The mom gets in the picture

I've decided to give you ladies and gents a break from me waxing poetic about diarrhea. Instead, let me tell you about a wonderful photo shoot I had with the delightful Tamme Stitt Photography in Kingston. Tamme is the same kick-ass broad who took my original "fuck cancer" photos, and she's the kind of gal who makes you feel totally comfortable from the get-go - which is good because I was very bald, and I was very topless for a good portion of the shoot. She's also super patient, which is also a good thing because not only are my children spastic, but my 4-year-old son, Fiorello, constantly interrupted her photo-taking to show her yet another stink bug carcass he had uncovered in a nearby window. She graciously photographed all of the deceased. 

So, for these keeping count, Tamme had to shoot hyperactive children, a bald head, reconstructed breasts and stink bugs. Man, if that doesn't show a photographer's range, I don't know what does.

Anyway, I know a picture is worth a thousand words, so I'll stop yammering and let you have a look for yourself. Word of caution: The very last picture is of my reconstructed breasts. If you think you might find this offensive or nightmare-inducing, for God's sake, DON'T LOOK! (Although, if you're easily offended or skittish, what the hell are you doing on my blog anyway?)

Me and my family

There's nothing more important to me - they're the reason I'm fighting so damn hard to make sure my cancer doesn't come back.

Everybody, this is Nora. She's not impressed by anything. A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G.

When Nora saw my bald head for the first time, she smiled, then shared some of her toys with me. Clearly, I was finally her equal.

Nora calls me Mimi - a variation of "My Mommy." It's precious - except when being screamed at 5 a.m.

I seriously couldn't ask for a sweeter kid than Fiorello. The thought of him starting kindergarten in the fall keeps me up at night more than thinking about a cancer recurrence. I wonder how lenient NY penal code is for chemo patients who beat up their son's bullies. Hmm.

Before bed, Fiorello always gives me a "big, fat yum-yum kiss." Thanks to my chemo, we have to be a lot more careful with these kisses and their associated germs.

Most of the time I don't wear the $750 worth of wigs I purchased.
I've grown weary of my son introducing me, "This is my Mommy. That's her wig."

This is my husband, Sal. He's pretty much the most amazing spouse ever. He keeps shit running in our house and prevents me from going insane.That's a full-time job right there!

The one thing that's really pissed me off about cancer is that it's kept me from spending as much time with my family as I would have normally. I couldn't pick up my daughter for a long time because I was healing from surgery. The reality of having to hold down a job while battling chemo fatigue has forced me to put Fiorello in daycare full time and ship Nora off to her grandparents five days a week. I can't remember if I said this recently but... FUCK YOU, CANCER!

Through it all, we manage to keep a sense of humor, which, in turn, helps us maintain our sanity. Sort of.

 

Knitting and stuff

Say the words "cancer" and everyone who's got the talent will immediately whip out their knitting needles and go to town. Seriously. I've never had anyone knit me anything in my life; now, I'm suddenly the proud owner of a menagerie of skull coverings. 

 

Swear to God, this yarn was the exact color of my Cabbage Patch Kid's hair. Wonder what she's up to. She's, like, 30-something now. Wait. Maybe...I'M HER! (Hat credit: Samantha Gonzalez's friend, whose name escapes me)

My cover of "The 40-year-old Cabbage Patch Virgin." (Hat credit: Amanda Carmichael)

Nipple hat. You knew it was coming. (Hat credit: Jennifer Burns)

My attempt at Punk Rosie the Riveter is totally weak. Looks like I'm practicing my hand puppetry. (Hat credit: Amanda Carmichael)

My ode to "Pulp Fiction" Uma. Although, being a breast cancer warrior, I couldn't with good conscience put a cigarette in my hand and totally recreate the vibe. (Hat credit: Jennifer Schreiner)

Now, just me

Feeling saucy, feeling "Steel Magnolias." If I had hair, I'd totally be hitting up Truvy's Beauty Parlor.

Channeling my inner Garbo.

I know I joke a lot, but when the reality of cancer is always staring you in the face, you kinda have to...

Still to come: Nipple reconstruction and some contouring of the breasts to plump them up and fill in where they've settled. Then the spread in Playboy: Surgical Edition. (Boobies credit: Dr. R. Michael Koch, New York Group for Plastic Surgery)