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.