That word?
Fuck.
As in, "Fuck this fuckity fucking shit to fucking hell."
Why?
Well, because on that day, I called my doc complaining about my left arm. Turns out, I am one of the few people who can feel a DVT --- Deep Vein Thrombosis---blood clot, in her body. Most people don't know they have them, until they break off and become problematic...as in when they become heart attacks, embolisms, and aneurysms.
Oh my.
But me? I can feel that shit.
So I call, get into the Ultra Sound department, and literally guide the tech to the "Wonky" (it's a medical term---look it up) spot in my armpit.
"Son of a Bitch," she says. I thought, "Fuck."
So, after arguing with them over going to the ER (where they sent me) or to my Doc's covering partner (because the co-pay is over $100 cheaper), I was taken off Tamoxifen, started on Warfarin, and instructed on how to give myself Lovenox injections twice a day.
Oh, fuck you cancer...fuck you and fuck your disfigurement, complications, and treatment.
So after 2 1/2 weeks of pills and jabbing myself, avoiding vitamin K rich foods (like leafy greens, because they help the blood to clot), blood draws every 3 days to check my blood's thickness---without much improvement, I flatly refused to inject myself anymore: my belly was covered in hard, colorful bruises and I was DONE.
No, correction, I was fucking done.
I would take the Warfarin...(essentially, rat poison) but I was DONE with the shots.
The NP was pissed and quite frankly, I didn't give a fuck.
In the meantime, Doc says I can't take Tamoxifen anymore because I am a clot risk (duh) and since I am not post menopausal, will have to undergo chemical Ovarian Ablation (to become post menopausal) then be prescribed Aromatase Inhibitors to keep the cancer from returning.
See, I get to be forced into menopause. Isn't that great? Look, don't get me wrong, I'd love to have my ovaries yanked since the fuckers went rogue on me and started all this shit, but because of the clot, no surgeon will touch me. Instead, I get to give big Pharma MORE MONEY and poison myself even further.
FUCK.
Which brings us to this week: suddenly, my blood got too thin. I was warned not to injure myself (because we all do that purposefully, right?) and to cut back on the meds.
So, I am bruised, bloated, have unflattering hair, 20 extra pounds and the weather finally hits 90 after years of snow and frigidity (okay, 10 months) and I am told not to shave my legs.
I'm a fucking hot mess, people.
So, here I sit, googling the side effects of Lupron (the drug that will be injected into my ass to stop my periods on the day before I turn 48) and the Aromatase Inhibitors (the highlights are weight gain, acne, and thinning hair) and all I can think is, "Fuck."
I am angry. I am stressed. I am beyond pissed. But here I am, trying desperately to hold it together because I know there are women out there dealing with this hungry beast with far more grace than I can muster on my best day.
But I find it impossible to do so without saying, "fuck."
A lot.
Don't judge me.
I could have picked the dreaded C word. ;-)
