Kiss of a Rattlesnake

I hope this blog hasn't turned into me whining. I would hate that.
wahhh all day- but fuck- I can't just vent to people more than my mother, kids and husband- and best friend. I just feel like , how many times can this chick just complain about how much her feet hurt? Enough.
The farther I make it down Tamoxifen Road, the shittier the path gets- I feel crappier now than I did during chemo or treatment on good days.
It's a different thing every day.
One day it's chest pains, you think you;re gonna die.
One day its moodswings, and crying and hormones, you worry even more about being around long enough to see your kid graduate high school.
"Silly" I say to myself- "Of COURSE you'll be here". "Just think positive!." But I feel like I'm taunting fate doing that. I could be dead in 5 years, who am I to claim to predict my fate?
It's like saying "Oh - hurricane??? This house has been here since 1960. No hurricane is gonna wreck it". And the hurricane comes and wrecks it. It happened all around me. People got cocky.
I don't want to be cocky.
I don't want to live in a fantasy world either.
I worry about the bone pain being precursors to something more later on, because nobody wants to deal with your shit after the cancer gets cut out and they send you off on your merry way.
Concerns about my workplace, it's possible involvement, little questions about dumb things, I felt like I was bothering them, and they refused to take the time to give a shit about BRIANNE, not the run of the mill breast cancer patient they see so many of all day. I feel like they won't do anything until I find a tumor or have some pain for a few weeks. They don't give a shit unless my cancer comes back Then they step it up. And that fucking SUCKS.
I'm in some pain, and I'm hating the side effects this dumb drug they wanted me to take is giving me.
Depression, mood swings, menopause, bone pain...the fucking bone pain, neuropathy---- wtf. I don't get a chance to see my oncologist again till May 31. I wonder if they ever read all the documents I sent about methylene chloride. They put me on these drugs.
I do this for my kids, I do this for them. These pills can't be the only way. This hemp oil needs to work better than this shit so I can kick Tamoxifen to the CURB.. I feel like there's more to keeping my cancer at bay. I would investigate these things if I didn't have kids. I just feel like I am jeopardizing some precious time right now even questioning taking this shit for the next 5 years. So many emotions.
I worry so much. I do this silently.
I'm left without breasts, a body that feels good without medications of some kind, I'm nuts all the time- my husband is a SAINT. Saint Mark of Solar. Patron saint of awesome husbands, hormonal wives and saintly men. I cannot even go into how much he means to me.
He listens to me whine, bitch, complain, cry...he brings me coffee in bed the mornings my knees feel pain. He's with me in a recon mission for Joe Leone's fresh mozzarella. He's just the best.
I don't know what I would do without him. He got a raw deal, I can't help but feel bad for that.
I worry a lot, but I'm finding out how awesome the feeling is rejoining real life in some respect.
Real life. Tattoos, getting my eyebrows done again, going out to see my husband play music (in wigs incognito is pretty fun.), going to the supermarket and nobody looks at you like a bald weirdo.
I won't talk about my hair--- it;s in baby Phyllis Diller stage. Ironically- my grandma is very good friends with Phyllis Diller's best friend and she just sent me a pair of India silk leggings because my grandma told her I love India, and she just got back here. But it grows OUT and UP. Not down. It's funny. I'm not a fan, but everyone tells me they love it.
I miss my hair :(
When I see someone who I haven't seen in a while, they ask me what happened to all my hair.
Um. My usual reply?
"I just kicked cancer's ass"
or "Thank you! My oncologist styled it for me"
Then people start crying and hug me.
I'm ok right now...please don't cry.
I'm not dead.
In fact- I feel an amazing sense of rebirth despite all this pain.
I love not giving a shit about dumb stuff anymore. I love letting things slide. I love hugging my kids after they do something really awesome and unique. I love the simple feeling painting walls lime green gives you.(Try it, really.)
It's nice- I have a bedroom in our top floor dedicated to my art and sewing and dying and I'M DOING IT AGAIN. I'm making quilts, and corsets and drawing more than ever.
I'm in and out of my room all day, working with Melody and the pincushion...the scissors, the time  I am now forced to take and take my time WITH.... stuff that took me a day in the past now takes 4 days--- I love the intricacy and depth of this new work though.
Cancer is a fucked up gift, if I haven't said that yet. I needed a major ass kicking. Cancer did it.
Cancer did it. It makes you think about your funeral and living to 108 years old 24 hours a day,  7 days a week. The dichotomy is mind blowing....For the best...cheers.
North Carolina, I see you in 7 days. <3
xoxoxoxoxox