Mud!

I love my sister! She organized and participated in a Dirty Girl Mud Run this past weekend. Their theme is breast cancer awareness. There's one in Houston this coming October that we want to sign up for! Fingers crossed that all of my incisions are healed by then!

Check them out! www.godirtygirl.com

You know it's a good time when you get mud in your teeth!

Xoxoxo, Jenny. You're the shit.

Tonight was Maddie's Pink Out Game for basketball.  Her head coach asked me to speak before the varsity game about my breast cancer journey.  While I've done singing publicly, I've ever really talked about myself like this before.  I've gotta admit - I kinda dug it.

Please excuse my pink linebacker appearance.  Since I'm in a transition phase, let's just call this the "before" video. :)

Enjoy.

Ugly Duckling Phase

I know, I know... I suck. I haven't posted in a while. I just haven't been interested in talking about myself. Hard to believe, I realize, since I AM such an attention whore and all.

Since my last post, I've had three saline fills in frankenboob. It's largely uneventful. I've been fortunate so far and haven't experienced any pain or discomfort. Granted, I have no feeling in frankenboob itself, but I expected that heaviness/iron bra feeling that I had shortly after surgery. Nope. Not yet. Supposedly, I'll only have a few more sessions and then we can talk surgery. It's still on point for April/May.

I feel like I'm in this weird limbo stage. I had cancer. I went through chemo and radiation and had surgery. My fatigue comes and goes but other than that, physically, I feel pretty darn close to normal. I'm very slowly losing weight, thanks to my trusty Weight Watchers app but just when I feel like I'm making some progress, I see a picture of myself and realize how far I have to go.

I'm anxious for my surgery so that I can be finished with this whole mess but I won't lie... Part of me hopes that it will be that final thing that makes me feel pretty. I will be thinner with a flat stomach and perky boobs. Will that help my badly damaged self esteem? I don't know. I'd rather hide and not draw attention to myself right now and that's something that I'm just not sure how to handle.

Cancer didn't just steal my breast - it stole my sense if self. I'm so painfully insecure now. If it was just the fact that I have one boob - I'd deal with it. Interestingly enough, that's the least of my issues. Relying on my fantastic wit and charm alone can be exhausting.

This is pathetic but I miss being checked out by the dude with the gold tooth at the McDonald's drive-thru or the pervy old man at the mall. I know I'm putting way too much emphasis on my appearance but dammit - I'm still a red-blooded woman and like to feel attractive, even if it's validation from odd characters.

I am happy with my life and love those around me more than I knew I could. I have a new outlook on life but my esteem took a nosedive. These next few months will be my ugly duckling stage. I am busting my flat little ass to get healthy and feel good - physically AND mentally. I hope to transform into a swan soon. Well, one that laughs at potty humor and can't dance and swears like a fucking sailor.

Sorry for unleashing the cry baby on your asses. I will be fine. I just wanted to feel sorry for myself. Thanks for letting me.

More of my inane-ness (I'm sure that's not even a word) soon. Promise.

Xoxo

Happy New Year to me!

Today, I had my first mammogram/ultrasound on my left breast since all the fun started on my Frankenboob side. My annual exam wasn't actually due until next month; however, I had found a small pea-sized lump.

My first reaction was annoyance. "Give me a fucking break" just may have been uttered out loud. I waited for a few days. I didn't tell anyone. Not even Matt. I know I'm prone to lumpiness and I was 99.9% sure this wasn't anything to worry about. Finally, common sense got the best of me and I sucked it up and made an appointment. I hate to feel like a hypochondriac and, while I definitely didn't want something to be wrong, I felt like I was maybe over-reacting.

The mammogram actually pinched more than usual today. I'm not sure if it's maybe because my skin around the expander isn't the same now and there's less give or what. That was a non-event otherwise and shortly thereafter, I was ushered into the ultrasound room.

This tech wasn't the most pleasant woman. Side note: I get that people have bad days but crabby people that deal with the public? No bueno. Anyway... She felt around and as soon as I looked at the monitor, my heart rate increased and my eyes welled up. I wasn't afraid of what she would find, but I didn't realize how traumatic the last year has really been. When I was in the midst of it, it was GO GO GO... Now my brain is finally processing it. I didn't like it.

The radiologist came in and took a look around, too, and concluded that between my mammogram, the ultrasound, and prior images of that breast, I had nothing to be worried about and all was clear. I could have passed out from sheer relief.

I don't want to live my life in constant fear. I don't want to relive the last year in any way. I said earlier today: Fear is paralyzing. Relief is euphoric.

Fuck you, cancer. I hate your mind games.

Merry Christmas from me to you...

This year, we're not sending out Christmas cards.  We're not doing our annual "The Schneider Family in Review" photo book for the grandparents/great-grandparents.  There are two main reasons: 1) I simply don't have the energy to do it and 2) I really don't want to look back at this year as "The Schneider Family - Cancer Edition".  It's not like this year isn't worth remembering or that I don't want to celebrate kicking cancer's bully ass, but I don't really need a pictorial.  Not as it relates to spreading goodwill and good cheer, anyway.  Uh, no.

I'm definitely more reflective this year than I may have been in years past.  I have a new sense of appreciation for my life and the people in it that mean so much.  I've crossed paths with so many amazing people this year that I wouldn't have met otherwise.  I refuse to thank cancer for anything, but I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the strong bonds I've formed as a result of it.

I'm not one to make resolutions - primarily because I suck at sticking to anything for longer than about three weeks.  Now, though, I resolve to be kinder.  Period.  I'll be more thoughtful and considerate of others. I'll reach out more often.  If someone is on my mind, I'll say hello.  I have a fierce temper and a sharp tongue and I genuinely don't anticipate either of those things to go away, but I will do my very best to try to curb the venom.  (Unless someone is being a royal douche wagon, and then all bets are off.  Sorry...)  

These are a few of the other things I'm aiming for in the coming year:

I will love Frankenboob, even if he's misshapen and feels weird.

I will love my salt and pepper hair, even if it means that I may need to tell people that I'm 15 years older so that they can say, "Damn! You look great for your age!"

I will love my extra curves and rolls and "fluffiness", even if I feel like Violet Beauregarde. (Yes, from the original.  Not that Johnny Depp debacle.)

I will love my friends and family, even if they make me bat shit crazy.  (It just means we need a time out, that's all.)

I will love people that hug me too hard, even if I'm sure that Frankenboob might pop.

I will love saying "fuck", even if it offends people.  (Wait.  I do that anyway.)

I will love myself, even when I feel like the "good" days are gone.

I will love my daughters unconditionally forever and ever, even if they make fools of themselves sometimes.

I will love my husband unconditionally forever and ever, even if he grimaces when I drive.  Every. Time.

I will love all of you, even if I don't know many of you.  You've given me an outlet and helped me keep my head on straight.  

From the bottom of my fatigued little heart, I wish you all the happiest of holiday seasons.  Whatever you celebrate, or if you celebrate nothing at all... Peace, love and all that good shit.

Xoxoxo,

Nancy

BoobiesBoobiesBoobiesBoobies

I need to get a little something off my chest. Heh, heh. No pun intended.

For those of you that know me, as well as those that may only know me through this blog, you know that I'm the kind of person that tells it like it is and rarely minces words. I try not to be insensitive or blatantly hurtful but crass and offensive otherwise? Yes, that's me. Fuck, yeah. Especially on my own blog.

I use many unconventional and, well, probably un-PC terms all the time. Boobies, frankenboob, hoo-hah, junk (among other words) are all part of my regular vernacular and I make zero apologizes for that. This is me. No false pretenses.

What makes me cock an eyebrow (a real, live one!) is when people get upset over the usage of the word "boobie" as it relates to breast cancer. Breast cancer is one of the most horrible things I've ever experienced. It's as serious, somber and stoic as it is ridiculous, laughable and absurd. Yes, it's life and death and that little nugget is not lost on me. My sense of humor - as warped and fucked up as it may be sometimes - is what has kept me sane during this suck-fest.

I don't begrudge people for dealing with this in whatever way that they need to. I've read countless blogs from women similarly impacted. All have different tones and ways of expressing themselves. Some are silly and frank while others are serious and pensive or very religious. Each blog is interesting to me and I haven't found a single one that has made me turn my nose up because of the way they've described their experiences.

For others to blindly assume that I'm attempting to be cute or blasé about my own experience simply because of language I choose to use is surprising, strangely. I'm as impacted as anyone else whether I call it a breast or a boobie or a tit or a hooter or a funbag. A part of my body was still full of cancer and was cut off. What more is there to debate?

Cancer isn't fun. Nothing about being a science project with crazy fear of the unknown is fun. Have I done fun or admittedly obnoxious things to get through it? You bet your ass, I have. I've talked about my Debbie Downer moments several times. It happens. News flash: I'm not always rainbows and butterflies and shit but either way, I'm going to be as honest as I can be.

I may have fought this beast and am bigger than what tried to kill me but I am NOT above third grade humor when the mood strikes... Especially when dealing with my boobies.

I feel better now. Thanks for listening. Xoxo

DONE!

After nearly 9 months, 3 tumors, 13 rounds of chemo, 1 badass mohawk, 1 bald body, 1 bout of nasty neuropathy, 1 surgery, 2 grody drains/testicles, shit tons of blood draws, IVs and meds, 1 frankenboob and 30 rounds of radiation, I am officially done with all of my cancer treatments. NOW I feel like a "real" survivor.

Let the living commence...

Thank you - all of you - for following along with my journey and for your endless support! I will continue this blog at least through my final reconstruction next summer. After that - who knows?

Love and kisses and all that sappy shit.

Xoxo