't know how he does it. We'll conference all day and then he has a gig uptown. Me? I have the option of strolling home if that's my desire. But tomorrow is out of town for a day gig.

I haven't worked out in a week, but I lost the weight. Really, it was a matter of intermittent fasting. But, we went out to dinner last night -it was asian fusion stuff, and tasted great, and I gained a pound back (but am still a sliver under pre-diagnosis weight!!!) However, I hope that I can keep it within a reasonable range. I hope... otherwise, the tamoxifen is out the window.

But they had chocolate mousse cake. Damnit. 

Quickly... Fast!

I woke up sick of myself this morning. A couple of lbs. crept back in. And, I'm positive it has nothing to do with the fact that I made my daughter pasta and she didn't finish it - but somehow, it disappeared. Curious, that disappearing pasta event...

So I clamped down until about 3:15 pm. Green tea, water, coffee, and - a few pieces of candy to get rid of that funky taste in my throat that has been plaguing me (and possibly making me eat more than I need to!) I assume the taste is via Tamoxifen. I assume everything evil is.

But, today, I clamped down. Started with a cup of fruit salad and calcium pills. Graduated to a dressingless salad with nothing that bore any real caloric value, but lots of healthy stuff. Ok, I also sauteed a few garlic cloves - my daughter was making some sauteed mushrooms and I threw them in. A few calcium pills. Then - 2 apples and a small serving of dried seaweed - made with olive oil and no soy involved (that is hard to find!!!)  Dessert? I plan on calcium pills.  And yes, I'm following the directions on this supplement. It's a lot of pills spaced out.

I actually don't feel chubby. I seem like the same size. My abs don't feel like flabs. But the scale is up. And I have been naughty with the chow since Friday. So, I need to clear out and get back into fighting shape. Really, it's just 7 lbs. that I would like to leave behind, but truth be told - I'm still about 2 lbs. lighter than when I finished radiation. But I ain't settling.

Ok. So, what gives with Bitter Apricot Seeds? Or B17? Or Laetrile? Man, I'm ready to chow down on these things - I can't imagine that they'd be any more dangerous than Tamoxifen - and I would think a heck of a lot less dangerous! Anyone know? Please let me know! I can stomach the bitter taste! Knowing me, I'll convince myself that they're delicious-y.  Need to research more. Of course.

Meanwhile, back at Fat Camp... no, not really. I know. I'm hard on myself, but in a good way. I watched my mom slowly slip into apathy over the 10 years of her cancer. And I have days and moments where I can feel how easy it is to slip down that path myself. Unlike her, though - I (finally!) have a good man at my side. I have a great kid who I tell just about everything in my treatment. I was kept in the dark. She's less scared, I hope, knowing what I'm going through. The mystery stuff is always the most scary. She's also a curious kid. I was scared and silent at her age, and got worse with time. I think I started to become social when I hovered around 30. And, I'm still a very private person in many ways. I love time alone. I don't seek out social adventures, but they find me when I need them. I love my friends, and they respect this about me.

Lawdy, I was so hungry about an hour ago, but now I'm feeling fine. Must be all those God Damned calcium pills that are filling me up! I think it's 8 a day (spread over hours, but still... gag...)  Let's hope my bones come back to me. I am NOT in the mood to have a broken granny hip!

Tomorrow - excitement... can't say why even though this is semi-anonymous. Let's just say, I'm hoping it's not just a dream. And, on that note - zzzzzz!

Holy Weight Gain, Batman!!!

Ok, it's sort of my fault.

I started taking the calcium supplement. I'm not sure if this is possible, but I get these spells of fuzzy brain. I feel like someone is tickling my brain with wool. It doesn't hurt, I don't feel like I'll pass out, and only once did I feel a little nauseated. But I also feel like my body is not used to the flooding of calcium into my weak and brittle old lady dusty bones.

I ate a lot in the past few days. Went to a party, and the food was SMOKIN'. Plus beer. Went out the following day to a German Bierhaus. No surprise - great food and bier. I weighed in at about 8 lbs. heavier than before these days happened. I was so puffy, and felt dehydrated no matter what I drank, but I kept drinking, coconut water, even gatorade during a desperate moment at the gym.

I know. A lot of salt, a bit too much indulgence. I'll be square in a few days, and I did wake up only 2 pounds up instead of 8 this morning, but... damn. I do feel as if I retain water a lot easier these days. Is it the calcium? Shoo. I can't win. I'd rather not spend the rest of my life in a body cast. To me, I weigh the pros and cons of the Tamoxibreak, and the ridiculous side effects seem unworthy of the slight elevation in my chance to not have a metastasis roll to another part of me.

On a strange note - and knock on wood - I haven't been having many hot flashes. I think the fuzzy head has taken over, though. Which scares me more. Sure, I save on shampoo and the embarrassment of becoming completely soaked and panicked within seconds, but being a cancer patient makes me worry about everything. I asked hubs if I had a brain tumor yesterday. He said he hoped not. Me too.

Stupid bone density.

I called it.

My left hip started hurting. My knees too, while dancing on a gig. But that hip was getting chronic.

Normally bone density isn't checked until a year after Tamoxifen. Why? 6 months, I insisted. Osteopenia. Mostly in left hip. Duh. I should have been a doctor. Or a psychic.

Maybe not a psychic. I look terrible in a turban. But, HOW much a minute? Ok, let me rethink the turban.

So, what now? My hormones are a wreck. I bruise easier. Which I thought was impossible, previously. My period threatens to stop. Sounds nice in theory, until your uterus is all tied up in knots and you want to stab it with a knife to possibly relieve the pain. Then, your period starts for a couple of days, stops abruptly, and you worry that you're pregnant. I'm FOREVER starving. I mean, always. It's no wonder that women gain an extra entire woman on this medication. I've been incredibly disciplined, but just ate a half of a bag of organic corn chips, leftover from the dinner table. Thank goodness I can somehow keep myself together enough to do my intermittent fasting (I start eating after lunchtime now). Sometimes I have to melatonin and pour a generous glass of wine to get myself to bed with my full but rumbling tummy. If I had no self control (or was not totally vain!) I would be double sized by now.

So, is it worth it? The percentages aren't as great as the drug companies try to convince us. But, we're scared. I don't want to die and have my daughter think that I could have saved myself by popping these things. I sometimes wonder if my mom would have survived if they had this stuff. Most likely, not. But, my brain goes there. And hers will too - so if I drop dead tomorrow, I want her to know that I did everything possible to keep myself from dropping dead. Even if I don't believe it all.

What now? I have no answers. I have no ideas. Only that I want to stop all of this shit. I want to be ME. I want my damned nipple back. I want all that tissue back, as imperfect as it was. I want to stop worrying about lymphedema, and about soy, and I want to know that I can time my period to the day and know when to carry around girl supplies. Not this element of surprise shit. It happened a week early, at a party, out of town. Luckily I thought enough to slip a tampon in my tiny clutch purse that can't even hold my phone. And luckily, I decided to visit the restroom one more time before leaving, even though I had been there 20 minutes prior. And I found that I didn't have a "beginning flow" but a day two flow. Out of the blue. In a white floral dress. Luckily I caught the red sea just in time.

I'm so frustrated. I kind of don't care anymore (lies) that my cancer cells might migrate and become "incurable". Um, I feel incurable anyway.

Last week, the evening after acupuncture, I threw up. Like, a lot. One minute I was on the couch. I felt this weird "I'm going to puke" feeling, got up, calmly walked to the bathroom, knelt over the toilet like I did after a drinking binge in my early 20's, and very calmly and oddly comfortably, puked a huge amount of stuff. It didn't even bother me. It felt necessary. I brushed my teeth, mouthwashed, and was fine.  How 'bout that?

I felt sick again yesterday but didn't have to purge. I feel like my body is trying to get rid of something. Is it the cancer or the medication? Maybe I can puke it all out. All of it.

Roid Rage vs. Tamoxi Rage

I wonder, are steroids worse than tamoxifen?

I guess there's the battle of pimples. But, if you work out? Awesome.

The tamoxirage is annoying me. Like crazy. It comes and goes, and I'm grateful that it's hopefully stopping my rogue cancer cells from traveling to incurable sections of my body.

But, seriously, wouldn't steroids also suppress my chick hormones? I mean, let's get real. Female bodybuilders on the juice probably never drop an egg a month, and the ones with boobs are implanted. I wonder what the rate of breast cancer is in female bodybuilders???

I wonder if my oncologist would get on board with me on this idea. Um, I know the answer. But it's still way tempting to ask her. Because, she's a straight shooter and most likely I'd hear "I really don't know much about that". Instead of, "that's a terrible idea and you are going to burn in Hell for entertaining that thought".

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I think Cancer is Hell. So I'm already here! Bring on the juice and let's get ripped!!!

*in my dreams*

Meanwhile, in weight control land, I have been bad for a few weeks and had put on about 3-4 lbs. Not much, you say? Well, to me it is. So, I've been ridiculously disciplined the past few days, to the point of wondering if it was all worth it. But, it was. I'm back to a reasonable size, 3 lbs. less. Now, to hang onto it.

Because... a photo session is being planned for Sunday.

I'm getting a fucking areola tattoo in 3 weeks, I need proper documentation that I was areola-less! We'll do promo shots too, hopefully. But meanwhile, I didn't want to feel like a fatty for this event. Even though I have no plans to release said areola photos. Though, the other night, I did talk to hubs about releasing them when I'm too old to care. But of course, I'll probably consider my daughter.

We have photos from the beginning - from before surgery, to at the hospital getting a Huge Ass Needle right through my nipple (curse you, Cancer! That shit hurt like a muthafucka!!!)  Great. The last sensation I had on my nipple before it was plopped into a tupperware container was that? Ugh. We have photos from when I woke up, nauseous like crazy. My drains hanging from the mystery hole in between my ribs somehow. The deflated (defeated) expander as it grew. The radiation burns at the end, when I looked like a slab of jerkey. But no photos since exchange. I look like an alien. A crooked smile across my colorless breast-ish thing. It mocks me. Bitch. Hopefully the tattoo will make me feel less like my body is laughing at me.

To nipple or not? I'm not too concerned right now. We'll see how I feel when the color settles in.

Meanwhile, I have to pack for a gig! Where does the time go???

Salt Lick and my aching skull.

I had guinea pigs as a young girl. Sneakers and Whistles. Cute little buggers, pooped a lot, squeaked when you snapped a carrot in half (or clapped your hands to create a carrot-snapping simulator... how cruel we were), and basically did nothing but eat green pellets, drink out of a water bottle that had a weird little metal ball in it so that it wouldn't spill all over the cage, and chew on a salt lick that hung from the wires of the cage.

I wish I had a salt lick.

I've been craving salt - something that is totally new to my cravings list. New as of a couple of months ago, but getting stronger by the day. Is it the medication? Is it leeching sodium from my body? Savory cravings, ok. Sweet, definitely. But specifically, salt now. Like, I could dump a spoonful of salt down my gullet and feel quite pleased with myself. Of course, I won't. Probably.

Is that a teaspoon or tablespoon? Perhaps I can start with a demitasse spoon and work my way up.

I've also been getting these bizarre headaches. Something else totally new to my "Oh, my aching..." vocabulary. Usually it's my wrist, more recently my hip, and always my upper back. I feel like a little gremlin is stabbing my brain with a small knife. A good one, but small enough to not kill me quickly. I asked hubs if he thought I had a blood clot from the meds that travelled up to my brain and is about to kill me. He thinks not.  But he doesn't even play a doctor on tv.

The truth is, I don't want any more tests for a while. I'm so radioactive that my skin is actually glowing. I mean, it looks pretty good. Perhaps it's the exfoliation I recently did, but I'll give radioactive particles a nod in my beautification. At least it makes me feel better about all this shit floating in my body. Stupid cancer.

Hubs keeps telling me to take an advil, but I don't want anything else in my body! Stupid? Maybe. He is performing late tonight and I'm heading out in a few. Maybe I'll throw a few in my purse just in case. Or maybe I'll just take one or two. I mean, it's Advil. Not Tamoxifen. Now THAT shit is toxic. Oh, crap...

How many things can one worry about when one is a cancer patient? Sure, you can get the surgery, the radiation, the medication, the tests... and then you not only have to worry about the cancer, but you have to worry about the side effects of all the shit that didn't even eradicate your cancer. I mean, that's a pretty crappy deal if you ask me!

I had been SO bad on my diet the past (almost) 2 weeks and gained a few. That certainly didn't help my mood. Well, today I weighed in at a respectable weight for me nowadays. I mean, really - you have cancer, you do all this shit to your body, you are worried about your mortality more than ever, and on top of it you have a muffin top? No thanks.

Though I did have (after dinner): a yogurt, a slice of raspberry tart, and an apple. I know, for most that's good. But with new and *improved* tamoxifat, breathing in too much air will make you gain weight!

NO! I'm on tamoxithin. Must keep telling myself that. This diet shit is not easy at all. I need to keep it together - I watched my mom at the end. She let go of everything. She sat around and stopped exercising, ate a bunch of processed shit - something we never were allowed as kids - and she died. Of course she did. But, by the time she did, us kids moved out and were on our own, and she was left with a husband who clearly didn't give a shit and thought of her as a burden. I know that for a fact - it was so obvious, even a week before she passed he said to me, "It won't be long now". I could picture him rubbing his hands together maniacally and plotting to sell her wedding rings - since he destroyed her will, there was no evidence that she wanted to leave them, or anything else, to any of us. Yeah. I have good reasons for my short shit list. But, I can still picture being a little girl and wearing her rings and her telling me that someday they'd be mine. And memories - good memories - are worth more than anything. I'm glad to have my memories of her, and I refuse to leave my daughter like that. I have a husband who actually loves me, who gives a shit about me. And I hope that in 10 years, he still will, no matter what happens. And even though my daughter doesn't even have her ears pierced or wear jewelry, she will get my wedding rings, and whatever else she wants that makes her happy and think of our good times.

Well, crap. I think I just built my coffin with that paragraph.

But, I want to be cremated anyway. So I guess we'll just plant some flowers in the coffin and keep my will safe and perhaps take an Advil or two before I leave for the show.

Bone Scan

I had my bone scan after 6 months on tamoxibreakyourbones. The techie was VERY hard to understand, a very thick Russian accent, and I'm usually very good at interpreting most accents - but wow. What an exercise today! Anyhoo, after my scan (and after taking out multiple jewelries - that nose ring always bugs me when I have to put it back in!) I chatted with the technician while I got dressed (ALWAYS bring your stuff into the room so you can dress while chatting, rather than feeling vulnerable in a robe while your goods are locked up in some locker down the hall!)  She said my bones didn't look "super solid" (or maybe she said she wanted a salad for lunch...)  She also said that a woman with a small frame like me (yay!) would not have as dense bones as one with a larger frame (boo!)

She encouraged me to keep lifting weights (or perhaps said something about the gates... of hell...) and to not gain weight. Ex-CUSE me? Well, I did gain about 5 lbs. over this last week, it's been all bad eating since the birthday celebration for my girl, mostly because of tempting leftovers. Then we had friends over on Saturday night and ordered Chinese food. At around 10pm. And then we had raspberry torte (which was incredible). And getting my period on top of it all, well, I've been a hormonal disaster with food. I did work out Saturday and Sunday, and felt particularly Manly on Sunday. But yeah, the wheat, the extra carbs I usually never eat...

So, today I'm off to a good start. Had a protein bar, 2 apples, salad and half of a ribeye (grass fed organic, of course!), and a cup of fresh cherries. How I would love to have leftover birthday cake from the freezer, or leftover raspberry torte, or a box of pasta or loaf of bread... but here I am. I may end up with a glass of wine in my face before the night is over, and I know that my weight is still lower than it was last winter, but it seems my standards have gone skyrocketing since cancer. Not only because I feel like my womanhood has been totally hacked off of my body, but because I do know that keeping my body fat down and my muscle up will somehow help me keep the cancer from getting more stupid, or at least I will feel more powerful if it gets me again. I'm thinking maybe if the radiation or surgery couldn't scare the bugger cells off, I can bully them away!

Grrrrrr.

Ok, I'm not that scary. But, my tummy is growling and somehow that feels good. I've been feeling full for over a week now. And I hate that. And I tried on a skirt Saturday that I decided I felt too pudgy in. I am not pleased while sporting a muffin top. Luckily, I had a dress that masked said muffin. Ok, I'm small and work hard at it - but 5 lbs. on a small frame (especially riding atop rickety, old lady bones!) does NOT make a happy me. For the first time in my life, I have a partner who gets it and actually knows how to encourage me without making me feel like a fat-ass. That is a miracle.

Men- learn to talk to your women and encourage them without insult. Impossible? 99%. Which leaves 1% of possibility. As I told a (gay) friend of mine today, I have the gayest straight husband, ever. He totally agreed.

Exclamation point!

I have been granted another cycle. Long live hormones (as long as they don't re-cancer me). 

Pins and Needles

First things first. Party? Awesome. Leftovers? Dangerous. But - I'm chronically hormonal. Which makes it even more dangerous. Also, it hasn't felt like summer in a few weeks - so I think my body is trying to pad up for the winter. Dude. IT'S AUGUST!!!

Anyway, A lot has been going on around here. I suppose that's the usual... we've been really, really stupid busy. But, we have each other. Patience is thin, waist is thick (ok, I'm still at my bottom weight from last year's pre-cancer diagnosis!) and I feel sometimes like I should just give up, gain a shit load of weight, and, well, Give Up. Then my vanity tells me that I like my new size way more than the old.

I'm going in for a bone scan Monday. Oooh! BONE SCAN! Why? Well, being on tamoxibreak for 6 months is making my joints feel gnarly. My hip hurts constantly, my wrists crackle like the fire that chestnuts might roast over at Christmas time. And, well, tamoxifen screws with bone density - no matter your age or health or activity. I do NOT want osteoporosis. Ever. But, especially now. They normally scan after a year of the horrid pills, but my docs know by now to let me do what I want to do. Within reason, sure... though I may ask about doing steroids instead of the tamoxifen - because I want to get SUPER HUGE. However, I'm guessing I will be laughed at, told that it's not targeted cancer therapy, and of course, I don't think I want hubby to have to pop a bunch of zits on my amazingly huge back while I scream obscenities during my roid rage. Ok, I won't ask. Fine.

I also asked my onco about my Gaaaaad Daaaaamed hot flashes. Pretty sure I said it like that. She told me of a few meds she could prescribe me, and also that there is an acupuncture study going on at the hospital.  HELLO?

So I called. I got the call today to come fill out forms and pick up my HOT FLASH DIARY on Monday!

Dear Dumb Diary; last night I had the worst hot flash ever. I wanted to peel my sweaty, clammy skin right off of my muscles and imagined that I could leave it in a big, nasty pile on the floor next to my bedroom slippers, and put it back on in the morning like a jumpsuit. But, I ended up leaving it on and cursing the stupid cells that made me take the stupid meds. Also, why won't my metabolism go faster with all of this sweating? Isn't it like cardio? Only better? Well, diary, you suck, and so do my hot flashes. Sorry about the sweat stains on the page, I just started again, and feel like I'm having a combo panic attack with looming vomit and passing out in the very near future. Yeah. And it's not even real menopause, so I still have to worry about getting pregnant and will have to go through all this shit again when I'm older. If I live that long. Other than that, I had a good day.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'll have fun with it. 5 weeks - 2 treatments a week, then 4 weeks - 1 treatment a week. I am REALLY hopeful that I will be in the real group. But, how do they do placebo needles??? Or do they needle different tsubos? Guess I'll find out. If I'm in the faker group, I'll get real treatment after the study. But that's like a million week commitment. Ok, more like 20 instead of 10 (one week before treatment, I start the DIARY OF SWEATY DOOM!)

Hopefully in my crazed schedule I'll be able to figure it all out. I really want to do the study. We'll see!

Right now I'm totally full and starving - hormones! AHHHHHHHH!!!  Perhaps a Schmailey's is in order. I haven't had one in a long time.

ps. To the cancer cells left - please go now. Thank you.

Some days, people walk into traffic.

Bad mood today. Why? I'm exhausted. I can't seem to catch up, no matter how much I sleep.

Hubs and I met at the gym. Place was packed with a-holes. Well, there were people in front of their a-holes. Really, nobody was an a-hole to us, it was just packed. To the gills. We had a half assed lame workout. Gave up. But my faux energy drink gave me a little boost, which is good, because before then I was truly seeing double.

Actually had a nice dinner at this pita joint we like around the corner. Some kind of grilled chicken salad thing, a mushroom hummus plate, and a feta cheese dip. I was FAMISHED. Even though I'd eaten more than my usual quota already. Exhaustion. Stress. Eating. But, the shit was good. And I was happy.

We are having a birthday gathering for my daughter on Sunday. Her birthday was a week and a half ago. We've been so busy that it hasn't happened. I had asked hubby to help me with plans weeks ago, and not one plan has been helped with. He's been extremely busy, but I'd prefer a "I don't have time to help you right now, sorry. Maybe the day before, I can just go and get whatever you need". But no. No response. Other than acknowledgement of said list - really, just helping me decide on what to have food wise. Other than pizza, which is the pre-determined main course for every children's birthday party. Until 18? Maybe.  But what other food should we serve? What do I need to buy/prepare? Do we have enough shit for people to get chubby on?

Anyway, we stopped into my usual birthday cake haunt to order. Went to the counter, there was someone at the deli which is right next to the bakery, so I asked him. Blank stare. "The cake person left for the day."  So I asked if we could place an order to pick up Sunday. No answer. Finally, he told us to go ask at customer service, it's not his department. SERIOUSLY? I'm about to bust my fist through the glass case and throw a shitload of sweaty meats at the dude. Maybe then he'd actually be able to think. Instead of a moment of satisfaction and a looming repair bill and criminal record, we went to customer service. Similar shit. She asked what size cake, we told her we already picked them out. She walked with us to the counter, we explained that we wanted them written on and to pick up Sunday - which I ALWAYS do at this store, for years now... and she had that same blank stare. Let me tell you, I was NOT having it. Tired, annoyed, stressed, I wanted to smack the apathy right off of her face, but instead I told her that we'd go elsewhere, perhaps there were other stores that actually cared about customer service.

Yeah, I'm in a bad mood. You'd be too.

So we were crossing the street, and a slow car was chugging along. Hubby and I were clearly annoyed, and he walked SO close to the car that I had envisioned him splattering all over me seconds later. He didn't know why I was mad. That was some man shit if I've ever seen it. No. Please don't get hit by a car just because you're annoyed. Yeah, he was going super slow. But he might have been texting, or jerking off, or sleeping at the wheel. Not worth it.

Now, I have a party to host in a day and a half. I'm working tomorrow - not a long gig, but he's rehearsing and then going out of town for the eve for a gig. When the hell am I supposed to deal with this? Plus, have I mentioned how FUCKING EXHAUSTED I've been? Is it the tamoxifen? Is my brain finally cracking under pressure? Is there a blood clot forming in my leg that is hitting some bizarre nerve that is making me go all narcoleptic? Am I about to drop dead because I agreed to take this stupid shit? And am I about to drop dead, in a bad mood??? That would super suck.

I may end up spending a fortune that I don't have so I can get a last minute catering deal. If only he'd told me that he didn't have time. Perhaps not what he wanted his answer to be, but I would be a lot less pissed off right now. I can't even envision baking a cake or two. All I can imagine is this glass of wine next to me, the soft bed awaiting me, and my fist through the deli counter, followed by flying sweaty deli meats being tossed to and fro.

Now, THAT'S a party.

Oil pulling while in massage chair while typing stuff.

Yeah. You heard me right.

What?

Oil Pulling. In a massage chair. While typing stuff.

Man. My back is feeling a good ouch after my rolfing. It feels alive. My hip too. I only wish I could feel my foobie, but - you can't have it all.

Had a nice weekend - lunch with a friend (Hi!!!) turned into a *bad food* experience - meaning good. Eggs florentine. They called it something else. Perhaps in some language it means "Eggs florentine with a side of heart attack". It was delish. Nice to connect with friends. He walked me to the farmers market so I could purchase my weekly quota of fuji apples. We talked and talked, something I guess we're both good at. Mostly about music and cancer. But really, what else is there? Lots? Oh, right. Like breakfast that has enough calories to feed a family of 8. Ate. Hah. Yeah, I know. Don't give up my night job. 

Sunday, hubs had a BBQ gig. So I ate more. Before that, I was starving - not sure why (my guesses: hormones on stupid tamoxifen, the weather being way too brisk for August and my body thinks I need to fatten up for the winter, or just gluttony). In my travels the day before, I purchased a bag of black bean chips. Not a huge one. But not a one serving, either. Note to self: Never, ever buy these again.  No, I don't have gasseous issues with beans. I simply could not stop eating them. We don't buy much snack food anymore, and now I remember why. I'll chalk that up to "Oops".

So here I am, oil pulling again for the second time in a couple of months. I meant to do it - every day... and I finally realized today that I could do it while on the massage chair - captive audience pulling coconut oil through my teeth. Methinks I'm onto something.  Check back to see if I can actually continue this bizarre practice.  One good thing is that I'm neurotic about my teeth. So perhaps if I can get this whole thing rolling and getting used to it as part of my new normal, I'll be suckin' coconut oil through my teeth for many years to come.

I Rolfed.

No, I didn't throw up.

Precisely, I was rolfed. For the first time in a few years.

Rolfing helped me so much with chronic issues, associated with both my scoliosis and my playing of a musical instrument for a living. I went above the standard series of 10 a few years ago (maybe 13 or so?) and felt like a new woman. The changes are long lasting, and sporatic maintenance visits are recommended.

Cancer got in my way. I wanted to go a year ago. But I was busy having my breast hacked off, being burned at the stake, and then reconstructed.

I was so happy to be back. He worked around the site, opening up my shoulder and hip and pelvis and a bit of my upper back. I've been literally walking around for almost a year protecting my "site" and closing off. Understandable, but sucky.

Perhaps in a month or two I'll go back again. My hip was really hurting the past few days, and now? Much better. A little sore still, but I feel like I can work through it now.

Yesterday was my baby girl's 12th birthday. We went to a Japanese BBQ joint - a bit pricey, but so yummy! It was an experience for sure, and I think it might be a special occasion kind of place. I'm so proud of her, even though she sometimes really tests me - as most 12 year olds do. She's a good kid - young lady - and I can't believe I get to be her mom! I want to stick around for a long time.

Now, how exactly do I get rid of the rest of this cancer in me again?

Phantom itching.

What the...???

My left foobie has been crazy itchy all day. Only, when I scratch, I can't feel it. So - it's NOT itchy.

Or is it?

I know. Leave it and it will stop. It's been better this evening, since I'm trying to convince myself that it can't possibly be itching. Ugh.

Got a nice voicemail from my breast surgeon. I know, I have a lot of docs. Yay, cancer! He just wanted to say hi, he hopes we're all well, and he's surprised that they found cancer cells after the last surgery.

SURPRISE!

Bah.

I got in my first Essiac tea shipment. Both daughter and hubby like it! So we'll be drinking this nightly - it kills cancer. Like almost every other fucking thing I consume. So, how did it linger?

Whatever. Nobody else is cashing in on the cancer train. I absolutely forbid it. So, they're drinking the tea, taking the turmeric and other herbs, eating fresh broccoli sprouts... whatever I can do to keep them out of this war zone.

Otherwise, all is well. Except my insane craving for chocolatey frosted brownies. Good thing I don't have any. Though there is chocolate in the fridge - fancy stuff - I will have a glass of water and go to bed. Stupid craving!!!

Anniversary... Stupid Cancer...

Yesterday we celebrated our one year wedding anniversary.  Well, we actually celebrated all weekend, a trip to our suburbian friend's pool on Saturday, BBQ joint on Sunday (hubby was gigging there, but we had some friends hang out and brought a black forest cake... mmmm!) and last night, well, we went to a surprise birthday hang.

The hang was awesome - until after dinner - when I suddenly felt like I was having an anxiety attack and realized I was in a cold sweat, then a hot sweat, and my gorgeous silk dress was starting to develop sweat spots. Oh my god - a full blown hot flash! At a party!

I excused myself and found my way to the bathroom, stripped down to nothing, and tried to cool down. It's like you literally feel like you're going to pass out or throw up, but you know neither is happening. Hubby thought maybe it was because I took my tamoxifen earlier than usual and we were out late - I seem to get hot flashes in my sleep, which is much more pleasant than worrying about mascara everywhere and big-ass sweat stains on a gorgeous dress.

Luckily, my hair was slicked back in a bun, and my mineral makeup seemed to stay put. The sweat stains, well, they remained, though I was able to rinse them out and the dress looks fab again.

But, what a horrible feeling. I think I'll call my oncologist tomorrow and ask if there is some natural stuff I can use. Which means, I need to research before I call, and get permission. I'm sure I'll get a gnarly prescription that I can ignore, just like the anti-depressant one I never filled (which is great by the doc, but she wanted me to be prepared for Tamoxi-rage).

This morning, we had a meeting with Stupid Cancer. We've been loving our extensive collection of tee shirts, and recently I also bought a travel mug, winter hat (hoping that eventually it will get cold again!), and even Cancer Cards. It was great, good people, or as hubby would say, "Our kind of People". I think great things will come from this.

Meanwhile, I'm still a bit on edge about the scar tissue with cancer cells incident. But - I can't do a thing about it. Only what I'm doing now, which is be happy, be careful with my diet and exercise, and be positive. Which is really tough when you are having a hot flash during a party, but somehow I got out alive.

If any Cancer People reading this have any good natural suggestions to beat the heat, so to speak, help a sister out!

Plastic People...

Went to see the plastic surgeon yesterday.

All looks amazeballs. But those pesky cancer cells that they found in my scar tissue... well, there's not much we can do about it. I just have to keep on being on top of my nutrition, my state of mind, my tamoxithin... I mean, they're not going to skin me and re-graft my butt onto my boob.

I hope.

Meanwhile, in a month or two, I should be good to trapeze again. And get a real massage. And perhaps I'll let hubby crack my back (he is my chiropractor, and I've been really missing out on back cracking since last October. He can do my neck, but that's it!)

In other news, all 5 bras have arrived and I absolutely can NOT go back to wearing an ill fitting bra. What the heck was I thinking all these years, not getting measured???

Today we're going to a friend's fancy house, where they have a big ass pool. Yeah. I get to wear one of my new bikini's. If it's raining, I don't give a flying f*ck. I'm so pleased that I get to wear a swimsuit this year - remember, my original surgery was supposed to be in August... no way could that foobie wear a swimsuit of any configuration. Whew. Of course, it's rain, rain, rain in the forecast, but we're going, and if it rains, we'll have a great hang with friends.

We talked nipples and areolas yesterday. I asked if I could get my tattooed areola before the nipple. YES! I have to make my appointment for about 2 months from now. And who knows, maybe I won't want a nipple. Really, when I look in the mirror, I'm missing the symmetry of color. If that's back, maybe I won't care to have anything sticking out. I just need to make sure that I'm adequately covered so that I don't have one light on. Easy. But, we'll see. Maybe in 6 months or a year I'll think differently.

But this means that I may get my tattooed areola in September or October!

Hormones, heat, and Godiva liquor

Well, it seems as if my period did start. TMI? Obviously, you're reading a blog about someone who had a fucking breast removed. A little uterine lining ain't NOTHING compared to that!

It started yesterday as a joke, and I figured it would go away as it had, but now it's acting like I'm not on tamoxihormonalscrewpills. Which is an ironic relief. I am happy that my body is acting it's age! We'll see how long it lasts, but those hormones... wow! STARVING!!! I was ok until tonight. We roasted fresh beets with sea salt, prepared the greens with black beans and zero calorie noodles (yes, the soy free ones!), and I felt like I hadn't eaten in a month when I finished. Had a piece of Ezekiel bread with almond butter and jam. Nothing. A bowl of cereal, AKA Kryptonite. Nothing. I just had a little Godiva liquor, and while I'm still empty feeling, at least it was chocolatey and creamy. If I can hold off the rest of the night, I will be proud of myself and amazed at my amazeballs willpower.

Ah, hormones.

It's hot as hell, but I kind of enjoy it in small spurts. The heat travels straight to my bones, which makes my aching joints happy. Much like the Japanese in their practically boiling bathtubs. It's all healing.

Tomorrow, meeting again with the plastic surgeon.

I got 3 out of 5 new bras. Holy Moses! It's nice to have proper fitting undergarments. Plus, I can't lie - the shit looks GOOD.  I just need a pesky nipple. Oh, and for those rogue cells to vacate the premises immediately. Just told hubs that I'm definitely holding off on the making of a nipple until we know that I'm cool. Though - I am going to ask tomorrow if we can't at least tattoo the areola so that I don't look like a total alien. Forget the sticky-outy part for now.

I also want to know the following things. How soon can I:

Trapeze
Martial Art
Run
Get a proper massage

Perhaps not the average questions of a cancer patient after reconstruction, but damn, I need to hop on a trapeze and fly. This shit has been way too annoying. I need to freaking FLY.

And, interestingly, my former massage therapist - AKA - pummeling genius, has moved back to the area and will be working weekends downtown. He was amazing. An artist. Nobody ever got what I really needed except for him - his elbows like finely sharpened jackhammers. His thumbs like meat tenderizers. And his ability to find everything wrong with my scoliotic body and address it, magical.

So, I don't care that he's expensive. Because one massage from him is like 10 massages from these lame ass take-out walk in massage joints. But, I actually need real approval from my doc, since he goes in like crazy (I mean, hops on table and uses all of his body weight to dig out the childhood trauma that is buried deep within my back and neck). So this foobie has to be able to withstand his awesomeness.

I think it's time for more Godiva. It's not as good as Schmailey's, but I need chocolate. Because, despite my lack of mammary tissue, I am a woman. If you saw my new bras, you'd know. This shit is girly cute.

Oncolological Visit and Blood Suck

Early morning blood suck. These ladies are a HOOT at the Cancer Center. I mean, I guess if you're stuck with sticking cancer victims with needles all day, you either need a great sense of humor, or a lot of drugs in you.

Luckily, I had a comedian. We've worked together previously on draining my body of blood. She's good... doesn't hurt, or maybe I'm just so used to it by now. No. She's good.  We got to talking about stuff, about medical jewelry (I have a cheap bracelet for now but am shopping for a fancy one and she showed me her necklace... said she never takes it off other than for MRI's). So I'm thinking, I should get a fantabulous necklace to never take off except for MRI's. They're expensive but - if anything should happen- I want it to be on, and I want to know that it's not going to break, or turn my neck green, or look stupid. Yeah. Even if I'm unconscious. I need to be cute.

I considered joking with hubby about getting me one for our anniversary (Monday - what the hell should I get him???) but that's so unromantic. "Happy First Anniversary! To celebrate the fact that you were diagnosed with cancer a month after our wedding, I got you a Limb Alert Medical Necklace!!!"  Yeah. Sexy...

Anyhoo, onto the Oncologist part. She could NOT believe that I lost weight on my Tamoxislim! I told her I call it my diet pill when I take it. And that I have been working crazy hard to keep my weight under control on this crap. She said she wished I could talk to her patients about this, the others on Tamoxifat. They ALL gain weight and are pissed. All but me. I'm pretty stubborn about a few things. My weight, my skin, and my happiness. I should add "Deleting Cancer From My Life" to that list, but I keep hoping that it will happen. Because I'm doing so much shit. Add warm lemon water in the mornings, and I have this Essiac tea on it's way. I can't stomach the baking soda water, it's way too vomitous to do on a regular basis, so I can change my blood chemistry this way.

My joint supplements seem to be helping at the moment. Fingers crossed that it continues, and that by crossing my fingers I don't make it worse!

As we left the Cancer Center, we saw our Radiologist in the street and for some insane reason both broke into a run and started screaming shit about the fact that he didn't burn me enough. Hah. Had a nice chatsky in the street, hubby complimented him on his "new office space" (our meeting under scaffolding) and we parted ways. He did call me later after looking at the pathology report, but when I called him back there was no answer. No news is good news! Um, not really. But, denial ROCKS!

Bra World, and Question Marks where there used to be Periods.

I've never been measured for a bra. Never. I picked a size that was "pedestrian", always on the shelves and seemed to fit well enough, and sounded like a reasonable size for me. From my knowledge of ZERO on bra sizing. Now, my weight has been all over the map. I've been 35-40 lbs. heavier than I am now. But I always wore the same size, no matter what - a 36B.

B must stand for Bumbling Idiot.

Made hubby walk with me into a store that makes my skin crawl, the equivalent to a teeny-bopper disco. Victoria's Secret. What exactly is the secret? I don't know, I can't hear myself think in there, my sense of smell is overpowered by stuff that I only assume Strawberry Shortcake and Friends would smell like if they had just run a marathon after eating 5,000 lbs. of gummy bears. It's no secret that the store sucks ass, however, the women I encountered were lovely.

First, I asked how I would be able to get measured. We found a lovely young lady with a measuring tape around her neck, much like This Guy.  Ok, I'm kidding. She didn't look as comfortable in her own skin, but still, she measured me. Newsflash - I'm not a 36B. I'm not even close. I'm a 32DD. WHAT? I'm not "big". But, from what I've learned in my adventures at the most gag-a-riffic smelling store ever (besides those smelly Body Smelling Stores, with the plumeria this and vanilla that and rose crap - none of which smells like the actual names, but more like Willy Wonka's shit, since he only ate candy!) is that it's the difference between the band (she said I'm "teeny", heh) and the largest part of your cup. We settled on a 32D since the rippling on my mastectomy side needs to be contained. Plus, I feel weird buying a DD. Seriously. I was an E cup while pregnant and nursing. How I thought I went back to a B after, even though I didn't exactly shrink back down, is a mystery. Or a reflection on my budget - who has money for bras? Not me, back then. So I stuffed myself into my 36B's of yesteryear and rode off into my denial. Until now.

I've bagged up my bras for the Goodwill. Certainly, someone must be a 36B who will benefit from my used brazzeiredom? I once tried to make a donation to a woman's shelter - a really nice jogging stroller. They wouldn't take it. A free stroller. Only a few years old. So, it's Goodwill or Salvation Army.

Of course, do you think I bought a bra at VS? No. I had to get the hell out of there. The fitting room chick was lovely as well. I handed her my telltale card, expecting her to laugh at the fact that it has such a large cup notated, but she nodded and said, "Yup. You're definitely a DD or a D". They're the experts. So I explained my lack of nipple, the rippling of the skin and having to keep 'em firmly in place. She suggested a D to try out, brought me 4 styles, and VOILA! I looked like... a woman! The first one I tried on, I honestly got choked up. It was one of the first times since this whole mess started that I thought, maybe I can be beautiful again. Not that cancer makes one ugly, but the ordeal makes you feel as if your womanhood has been completely removed. I'm speaking for myself, but know others share in this sentiment. I didn't even lose my hair, but I lost a breast, I still have burn marks from radiation, I have a big freaking scar over what is not an actual breast, a scar in my armpit where they stole my lymph nodes, ripples in my Foobie whenever I bend over or move, hormone therapy that is making me hot flash and lose my period in my early 40's. Yep. Womanhood has lost points in my brain, but perhaps, with the 5 new bras I've ordered online (perhaps a bit extreme, but they were so cute!!!), I will be able to trick myself into feeling like a complete woman again.

I don't know if my period has stopped completely or is just being a little bitch, but technically it should have arrived Sunday. Wicked cramps Friday, followed by... nothing. I can't lie, it would be nice to not deal with it, except that I know that's wrong for my body at my age. And cancer is wrong enough.

ps. Even though I have 5 pretty bras in the mail... FUCK YOU, CANCER.

Rain.. rain...

So, a funny story to start out this evening's entry.

A couple of months ago, hubby, daughter and I were walking in the rain. Passed a group of children, all singing "Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day" over and over and over. My daughter asked hubby what they were doing. His answer : "Devil worshipping".

Now, I know that some readers will be offended.  I, however, completely cracked up, as did my daughter.

The kids voices were something out of a Stephen King movie. All creepily singsongy, as if they were a small army of zombie grade schoolers looking for brains to eat. Only, they can't eat brains in the rain.

Whew. It's been raining a lot, and I review that moment in my head. A lot.

How are my boobs, you ask? Well, I haven't spoken to any docs since the death-call.  What's the point? I'm not reaching out, I know it's bad news. I have an appointment with my oncologist on Tuesday, along with lab work. Lab Work. It sounds like a part time job, or a sweet internship to further my career. Nope. It's a fucking needle, poking my one good arm, looking for some sweet, cancerous blood to tell me that I am a step closer to dying. At least they have good coffee at the Cancer Center. You'd think they could throw a little Bailey's or Schmailey's in the cup for good measure. I mean, I AM dying with cancer running around in my body, no matter how they mutilate, burn and poison me. I could use a shot of something before having a talk with the Oncologist about my impending doom.

Don't think I haven't asked for it.

... Rain, rain, go away...

for real. Though we don't have to water our garden this year. Pretty convenient. I'm hoping to have a moment of sun so we can see if there are any more amazing tomatoes to pluck.

We ordered from Fresh Direct for the first time in a long time. Over a year. They had a sale on lobsters, and who the heck could pass that up? Regardless of their lame-ass past, we ordered. 6-8. What time did they show up? 8:45. I called and they issued a credit. I asked the lady how the hell I would keep my live lobsters for tomorrow, because it was too damned late to cook them tonight. She offered me the credit (and I had already looked up how to keep them in awesome lobster-dom overnight).  Then I unpack the boxes to find a green instead of red cabbage. Yeah, I got a credit on that too, but for real - can't they get their shit straight? I guess we'll be ordering from them once more since we have this credit now... but boy, they just can't get their shit straight.

Oh well. I'm bloated... Tamoxibloat. I assume. Either I'm getting my period, or my uterus is protesting the blocked estrogen, or my uterus is about to fall out of my body because it doesn't want to get cancer, either, and would rather rot on it's own, outside of me. Any way you slice it, well, I think it's mad at something. I wonder if I'll keep getting my period. It's been somewhat of a joke of late, though I'd rather have it than not at my age. It sounds luxurious to not get it, until you realize that you are not that fucking old to not get your period. Pretty soon I'll be shaking a cane at the kids in the street, telling them to pull up their pants and ask where their parents are. And to get off my lawn. Even though I'm a city dweller. Because that's what the stereotype of old people do. Old people that no longer menstruate.

My app (yes, I have an app for my cycle) says I'm just about due. Oooh, the suspense is killing me... no, wait. That's just the cancer.