Tattoo you

Me and my boob got all planned up today to move on to the next round of the cancer game: radiation. I got to go to a new wing of the clinic (yeeha!) and meet a gaggle of new technicians, who, strangely, all spoke with English accents. It was very business-like, with the techs moving my orb this way and that as I reclined on the CT scanner, all to see how the laser beams of death would need to penetrate my tumours but not my organs.

Dr. K, my radiation onc, stopped by very briefly before I entered the scanning doughnut to check that all was well and I was feeling as comfortable as I could. He's a tiny German man with Christopher Lloyd hair and I'm quite fond of him. By that point, my arm was numb from holding it over my head, my hip was sore and the body form they shoved under me was digging into my baby chick head.

"All good, Dr. K."

The technicians were a bit fussed that leftie wasn't as perky as she could be, but after two babies, two rounds of breastfeeding, and some serious moshing back in the day, one can't expect the same elasticity as a 20-year old might display. Deal with it, techs.

When the 15-minute scan was complete, it was tattoo time. Three little freckles for my chest to mark the spots where the frickin' laser beams would enter every day for five weeks. They felt like painful little IV pokes, but I survived. After a quick and brutal web cam shot to further ID me, I was outta there. I don't have my first radiation session until December 16, even though I complained that it was too long to wait. Seems getting radiation is all the rage these days, so the planners, scanners and lasers are a bit backed up.

So I wait, and once again wonder if every little twinge is growth or recession. T'is the sweet life, I tell ya.

All this tattooing is making me think about getting an actual one when all this is through. I told Pete maybe I'd get a picture of a breast tattooed on my mastectomy site so I wouldn't have to get reconstruction. He didn't seem to think that was a great idea. There's always the spider web on the neck idea, or maybe permanent socks on my feet. All viable options, but maybe I should keep trolling the interwebs for ideas.