How do you do and a fuck you, too.

Welcome to the new readers.  Thank you for taking the time to read what thoughts tumble out of my brain, through my fingers, and into words on here.  So, how do you do?  I'd like to add a thank you for stopping by.  I hope you don't mind that I put the further content of this post together since it was something I think I've been wanting to say, but hadn't quite figured out the verbosity of it.  You can quit reading now, if you want to.  I wouldn't be angrivated about that at all if you did.

I would like to mention I've done a bit of remodeling since I seem to have more traffic these days.  Comments have been enabled, although I reserve the right to moderate them because I'm an evil bitch like that and I like the fact that I can refuse someone's comments about how evil I am because I'm evil.  Just saying.

I've gone from visits from the continental US and Alaska to worldwide visits, which is pretty awesome sauce.  (If anyone was wondering I've been on the internet over twenty years now, and have been blogging off and on for thirteen years, as well as being a wife and mom, married for twenty-five years with three male monkeys raised, so I do have a variety of life experience which makes me more than qualified to do whatever the hell it is I want to do.  Right?  Right.  Just saying.)

All of that said, the fuck you too goes out to the fuckers who kicked me to the curb when I was diagnosed with HER2+ breast cancer for whatever reason and the ones who just don't fucking comprehend that there is no going back to the old normal self and those who think they "know" better than I do about me and my life.  Instead of telling me that like you have all the answers, which I know you don't and in my book, that makes you delusional in an amusing way, why couldn't you have asked me what you could do to help me?  Oh wait, it's because you know everything, which I find damn funny.

Since some people seem to think they know everything, then maybe they have answers about how to cope with a cancer diagnosis and a year of poisoning with shit made from some of the chemical components of Agent Orange, being consistently and intentionally lied to about anything and everything related to said diagnosis, having the entire upper third of their chest ripped off their body to leave nothing but skin over ribs and not being allowed to have physical therapy because the surgeon "didn't see a need for it."  (I still have fucking problems with fine motor skill and dexterity nearly three years out from being surgically mutilated.  Even hand writing a check is very difficult for me now.)

Tell me how you know you have all the answers about how aggressive scanning isn't something that's a big deal when said scans are bad for the human body, how any ache or pain needs to be explained and/or monitored to make certain that I don't have mets, be it from chemo, what's done to me to monitor me, or whatever.  Sure, you have all the answers about me being the age I am and trapped in a body that has an added twenty years to it because of what was done to me and I'm sure you can completely explain all about normality and functionality when it doesn't truly exist for me any longer, just like you know all about my bitchitude because I talk about this shit and not the fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter.

Let me think about this for a moment.  Done.  (That lasted maybe half a millisecond, didn't it?)

Bitchitude and being brutally honest so that maybe it helps someone else versus fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter and hope, because you know, people with cancer just "hope" it away.

Guess what the content here will be?  Yes, you guessed it.  

Bitchitude and plenty of it, so haters gonna hate on my bitchitude, Imma tell you go somewhere else and fuck yourself.  Or if not, you can always come back and read my future post about the cancer INDUSTRY and then you can tell me you don't believe me when I say it's an industry after I put the fucking numbers in front of your nose and then still keep your comments to yourself.

Still rocking the Foca laundry soap and vinegar for the laundry.  I have Castile soap which I'll be using to make body soap and shampoo, although I think tomorrow, I may do a molasses rinse on the hair.

From bad to worse? Medication can be a bad thing.

So now you all know I had an aneurysm in my neck repaired back in October.  The doctor put me on clopidogrel, a blood thinner, so my platelets wouldn't stick to the metal in my neck.

I wind up going to the PA guy and telling him that it was causing me to have nosebleeds.  He said that was normal.  He said the bruising is normal.  Okay, fine.

Nosebleeds hit.  Nosebleeds clear up.  They hit again, they go away again, same thing with the bruises from the fucking clopidogrel.  A friend of mine is on it and said she has bruises and nosebleeds.  She's my age.  (Yeah, seriously, I know, right?  I do have friends.  New friends.  Better friends.  Friends who don't have stupid and unrealistic expectations of me regarding my perspective of the shit storm cancer is/can be.)

Friday was the last straw.  I had four nosebleeds.  The first one was minor.  The second one was minor.  The third one was a little worse.  The fourth one almost landed me in the ER it was so fucking bad.

I'm not joking about this.  It was like someone turned on a faucet in my nose for two fucking hours.  I was seriously considering asking my husband to take me to the ER for it because it was massive.

I think it's time to have a little talk with the pharmacist and ask who do I call about this going on, the doctor who prescribed this shit or the regular health care guy, who will probably tell me to stay on it.  (The oncologist a few weeks ago told me that even if I told the original prescribing physician that it wouldn't matter because he'd still want me to stay on it.)  

I don't fucking have time to deal with two hour nosebleeds on a regular basis from this shit.  I'm willing to take half the dose.  I'm willing to switch to 325mg of aspirin every day.  I'm not willing to give up my normal daily activities (including but not limited to giving up going to the barn, assorted whatever school volunteering, errand running out and about with Streak, etc.) because I'm having to sit with a fucking trash can on my lap with tissues in one hand and paper towels in the other because my nose is bleeding like I got hit with a hockey puck in the face.  That just does not work for me.

So, say it with me, people.  Clopidogrel is not my friend.  (And I'm on the lower dose of it.  There's one dose that is way higher and I cannot imagine being on it.  Holy fuck!  I'd need a blood transfusion because of a paper cut!)

Moving on to more fun things, I'm going to tell you taking five minutes for yourself can be a good thing.  A can of coconut milk well shaken, opened, poured into ice cube trays and put in the freezer is amazing.  I figured up the ice cube space was about an ounce.  What I've done with a few frozen cubes of coconut milk has been ice my face with them, but making certain my hair is pulled back.  (Will get to the hair thing in a minute.)

Yes, frozen coconut milk on the face is just nothing short of spectacularly decadent.  My face was very happy.  The rest of me was, also, since I tossed a few more cubes of frozen coconut milk into the tub with hot water.  My skin was super happy with that.  I need another can to do this with, although it lasts for ages, it seems like.

On to why not to get coconut milk in the hair;  I'm on a hair group on fakebook.  It's for alternative methods of hair care.  Some people who need moisture in their hair will put some coconut milk in it.  

I decide I'm going to do something nice for my hair since I used to do that sort of thing for myself occasionally back in the day before I got sick.  I see people posting in a discussion about conditioning/moisturizing with coconut milk.  This is a good idea, I think to myself.  I'll treat my hair and make it happy.  Next time I was out and about, I purchased a can of coconut milk.

I shake it up and open it, headed to the tub and started pouring.  I rubbed it in my hair, I scrubbed it in my hair.  Then, I let it sit in my hair for a little while.  I started trying to rinse it out of my hair.  I rinsed, and rinsed, and rinsed some more.  My hair was not happy with me and by not happy, that is an understatement.  I think it took several days for it to settle back down.

Moral of this story?  If you're going to indulge in the decadence of coconut milk on your skin, make sure you put your hair back and don't dump an entire can IN your hair.  JS

My hair loves molasses as a conditioner.  Honey, not so much.  That said, a teaspoon of honey with an aspirin in it and a couple of drops of lemon or lime juice in it makes a fabulous face scrub.  Another great face scrub is honey that is in the process of crystallizing.  Yes, it's incredibly awesome on the face.

Football and other assorted oddities.

Excellent football movies to watch now that high school and college seasons are over, except for the college bowl games:  When the Game Stands Tall.  Out-fucking-standing movie.  The Blind Side.  The Waterboy.

Speaking of movies, watch Dallas Buyer's Club and insert the word cancer for the word AIDS.  Maybe then you'll better understand my Pinterest board, A Valid Option.

Moving on to the other assorted oddities part of this post, I give you...well, I'm not sure what to call it.

B and I were out and about last week and looking at furniture since we need a new sofa, couch, chesterfield, or davenport, whatever the fuck you want to call it.

We're at a particular furniture store where we'd been looking and discussing and discussing and looking.  Some other customers came in.  The sales lady excused herself to go speak with them and then eventually came back and mentioned to me that this particular couple was really funny and the wife owns a bra store and if I needed any bras, she suggested going to that woman's particular store.

I started laughing and I damn near broke a rib because I was laughing so hard.  I laughed myself silly and when I could finally breathe, I pulled my shirt front out and said "I had a bilateral mastectomy and have nothing but skin over ribs on the entire upper third of my chest, so bras are a non-essential for me, but thanks for the suggestion."

The look on her face was a combination of appalled, horrified, and unsure if she should laugh or not because I was laughing.  She said she hadn't noticed and never would have if I hadn't mentioned it to her.

We discussed breast cancer for a few minutes and then moved on to other topics.

True story, that.

Here's another one.

I used to have the most wonderful cat.  His name was Tigger.  No, I didn't name him that, he was already named that when we got him as a free to a good home ad in the newspaper.  He would like just a tiny drop of milk each morning, loved his Tigger Treats, and he never was much interested in catnip or canned cat food, but he did love drinking tree water each year in December.  He crossed the Rainbow Bridge a year ago in October.  I have his ashes on the speaker by the bedroom door.  In the new house, he will go on top of the mantle, right in the  center.  I still miss him.  He made the move with us from Mississippi to Florida to Alabama to Oklahoma.  He would ride on the console after making sure his humans were in the vehicle.

We acquired another cat from a shelter.  This cat didn't particularly know or care that he was a cat and exhibited minimal behavior of a cat.  Didn't know how to purr, didn't really groom himself, didn't know what treats were, didn't know what the hell milk was, didn't give a rat's ass about canned food and had no interest in treats.  He was litter trained, would eat and drink, and wanted to constantly pounce on anything that moved.  It turned out he was more like a teenager kitty and not an adult kitty.  Since we had drive three and a half hours one way to acquire him in another state, we figured we'd keep him and maybe get him another cat to play with.

Second cat we acquired was from a more local shelter and as an adult.  She has taught the boy cat how to groom himself, although she grooms him more than he grooms himself, and she loves treats.  He will eat one just because he sees her eating one, though.  She loves canned food and if a can is opened, no matter where she is in the house or what she's doing, she comes running to the kitchen and of course, he's learned that behavior, so they turn into floor buzzards when the can opener gets used.

Boy cat does purr on occasion now and does tolerate being held now, which is good.  He wants to be held on his back like a baby, though.  We have no idea what that's about.  He does love to chase girl cat and they are both drinking tree water for fun.

Girl cat is lactose intolerant.  I gave her a drop of milk.  She barfed.  A few days later, I tried again.  She barfed again.  I waited a month.  Tried once more with just a drop of milk, mind you.  Boy cat still doesn't gaf and girl cat barfed, so I have a lactose intolerant cat.  It's like dealing with an addict every time I fix coffee.  She begs for milk because I put milk in my coffee.  Actually, she damn near throws a fit for the milk, but I don't give it to her because she'll barf.

She also loves feet, my boots, and drools while purring.  I guess she never learned how to purr without drooling.  Boy cat doesn't seem to drool, though.

Cats are entertaining, that's for damn sure.

Solidea Medical is having a contest, located here, if anyone is paying attention to anything I post.  They haven't updated their winner list for the past few days, but they probably will tomorrow.  I won, so it's definitely a legit contest; if you're in the market for a out-fucking-standing compression garment and possibly even winning one, you might want to pop over to Solidea Medical and see what they are doing with their contest.

For love of the game.

Yes, that does exist and it's an amazing thing to see.

Football Monkey's high school football team won a state championship earlier this month.  
What's so awesome is that when I pick him up from football practice now, which is actually weight lifting and conditioning stuff, there are guys who are out on the football field playing touch football for nothing more than the love of the game.

They don't have to be out there.  No coaching is going on.  They just love football that much that they want to be out on that field, even if it's in an unstructured, free manner with no thought or planning of who has to be where and when to achieve a goal.  It's just purely fun and free playing because they love it so much.

The beautiful gold ball trophy is gleaming proudly, the celebratory accomplishment still new in the recent ultimate win, hard won and the will to win carried in the hearts and minds of the young men with blood, sweat, and tears.  The shine of that trophy is like a brilliant sunset for any and all to peruse and see the beauty of winning with the upcoming season of 2015 a distant goal of the future; the success still to be determined like the daybreak of tomorrow not quite ready to arrive, but yet it may again be won by these young men with more blood, sweat, and tears.  They love the game, though.

I think a lesson can be learned from this.

How many of us as adults have something structured in our lives, be it a schedule, work, or whatever, and yet find it possible to joyfully jump into that same activity for nothing more than a sheer, absolute and pure love of it?

Where is your passion?  Can you find it again and keep hold of it?

If a bunch of high school boys can unknowingly show me by doing nothing more than being out on that field pursuing their passion of the game of football, then perhaps there is hope for even me to find and pursue something.  I suppose it's possible, even if it's nothing more than doing stuff around the house.

Perhaps it's not even about being great at something as much as it is having a passion to pounce on something, seize it, and accomplish it to the best of what ability there is to at least try.

I'll pounce on and seize the five loads of clean laundry piled on the couch and deposit it in bedrooms.  So, like the young men out on the football field for love of the game, I will be tackling the laundry for the sake of tackling it; I may not be great at it or win a trophy, but I can accomplish it, although it will be tomorrow.

The good, the bad, the ugly.

The good.  

Progress on the house building.  

Youngest son's football team won the state championship game.  

The oncologist told me that since next month is three years from my bilateral mastectomy surgery date and I was scanned on Monday of this week, that he would say I am cancer free.  If I can make it another two years, he would say I am cured of the kind of breast cancer I had.  

Laundry update.

More of that awesome Foca laundry soap is making the laundry all fresh and clean.  Still using the vinegar as fabric softener and still having that work well.  

The bad. 

Mean Mom who I recently encountered, I made a simple comment in passing.  You were absolutely hostile to me for no reason when you replied to my comment.  I removed myself from the situation.  As I did so, I was thinking to myself, "I know the statistics, bitch.  You better hope you aren't eventually one of them, because you have no fucking clue about anything."

The skinny ditz who was wearing those atrocious tights/leggings thingies as pants.  I don't give a fuck how trendy you think it is and how skinny you actually are, your butt still jiggles when you walk and it looks ridiculous.  Why the hell do people think it's a good idea to wear those out of the house?

The woman who was at the store dressed as a cougar recently.  You looked like you were my age hunting for someone the ages of one of my sons.  I thought I left that shit in Florida.  Wtf?  

The ugly.  

I was talking to a friend who said an incredibly kind thing to me.  She said I shouldn't have to apologize for being myself.  If people don't understand or at least make the attempt to, that I should ditch them because they're not the kind of people I need in my life.

She is so fucking correct on that.

Just because I've known someone for whatever amount of time doesn't mean I consider them worthy of being involved in my life any longer.  I've learned who is worth being in my life and who isn't because they refuse to accept me for being me, be it the old normal, healthy me I once was, or the new surgically mutilated me who was poisoned for a year, who is still trying to learn to function.  If that means I have a bitchy attitude, or bitchitude, then there it is.

I've gone from I don't give a fuck because of a cancer diagnosis to mastering the zen art of giving zero fucks to removing people who refuse to accept me as me, regardless of where or how I am.  

People who were once welcome in my life are no longer welcome to be part of it, regardless of how involved they were and I will not fucking apologize for that.

And no, I don't give a fuck who it offends.

Pinterest milstone? Yes, indeed!

I now have hit over 500 followers on Pinterest.  Earlier, I checked and was at 499.  

I just checked again to see if anything exciting was going on and noticed I was at 501 followers.  266 of those are on A Valid Option, thus proving that people are seeking more information of all kinds about cannabis as a valid medical option for a variety of illnesses and diseases.

So, those of you out there who want to tell me I have a bad attitude, I don't have a bad attitude.  I have bitchitude, a bitchy attitude, and I'm putting it to good use.

I'm putting it to good use by speaking up about the vile pink washing of October.  I'm putting it to good use by reminding people that men can be diagnosed with breast cancer, also.  I'm putting it to good use by speaking up about mets and trying to tell people that what they are told about "breast cancer" generically by media is lies because it's not "curable" in the sense that media is lying about it.  They don't talk about those 30% of women who will wind up with mets.  They don't talk about how once diagnosed, the risk of that never truly goes away, be it within months or decades later, regardless of the kind of breast cancer someone was diagnosed with.  They don't talk about the lies about early detection saving lives; it doesn't.  Someone diagnosed at grade 0, stage 0 can still wind up with mets.

I'm putting it to good use by refusing to sugar coat or glitterize anything cancer related.

*I* do talk about those things because someone needs to.  If someone doesn't like it, then fine.  Go somewhere else.  The only fluffy thing around there that will be discussed will be my cats and the sheep who is my new BFF.  Just saying.

Been busy; busy can be a good thing.

This month, I've been busy.  

Busy with football stuff because Football Monkey is just that busy with football. 

Busy with volunteering at both the school and at a nearby horse farm cleaning stalls and tidying up in the barn.  

Busy learning that it's evidently not too difficult to befriend a sheep and have her follow me around with her nose in my spine at the nearby horse farm when I'm there like she's my new instant BFF.  (Sheep can recognize faces, or so I've read.)  Sheep are really larger than I realized.  Their backs come up almost to my waist.  The one sheep loves it when I talk to her.  The other one stares at me, and the goat just looks at me like I'm deranged when I talk to them.

Busy figuring out I'm afraid of the two chickens.  They have claws.  Chicken claws that want to rip and shred.  Beaks that want to peck at me if I get in a six foot proximity of them.  Put me in front of a 1,300 pound horse and tell me to move it and I'm good.  The barn cat doesn't seem interested in me at all.  (Seriously, about those two chickens, they don't seem rabid, but since my exposure to chickens has been very limited, I am afraid of them.)

Since I made mention of the horses, there's a radio at the barn.  If the rest of the humans wander off, I sing to the horses.  And I dance.  They seemed interested because they watched me and their ears were perked up.  I suppose you could say they were a captive audience since they were in their stalls.  

Busy trying to get the house cleaned up for the holidays.  We all know how well that's going.  (Watching Good Eats just makes me want to go start cooking.)

Busy trying to convince The Fat One (Fuzzy Manatee Cat) that she cannot have a drop of milk because she is lactose intolerant and will barf if she ingests even the tiniest drop of said amazing beverage.  She is pouting pitifully on top of her sun worshipping space.

Busy trying to convince The Smooky One (Little Black Cat That's Not So Little Now) that he doesn't need to climb on top of the kitchen cabinets since College Monkey decided to teach him that he could climb up there because he's a cat and cats like tall places.  (Before Army Monkey went into the Army, he taught The Tigger Cat how to drink out of any glass or cup he could stick his face in.)

The awesome husband did the grocery shopping, so we have a smoked turkey breast and a ham.  He also acquired more of the Foca laundry detergent.  That is some good stuff to do laundry with, under ten dollars and I can get 120 loads out of the big bag.  Woot.

Wearing my Solidea sleeves today since my arms were annoying me last night.  Hello nerve damage, fuck you.  (Because no blog post would be complete without me dropping the F bomb at least once.  Because, you know, I'm just so fucking evil.  Just saying.)

About to hit a milestone on Pinterest.  Will announce that when it happens, if anyone is interested.  Even if nobody is interested, I'll still announce it since this is my blog and it's all about me.  (See what I did there?  I'm clever like that.)

And I wrote a couple of new reviews on Urban Spoon and over here, I added a few new blog links to include Angrivated Mom and Laundry Fairy.  

Improvement? I don't fucking think so.

Sometimes people say things to me that I cannot imagine what thought in their head made them think that it was a good idea to say some of the things they do.  I mean it makes me wonder if the Bad Idea Faerie slammed a Bad Idea into their brains with her bludgeoning little Bad Idea Hammer.

Sometimes when people find out I had cancer, they give me a knowing look and say "Did that make you into a better person?" Like...I don't know, implying I was in need of improvement to begin with?  Isn't that slightly insulting to me?  I wasn't a good enough wife and mother already?  Really?  I wouldn't say that to someone, so I'm not certain why people think it's something acceptable to say to someone who has had a life wrecking, devastating illness.

I don't see how having had cancer could be useful, helpful, or cause improvement to my life, much less the rest of my family.  It ripped my health and functionality away from me, it stole a year of my life the year I did chemo because I was so damn sick from it, it physically aged me twenty years in the space of that year.  It ripped any semblance of normalcy away from not just me, but my family, also.  I'm over two years out from my last chemo of a year of that vile poison and coming up on three years from a bilateral mastectomy.  I still don't know how to function normally.  I still have days where I'm literally plastered to the recliner until lunch because I did too much the day before, but even though mentally I am under the impression I can accomplish whatever needs to be done, physically, I hit a wall and fatigue slams into my body to where I literally cannot function the next day.

How, exactly, does not being able to take care of my husband and sons like I used to make me a "better" person?  It fucking doesn't.

Having secondary lymphedema makes me a better person, how, exactly?  It doesn't.  It's a vile, horrid consequence of having lying doctors who did not fully disclose exactly how damaging what they were doing to me would be, either short term effects or long term damage.

Having to maintain a schedule of doctor's appointments and scans that do horrible things to me for monitoring to make sure the cancer hasn't returned doesn't make me a better person.  The stress level those things causes all of us is beyond ridiculous.  So few people have any sort of clue the kind of stress that puts my family and me under.  I can assure you, it does not "make" me a "better" person.

I was a helpful, considerate person who tried to do things to help other people.  Was I perfect?  No.  Who is?  Nobody.  Being sick absolutely destroyed any semblance of my old normal and functional self because now I never know how much I can do or should do.

So, if anyone out there is reading and you find yourself talking to someone who has survived the torture of cancer, please don't give them a knowing look like you think they have "everything" all figured out, drop your voice and ask if it made them a better person or tell them they are a hero because you might not get a response you would like to hear and it might involve the F bomb being dropped a few times.

Just saying.

Someone thinks I'm angry.

Indeed, yes, they do.

I am angry.  Damn fucking angry.

Why, you ask.

I'm angry at how I was treated when I was an oncology patient.  I'm angry that fucking doctors lied to my face, lied to my husband, deliberately misled and lied by omission by knowingly and intentionally keeping information from me and my husband so I/we could make truly informed consent decisions regarding my health, this includes the fucking bitch known as lymphedema.  I'm angry about the sexualization, trivialization, and trendy-ization of the disease known as breast cancer.  And...no, I don't keep quiet about any of it.

Periodically, this person tells me that they find my anger disturbing and upsetting and that I should be on anti-depressants. I've politely attempted to explain that I'm not depressed.  I'm angry.  (There is a huge fucking difference.)

I've attempted to politely explain that because I'm not willing to keep quiet about any of this, I don't pink wash, glitter, or ribbon any of this shit, that I'm speaking up for other people who are either too afraid to speak up, don't realize they can, or are encouraged to finally speak up, or decide they can speak up and verbalize their anger, frustration, etc.  Some already were speaking up, others hadn't, others will.  I AM giving a voice to those who cannot or will not speak up for fear of condemnation and harassment of others who are (grossly mistakenly) mired in the the grossly mistaken belief that cancer patients should be fucking happy, happy, happy all the fucking time.  It is a gross disservice to us as people and dehumanizes us by expecting impossibly "perfect" behavior of us.  So, if you are or have been doing this, please fucking put an end to it.

There's a game I play on fakebook and I decided to say that pinkwashing causes October to be the worst month ever and that I hate pink.  My user pic for the entire month was a pic of my upper chest, scars from a bilateral mastectomy because that's what I was told would "cure" me.  (Well, that turned out to be a lie.  I'll never technically be considered "cured" but as long as I don't need "active treatment" then yay for that.)  That picture of the vile scars on my upper chest is what breast cancer truly is as a reality, not pink ribbons.  I politely asked that people refrain from posting reminders about anything pink because the color doesn't do anything for anyone dealing with any kind of cancer.  I also stated if that bothered anyone, they could block me and I wouldn't be offended.  (Yes, I genuinely meant that because some people get into an absolute bitch snit fit when I say I hate pink ribbons.)  With a thank you, I also said people were welcome to do a search on fakebook for the Flat & Fabulous group if they happened to be a flattie or uni since lots of women don't get recon done.

I'll leave you with some things people have said to me because of my bitchitude (bitchy attitude).  (Names omitted to respect the privacy of these people who were kind enough to tell me what they felt was important to say.)

"I was a nurse.  I was a good nurse, I cared about my patients.  I fucking hate what this disease has ripped away from me and continues ripping away from me.  Please keep saying what you've been saying so maybe someone will understand better what this horrible disease does to people."

"I hate October.  All it does is remind me I had cancer and my mastectomy."

"The pinkwash is so in your face.  Blatantly so and this is something I need no reminder of.  I hate it now."

"I went through the same thing you did, so I know how you feel."

"I agree with your pink rant.  Selling pink things does not help prevent breast cancer.  There aren't even any answers about what actually causes it."

"May I share your perspective on pinkness?  You are very brave to speak up.  I have not had breast cancer, but a family member has and she feels the same way you do."

"Your perspective makes perfect sense to me, so I'm glad you've shared your thoughts."

"I couldn't agree with you more about the pink.  Thank you for having the courage to say what I've been thinking for years now."

"I agree with you completely!"

"A family member had a mastectomy years ago, with chemo, then chemo again.  I don't like pink, either."

"Big hugs to you!  I've had a bilateral mastectomy with no recon or implants.  I like pink, but I'd like to see cancer eliminated because the cures are as bad as the disease.  You aren't alone!"

"Pink doesn't do anything for me, either.  I am a breast cancer survivor.  A mammogram missed the cancer I had, it was only through the SBE that I found mine and insisted on follow up care."

"I agree with you about the ribbons for any kind of cancer.  A family member had cancer and action is what is needed.  I don't have any emotional attachment to pink, but I understand.  Huge hugs to you."

"I agree with you, I don't think pink ribbons help.  More direct action should be preferred like educating women about SBEs and their breast health overall."

"So sorry you had to endure that.  You are very transparent and brave to put up your photo for people to see."

"Keep telling people!  It's the truth!  Isn't it funny how the media won't allow opinions like yours to be shared with the general public?  That tells you something, doesn't it?  Glad you're not allowing yourself to be silenced and I hope you're cancer free forever!  Hugs!"

"Thank you for highlighting the unglamorous side of this disease, the side that sufferers have to put up with.  I commend you and send you hugs."

"Your commentary about pink is very insightful.  I'm also a cancer survivor, but not of breast cancer.  At first, I tried to be supportive and raise money, then I started doing research into what happens to the millions of dollars that people raise.  After a huge percentage of administrative costs, it all goes to feed a corrupt big pharma industry that will not support and will even suppress treatments that don't generate profits for them.  It's all about money and not saving lives or relieving suffering.  We need to take matters into our own hands by trying to be healthier with organic products, refusing GMO products that can make us sick, etc.  I hope you are cancer free.  I have been for three years.  Bless you."

"You deserve thanks for writing what you do.  It shows extreme courage!  Hopefully your firsthand knowledge will help open a few people's minds!"

"It's always such a relief to know I'm not the only one who refuses to buy into the cutesy crap on sale everywhere that doesn't do anything to help men and women suffering from breast cancer.  The big pharma industry has no interest is seeing an actual cure because their profits would decrease and we all know they don't want to lose any money."

"My best friend died from breast cancer and she didn't like pink.  Hugs."

"Your post caught my attention.  I have a friend with breast cancer and she'd asked me not to buy into all the pink stuff on her behalf.  She's asked that we donate to MBC.  Stay strong!"

"I read your post and I applaud your candor and your courage.  Thank you for your honesty."

"I feel the same way.  I cared for family members who died from cancer and there was no support for me.  I think you're brilliant.  Stay strong.  Hugs."

"You are a true trooper and I'm glad you're my friend.  I lost a sister to cancer.  Be strong."

"Hi.  I wanted to leave you a message and let you know I love what you have to say and that you're not alone in how you feel."

So, let's tally that up.  One person who thinks I have a shitty attitude and...twenty-seven who agree with me and believe in what I'm saying.  I think I'll take that twenty-seven over that one any day of the week.

Kinesio taping is good, I think.

Self-explanatory post title.

Secondary lymph-fucking-edema.  It's the vile thing that keeps on giving, because of breast cancer surgery. Uncontrollable and un-triggered random arm swelling, pain, numbness, severe surgery caused nerve damage, and neuropathy from chemo are all constant in any combination or at any given time, although the chemo induced neuropathy seems to affect my feet worse than my arms.  I have sleeves I wear, which do help with some of it and then Streak (the neighbor) has kinesio taped me for it just so we could see if that would actually help or not.  The first time she taped my arms, the swelling in both arms went down by an inch in each arm in twelve hours.  The compression sleeves are medical grade and supportive, but the kinesio taping flat out stops the pain, so I really like being taped, although I can't wear the tape constantly.  And I refuse to eat painkillers for this shit, so constant pain is something I have to live with, unfortunately.  I also have two sports grade compression shirts I wear which do help somewhat, as do the sleeves, which are something different.  The kinesio taping seems to help the most, though.  I'm debating on informing the consult person who will be taking notes on me ahead of my surgery that I will be taped for my comfort and that said tape better not be fucking removed.  It's for my comfort.

Breast cancer wrecked my life, my health, my emotions, and my thought processes.  I cannot ever say enough shitty things about it or the fact that in thirty years, there's not a cure for any of it.  I don't care who you are or what you were diagnosed with, what was done to you to "cure" you and what is done to "monitor" you are all things that have more than sufficient health risks so that anything questionable that happens to your health now, you better wonder about how/why it happened.  After all, money can't be made "fighting" breast cancer (or any other kind) if there is any "success" with "curing" it.

Did I mention this little gem?  http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/257008  Because, you know, zero "medicinal" value, right?  It's the closest possible thing there could be for a cure and yet it seems like damn near everything possible is done to keep it away from people.

Evidently, the HER2+ breast cancer I was diagnosed with back in 2011 was inexplicable, and so is this aneurysm.  I know what's going to happen.  I'll be taking this blood thinner for the six months I was told I'd need to take it because of this stent and coiling aneurysm fix.  Fine.  I'm willing to bet there will be another reason "found" that I'll suddenly "need" to remain on it.  The blood pressure medication, I get it.  Blood pressure issues aren't generally reversible.  The aneurysm fix is supposedly a "fix it and forget it" option. We'll see how that goes.

On to the cats.

Apparently, The Fat One (Sweetie) cat only drools when she purrs.  Why this is, I do not know.

The Fat One (because Sweetie is fuzzy and looks fat even though she's really not fat) and The Smooky One (because Boo is all black and "spooky looking, hence the Smooky word) are what the darlings across the street who belong to Streak and Mr. Streak. (They, (Streak and her family) happen to have a dog named Sparkle who I dog sit for on occasion.))

The Smooky One (Boo) can purr, does purr on occasion, but he doesn't realize he's supposed to do this very often because he is too busy chasing balls around.
Sweetie is also called The Fuzzy Manatee by the males of the family. I've taken to calling Boo by the name Goblin Cat since he likes to reach under doors like a goblin would.

Good news is, ground breaking on the house build is slightly less than a month from now. (No, I haven't posted about that. I wanted to wait until I knew things would be lined out and closer to ground breaking before I said anything.

Bad news is hospitals are for sick people and I am not sick, but I have won a not all expense paid stainless steel stent, multiple platinum coil repair to a stupid aneurysm in my neck Wednesday morning. Supposedly this is the fix it and forget it version of repair. The worst news is, I am going to be stuck in ICU at the pleasure of my doctor and however long he decides I should remain in there. I will likely go batshit crazy. No phone allowed, no laptop, and likely no internet access. I am wondering if he will take peanut butter cookies as a bribe to let me come home.

Sink the "Think Pink" Shit, or Why Pink Stinks.

To anyone who has an issue with how negative I am about the pink washing going on during this month and how happy I am to pink bash and why I say Pink Stinks, here's a few links to explain it. Please take the time it takes to drink a glass of tea, a cup of coffee, or a soda and have a read.

http://getupswinging.com/

http://regrounding.wordpress.com/2013/10/02/over-the-line-repost

http://tellingknots.wordpress.com/2013/10/03/pinktober

http://www.awesomecancersurvivor.com/2012/10/lawsuits-for-the-cure-from-the-archives.html

http://dirtypinkunderbelly.blogspot.ca/2013/09/bracing.html

http://www.artofbreastcancer.ca/fifty-shades-of-pink-the-rant

http://dglassme.wordpress.com/2013/09/17/what-breast-cancer-awareness-should-mean

http://cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com/2012/10/13/national-no-bra-day-and-breast-cancer-awareness-month-or-please-put-that-pink-can-of-soup-down-put-your-bra-back-on

Regarding the vile not wearing a bra in "support" of breast cancer, here's my thoughts on that one.  Does that mean I'm supporting breast cancer or not supporting it since I no longer wear a bra because I have no breasts, no thanks to a shitty bilateral mastectomy?  That's fucking ridiculous and I hope whoever came up with this fuckdiculous shit gets a real wake up call. 

This is not sexy or fun or cutesy and I will call people on that shit who think it's great.  Does that make me a bitch?  Yeah.  

Do I fucking care?  No.

  

I'm anti-pink. If you have an opportunity, take a look at any of the above links and then maybe you'll understand why the pept-wash is so vile to so many people who have had breast cancer. Please do feel free to share the linkage, if you like.

And people don't want to believe me when I say cancer is a multi-billion dollar a year INDUSTRY based on not finding "cures/causes" but keeping people on these meds? If only there were more decent people like these men who are finally standing up and saying something.  It's about damn time.  One of these days, I'll do the math on that and show you people exactly what I mean when I say it's a profit driven industry.

http://www.cbsnews.com/news/the-cost-of-cancer-drugs/

Just think, there's still half the month to go.  

Today is--

Today is...making laundry soap and fabric softener day.

Today is...trying to figure out why the ever loving fuck all I have 86 followers on my personal ink folder on pinterest when I created that particular folder less than a week ago.

Today is...trying to get the laundry all caught up for the rest of the week.

Today is...trying to get an answer from someone about rescheduled football games and if I'm going to be working selling tickets for them.

Today is...working on food prep for the rest of the week, unless B decides to do that.

Today is...telling you people I have done the math. 25 years of marriage in December equals 15,600 loads of laundry.

In "honor" of this month.

Breast Cancer

© 2013 by K.Lowry

The scraping scalpel leaves no flesh,

Doctors claim poison and mutilation are best.

I will not be reconstructed

Just because my breasts are busted.

My body is scarred, my health will never heal

Cancer is a lifelong deal.

It nipped, then ripped, and then it ravaged,

Leaving so many of us feeling savaged.

Scraping scalpel, stabbing needles,

Regardless of critics or those who wheedle,

I will not, will not be reconstructed

Just because my breasts are busted.



Who?

K.Lowry

©2013

I stand before a mirror and what I see

Is someone I do not know looking at me.

Averting my gaze, I try to hide from my reflection.

To no avail, it is far from perfection

Who is this person looking at me?

I am her, but she is not me.

Who is that person, why is she there?

Why it is that I just cannot seem to care?

She doesn't know of who I am, nor I of her.

Yet we are the same person, dual in nature.

Holes and punctures, scarred gashes on my chest,

My mind is now never at rest.

No matter how much that person looks at me and is there,

And I wish she was not.

I am her, but she is not me.

Versatile vinegar and why it's so amazing.

Have you ever wondered why vinegar is so amazingly useful?  Because you can use it for a gajillion things, that's why, or at least I do.

First of all, there are many different kinds of vinegar.  Since I use mostly DWV, distilled white vinegar, and ACV, apple cider vinegar those are what I'll be referring to the most here.  I also have some BV, balsamic vinegar, but I don't use it like I use the DWV.

I use DVW with soap to wipe down counters after I've prepped meat and to clean the stove.

I also use it on tile floors and also to decontaminate bathrooms.

I use it for decontaminating toothbrushes if I can't get right out to get fresh ones if someone has been sick here at home and I need to be home taking care of the sickie and not out purchasing a new toothbrush right at that time.  Why take the chance on someone with re-contamination when it's as simple as soaking a toothbrush in a cup of DWV to make it clean again?  Most mouthwashes contain some very yucky chemicals, which are things we try to avoid in our house.  Don't believe me?  Go read some labels and get back to me on that sometime.

I've used it to clean windows.  I've used it to clean wood.  Weed killer.  Bug killer.

Sometimes recipes call for it in cooking and yet another use is in cough medicine.  Yes, I make my own.

It's great to use diluted in water as a hair rinse.  (I don't find there's a lingering odor with using it as a hair rinse.)

My favorite use?  Laundry.  Yes, laundry.  I use it in place of fabric softener.  It works fabulously well and there's no lingering odor.  (15 loads of laundry a week for 25 years equals 15,600 loads of laundry.  Unfortunately for much of that, I used icky commercial products and didn't know I had alternatives out there to use.)

Speaking of laundry, I got some stuff from the store instead of making my own.  It's called Foca, purchased for 8.59 at The Red Dot Logo Store.  It's got a cute critter on the front and it's excellent stuff.  I rounded the price up to 9.00 and used half a cup for each load and got 100 loads out of the big bag of it.  People, that is .09 cents per load of laundry.  It worked as well as the laundry detergent I make, and yes, I would purchase and use it again.

Anyway, vinegar is versatile.  Don't believe me?  Look on Pinterest.

Not a fucking hero. GTFOI already, people.

No, I'm not a hero and something I will never understand is why people view this survival of a cancer diagnosis in such a manner.  We aren't rock stars.  We aren't heroes or even fucking heroes.  We're just people who are trying to figure out what the hell to do next to try to make our lives being wrecked back into some semblance of...normality, functionality, and do what we can do move ourselves in that direction.

"But you're a hero!"  (What the fuck would you say to someone who told you a family member died from this vile disease?  "Oh, your family member is SUCH an epic failure!"  I think the ever loving fuck all not, so please don't view people like me as heroes.  Heroes are our military people and other people who serve and protect, not me.)

The only thing I did was survive being poisoned for a year. I had HER2+ invasive in ductal breast cancer, diagnosed at stage three, grade three in July of 2011. I did six months of chemo, had a bilateral mastectomy, and did six more months of chemo, the last dose being in August of 2012. There isn't "just" breast cancer, though. Unless someone has had to deal with it personally or watched a close friend or family member deal with it, most people don't know there are different kinds because of the brainwashing of the mass media. People do not go back to "normal" after what they are subjected to is over with, nor are many of us taught how to function after what has been done to us.  Chemo induced neuropathy that may or may not go away affects many people like me.  Secondary lymphedema is also a vile thing to have to deal with that affects so many of us at some point sooner or later, the degrees of severity just as varying as anything you could imagine.  Severe nerve damage from surgery is also something that so many people like myself have to live with.  None of this stuff is reversible, the degrees of severity vary from person to person.  So much is not known or if it is, medical people refuse to discuss it.  

More than once, I have had a woman tell me or I've observed someone saying that upon confronting a doctor about all the horrible effects of what was being done as "treatment" why were they not told ahead of time.  You know what every one of those medical people replied?  "If we told patients what lies ahead for them, many would not accept conventional treatment and would do something else."  Well, excuse the ever loving fuck all out of me, how is that giving a patient enough accurate information to make an informed consent decision?  It's not, not in any manner, yet those fuckers take those decisions out of the hands of their patients by deliberately keeping information from their patients.  I hope every single one of them who has done that has a special place reserved for them in Gehenna and it's particularly miserable for them for a long fucking time, because you know, I'm a nice person that way. 

One in eight women will have to deal with breast cancer in some manner. One in one thousand men will have to deal with breast cancer in some capacity. Yes, men can get it also. It's not a diagnosis that can be categorized into anything in particular as far as risk goes. (Yes, make a list of eight women you know. Include yourself. One of you will wind up experiencing some encounter with breast cancer. Isn't that one too many women or even men? Ridiculous thought even in this day and age, isn't it?  Think I'm trying to be an alarmist here?  Think again.  I'm trying to make an impression.)

I had no family history of breast cancer. I tested negative for the genetic aspect of it anyway. I was not a smoker. I was not a drinker. I did not have any sort of hormone replacement therapy, nor was I ever on the pill for year and years and years to have been diagnosed. I breastfed my boys at least a year. I ate Kosher/pescetarian/organic with the occasional falling off the healthy eating wagon for a slice or two of bacon or small cheeseburger once in a blue moon. I was very active. No oncologist was ever able to tell me why or how this happened to me.

I have interacted with/observed women who were diagnosed with some form of breast cancer anywhere from their late teens, yes, you read that correctly--late TEENS, all the way up through their seventies, eighties, or even older. Some were married, some were single, some had children, some did not.  Some breastfed their children, some did not. Some took birth control pills, some did not. Some smoked and/or drank alcohol on occasion, others were complete party monsters, and yet others were not. Some had a rampant family history of breast cancer and some did not. In spite of the family history, some did and some did not test positive for the genetic factor. Some were active, some were not. Some ate very well balanced dietary intake and some did not.

For some of us, there is no remission, yet there is no active treatment. We are in a limbo of sorts because of the kind of cancer we had. I am not considered "cured" or "fixed" unless I can make it to five years past my surgery date because the chemo is not what "cures" the kind of breast cancer I had, the surgery is what "fixes" it because it removes the breast with the tumor, the bilateral mastectomy part of it is removal of the second breast as a prophylactic move because the kind I was diagnosed with was/is notorious for moving to the second breast. I now have nothing on my entire upper third of my chest except skin over ribs. Nothing was spared so even if I wanted reconstruction, it is not possible without at least two years of multiple surgeries--no guarantee cannot be made regarding further nerve damage from said surgeries needed for reconstruction nor can any be made that the implants would "take" well or sit properly without causing even more damage.  Recon is nothing I'm interested in because I'm now so terrified of doctors and nurses, I can't be in a room with medical people of any kind; Not to mention, chemo causes cancer, as do the scan processes people like me are subjected to all the damn time, but at least I didn't do radiation, which also causes cancer.

I've often joked that the reason chemo didn't kill me was because Lucifer wasn't equipped to deal with me yet.  Having lived in The Deep South where the torturous year of the C word took place, people would look at me in an appalled manner and I'd find that so amusing.  Just as amusing was telling them my religion was Jedi since anytime anything was done at the hospital, that religious information had to be updated.  Why, I don't know.  What I believe is my personal belief or lack thereof and not anyone else's business, hence my sass with the Jedi answer.  I would rather have faced whatever "devil" than to have dealt with the life wrecking devastation of the "c" word. (And yes, religious people, I am more than fully aware of what that implies. No, after what I had deal with, I do not care that I am saying it because it is true.)   For the record,I never begged any deity for anything when I was sick. I never had a change of "religious" perspective, either.  This didn't make me a "better" person.  (And if anyone thinks it should have made me "better," well, fuck that.  There was nothing wrong with the "old" me.  I was much more functional and normal and fun.  This me is not.  JS.)

Actually, I have told my husband I should get a Death Eater tattoo since I spent a year of my life very nearly dead from what doctors were doing to me.  Chemo can turn on someone faster than Lord Voldemort and kill just as easily.  (If you're not a Harry Potter fan, forget that last comment.)  Radiation, I wouldn't know about.  I refused it.

So, twenty five pounds overweight because of steroids and yes, I've tried everything to make the stupid weight go away, breastless and grossly disfigured and scarred, but by damn, at least I have halfway decent hair again.

Bottom line is, I did nothing more than survive being poisoned for a year. I am not a hero. For many, they have to deal with mets. (Look up Metavivor for more information.) These are good links also.

http://getupswinging.com/2014/03/05/why-i-am-anti-komen

http://getupswinging.com/.../things-that-make-me-go-rage...

So many people make the mistake of thinking "Oh yay, pink ribbons and glitter and people's lives go all back to being normal after they're all cured!" because that's what they saw on tv or read in an article presented to them by various mass media sources and big name foundations "It's all about a cure! Do this or that and help with a cure!" 

And when I say I am not pro-big name foundation/pink ribbon because there's really not a cure, then I get the whole, "But I saw on tv that Big Name Foundation is taking donations for a cure, surely there's a cure! Isn't there? If you're not cured, it's your fault, you must have done something wrong." No, that's just how it is with this nasty ass disease. This is how it works and so few people actually know that.

I am not any better than anyone else who has dealt with that vile disease and I'm sure as hell not any better than someone who died from what was done to them by doctors. So because I didn't die (yet?) from what was done to me, that makes me more of a hero, than say, someone who did die from what was done to her/him, who left a family, a husband and small children? No, that doesn't make them or myself any better. What about a child who was diagnosed and died? Would you say or think such a thing about them or their parents?  To have that attitude that someone who is still alive for however long is "superior" to someone who died from an unasked for disease and/or "treatment" is a disgusting and dishonorable and shitty mentality for others to have toward them.  There, I said it.  People can be shitty.

(Honestly, I've had kids be nicer to me than adults about this stuff.  Adults are shitty.  Kids, even with their innocent gestures and comments, give me that any day of the week.  That's for another post, though.)

I never expected anyone to shave their head because I shaved mine when it started falling out from one dose of chemo and nobody did shave their head for me. I didn't care if someone did that or not because it's just hair. What does hair being shaved have to do with anything to help me when I was so sick after one overdose of chemo that I dropped twenty pounds in a week, had severe dehydration, pancreatitis, and couldn't even keep half a teaspoon of water down? I can promise you, someone shaving their heads wouldn't have done a damn thing for me when I was that sick and I would have derived no comfort from it.

Personally, I liked my breasts.  I worked hard breastfeeding three children at least a year and was fortunate enough to keep a little size after they were done, so my breasts were...well, mom breasts, but they were mine.  I liked them and my husband liked them.  I wouldn't be presumptuous enough to tell anyone anything about "Oh, well, it was JUST your ___(insert body part in comment.)" because I'm not that kind of person. I sure as hell wouldn't walk up to a man with a testicular cancer bracelet on or a port scar and ask what kind and say "Oh, well, it was JUST a testicle. Be glad that's all it was." Really? Some folks liked all their pieces parts in/on their bodies and didn't like having them cut out or chopped off, be it from a military injury, accident, congenital issue, or disease.

No, I'm not a hero.  Please don't view me that way.

The hero is my husband and also our sons who did not walk away from me, and yes, that happens far more often than people want to admit.  They are the heroes.  Not me.

Breast cancer and why I choose to avoid what I can when I can.

 Blueberries do contain trace amounts of paraben, as do carrots and a few other vegetables. The thing is, there's just not enough information about plant based paraben/s as opposed to synthetic parabens in so many cosmetics and personal care products which could be potential carcinogens. And the thing is, cancer isn't "just" cancer because cancer is so varied. Unfortunately, upon diagnosis, many people wind up in a crash course of biology, physiology, and oncology of a specific kind of cancer and find out that "cancer" isn't "simply" cancer and it's all very complicated because what may work for one person's treatment may not work for another person, even though there are similar parameters regarding their diagnosis.

That said, there are phytoestrogens in soy, so that is another thing I try to avoid. There is so much conflicting information that I just try to do the best I can with what information I can get hold of to decide from there if I want to try to avoid plant based substances which might possibly be toxic for me, such as Japanese honeysuckle and soy based anything. If I encounter information in my reading and research that I think might be useful to someone else, I'll toss it out for others who may also have a preference or need to avoid stuff like that.

Going off on an explanatory thing that's cancer related here. If some sources are to be believed, soy/phytoestrogens can help prevent some cancers, breast cancer included. BUT (Yeah, you knew that was coming, didn't you?) , but, but...here's the thing.

It's not just that breast cancer exists. There are different kinds. There's estrogen positive, which means the receptors in the cancer cells are "fed" by estrogen. There is progesterone positive, which means the receptors in the cancer cells are "fed" by progesterone. There is the kind that is E+/P+ and that means it's fed by both estrogen and progesterone. There is also HER2+ which means it's a cell growth related cancer and that those particular kinds of cells "overgrow/don't shed" and those "growth" chemicals don't shut off, for lack of a better way to put it. HER2+ is not "fed" or affected by estrogen or progesterone production in the human body. Then there is the HER2-, which is cancer not fed by estrogen, progesterone, or the HER2 growth protein in cells. There is Triple Negative breast cancer, which is not caused by estrogen, progesterone, or idiotic overly aggressive cell growth of the HER2 kind. (There are also other kinds like androgen fed, I just don't have time to go into those others right now because I have to go to the school to volunteer.)

On top of that, there are the factors of is it the lobular or ductal, the grades and the stages, and then the decisions need to be made about what needs to be done to remove said cancer.

Doctors don't really know why something works for one patient and not necessarily another. They don't know what causes cancer. I can hand over my oncology records to ten different doctors and be told ten different things about my health. Some would say parabens aren't a big deal. Some would say avoid synthetic ones. Some would say avoid natural ones. Some would say it doesn't matter. Why? Because they don't know. I prefer to err on the side of caution and avoid what I can when I can.

Subversion in a crumbly way is fun.

Seriously.

The more I discover about things millions of people use every day and how bad said items actually are, the more I'm pleased with not utilizing those items.

I'm now making my own shampoo, conditioner, laundry detergent, fabric softener, toothpaste, household cleaners, and I can't tell you how satisfying it is to walk past certain aisles at the store and not walk in that direction to make certain purchases.  The nameless, faceless entities who are making those products don't care if I exist or not, they only want my husband's money, and they're not getting it any longer, which is fucking awesome.

Here's a prime example why I am not interested in those particular kinds of products.

http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2014-08-11/in-35-pages-buried-at-fda-worries-over-colgate-s-total.html

Just because a company claims their product is "safe" doesn't mean it actually is.

I'm not interested in using products with nasty things in them and I'm not handing over my husband's money for products those people tell me I "need" because I'm making my own.  And that is why subversion in a crumbly way is fun.

An adventure with Streak and potentially soft feet and why I do this.

In this post, contained herein, you will learn about an an adventure I had the other day with Streak.  No, she doesn't streak, she's my neighbor who has four foot long hair that she puts a colored streak in for fun.  Like a skunk, but without the skunk smell.  We'll call her husband Mr. Streak, for future reference, and their two children Doodlehopper and Strawberry.

Mr. Streak was at work, so Streak was taking Doodlehopper and Strawberry for an outing.  They decided to invite me along, so I agreed to go.  We're in Clifford, their Red Vehicle and go to the drive through of a Famous Drive Through Place with a Character. She orders a snack for Doodlehopper and Strawberry and is told to drive to the next window.  This PERSON appears from the corner of the window inside and scared Streak and I to the point of screaming, then laughing ourselves silly because we were so traumatized by The Personality at Said Drive Through.  I told her it was miraculous that I'd not dropped the F bomb in front of the two children in the backseat because it had scared me so badly.  (Really, clowns ARE scary in whatever form they're in.)

Going out and about with Streak can result in some interesting adventures.  That particular one was being traumatized by a clown.

On to potentially soft feet...I'm on the big low/no shampoo hair group on fakebook.  One of the more moisturizing things used on dry hair is coconut milk.  I read posts about it and decided that I should do something nice for my hair since I hadn't done that since before it all fell out.  So, coconut milk was my decision.  What an interesting decision it was, let me tell you.

No, my hair wasn't overly dry, nor in need of massive conditioning, it's in fabulous shape since it's been treated to non-conventional hair care methods.  I dumped an entire 13.5 ounce can of coconut milk on my head and let it sit for a while.  Oh, that was definitely a way to make my skin happy, my hair not so much.  My hair needed rinsed and rinsed and rinsed and then I washed it with baking soda and lemon juice.  I braided it and slept on it and it still looked wet. Definitely over conditioned, I'd say.  I finally managed to get my hair straightened out from that.  My skin stayed soft for days.  That is probably the most normal and the best my skin has felt since before chemo three years ago.  (Chemo is vile and destroys everything in the human body, not just the bad cells.)

I decided that since the skin on my feet is so dry, I would get another can of coconut milk and pour it into ice cube trays to freeze and then toss one or two cylinders (Yes, I have the round ice cube trays, it's kind of nerdy, I know, but fun.) into the tub for my skin; I'd just have to make sure my hair is pulled up in my spin pins that Streak was kind enough to gift me with.  (I felt like I had graduated with the hair from ponytail sock bun to French twist with spin pins only, no ponytail needed.)  Anyway, I'm thinking this coconut milk might make a fabulous foot soak to straighten out the skin on my feet.  When I do that, I'll post the results here.

And why I do this...Well, I made the effort to be as healthy as possible.  I was very active, ate vegetarian / pescetarian / organic / kosher as much as I possibly could and had been doing that for some time.  I wound up up being diagnosed with invasive in ductal HER2+ grade three stage three breast cancer three years ago.  My functionality as a wife and mom went out the window and my world imploded with all the force of an atomic bomb.  I was subjected to multiple surgeries, did chemo for six months, had a bilateral mastectomy done, and then did six more months of chemo.  Some of the chemo I was subjected to contained chemical components of Agent Orange in it.  Chemo kills so many people, it's not even funny and how I'm still alive after the year I spent very nearly dead, I will never know.  Probably because Lucifer isn't equipped to deal with me yet.  And yes, I do say that to people's faces when they asked me why am I still alive.  It's generally pretty funny to see their reaction.

(Just so you know, because many people don't, breast cancer isn't necessarily genetic.  It is not connected with lifestyle, choice of birth control, if someone breastfed their children or not, or age or any number of factors that the so-called experts claim without citing sources.)

Definitely more aware of chemicals now more than ever before, I had no idea where to start.  Yes, I'd lost my hair after one dose of poison chemo.  I shaved my head myself, what little hair there was left to shave.  I did a year of chemo and at the end of that year, my hair was filled in, yes, but not growing.  We relocated because of my husband's job, almost immediately after the last chemo infusion I was given.

Fast forward six months.  My hair was still not growing.  To say it wasn't growing was an understatement.  All it did was stick out and I hated it.  Before getting sick, I had decent hair--I liked my hair.  I was happy with my hair.  I would get a good eighteen to twenty inches cut off every other year and donate it to Pantene Beautiful Lengths because they took hair donations to make human hair wigs for people who lost their hair to chemo.

I was on a quest for something to make my hair grow and get past this not-growing-sticking-out stage, but I wasn't certain where to start, so I started doing research.  I found Code Red Hat and started reading.  I read and read and read.  Then I read some more.  Surely it couldn't be that easy to stop using conventional hair care products and...get my hair to actually grow again?  I could get it to grow and be decent without the vile chemicals of conventional products?  Seriously?  This could be interesting, I thought.  The problem was, the hair growing on my head wasn't my hair.  My hair had been very straight and this hair was curly, as in sticking out curly.  At my age, I didn't want to start over learning how to deal with different hair.  If other people want to do that, that is fine for them.  I didn't want to have to do that, though.

An inexpensive bottle of clarifying shampoo was my next purchase.  I used it, and then I waited a few days.  Not noticing any difference in my hair, I washed it with a paste of diluted baking soda and rinsed it with apple cider vinegar.  Any use of baking soda MUST be followed with an acidic rinse or risk damage to the hair, which was not my goal.

There are so many awesome alternative and simple methods of hair cleaning and hair care, it's not even funny.  And even better, I'm not putting nasty, vile chemicals on my hair.  I started this method of hair care with hair that was about an inch to an inch and a half long.  Fifteen months later, my hair is nearly halfway down my back.  It's shiny, it's healthy, it's straight.  (That's yet another post--I accidentally straightened my hair with a rice flour wash a couple of months ago.)

Since starting this alternative hair care thing, I've put many interesting things in my hair, none of them bad.  I've learned I can make my own toothpaste, laundry detergent, fabric softener, cleaning products, and other assorted various items that *I* know what they are and what's in them because I make them myself.

So, why I do this?  It's because I'm not interested in being subjected to chemicals and toxins that I don't know what they are.  (An added bonus, I'm not putting money into the pockets of some nameless, faceless corporate entity who doesn't give a flying fuck if I even exist or not because they only want some of my money.)