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.