Cancer is an Asshole Whose Ass I Shall Kick

It’s been almost six months since my hair first fell out.  I must admit after reading some horror stories on the internet about women who were still bald or “patchy” even a year later, I was like, shit what if it that’s me?  But, even my little Bobby Hill bald patches are filling in nicely.  Sometimes googling health stuff is a bad idea.

I’m going to see my hair dresser about my grayness in about a month.  I get lots of compliments about the gray, “oh but its a pretty gray!”  And “it’s so classy!” Nope.  No offense to all the silver foxes out there, but I’m not ready for the silver fox club.  I am going to keep it short though, just the thought of having to bust out all my styling tools in the morning gives me the heebies.

#christmasfatty

A Visit to the Boob Whisperer

So I met briefly with my plastic surgeon Monday. I can’t recall everything he said but nothing’s going to happen for a few months as I’m still pretty inflamed from radiation. He wants to see me again in February. It sounds like he’s maybe going to do a flap with an implant. Maybe a DIEP or Lat Flap? What he has to do (and I’m paraphrasing, barely, as I don’t have a medical background) because I lost so much tissue with the mastectomy and the radiation roasted what was left on the cancer side, is create a new breast flap by harvesting tissue from my belly or Lattisimus Dorsi to create the breast pocket. Then he’ll stick the expanders in there. But, it’s not like getting a regular boob job where it’s like wham bam here’s your boobs ma’am. It’s a several months process. I should probably find out what the deal is and maybe even take notes next time. Apparently most doctors prefer silicone over saline with breast reconstruction because they give a better result and feel more like natural breasts. We’ll see.

WARNING- Graphic nipple discussion below.

Farewell Thy Chemo Port

Today my portacath was removed. It’s the end of an era or something. Or maybe just a step further away from chemotherapy. Except that vein thingy is still raised at the base of my neck like a sleestack from Land of the Lost. It went fine, got there at 6 a.m. minus any water or coffee so I was dehydrated and tired and the dude checking me in had to be sucking on a giant latte. It freaks me out a little to get anesthesia – one minute you’re babbling, probably about random crap because you’re all high, then bam you’re out, and waking up what seems like only moments later (unless you’re Michael Jackson, RIP).

I am seeing my plastic surgeon next week but I already know he’s going to say I am looking at like six months before he can do anything. And I’m assuming he can do something, but seriously people the left side is pretty jacked up. I’m hoping he’s got some new boobs for me in his bag of tricks. And I’m still going braless y’all. Some women get prosthetic bras and stuff but right now I mostly don’t care. And it would be like, at this point who am I trying to kid.