So Tom has this "bet" he's dreamed up with me: If the Cubs win the World Series this year, we're both going to go get Cubs tattoos. He reminds me of it a lot, with the Cubs in the playoffs.
When I learned that I would get tattoos as part of the preparation for my radiation treatment, I had a plan to text Tom and tell him after I'd gotten them, just to surprise him. Yeah, my tattoos would be teeny dots, but they'd still count, right?
Jeff and I met my radiation oncologist last Friday, and I had a planning session scheduled for Wednesday. I'd meet the technicians who would be working with me, and they'd do some CT scans so the doctor could plan the course of treatment. And I'd get those tattoos. My appointment was scheduled over the lunch hour, so I could feel cool and brave all afternoon. Another mile marker on the road to being done!
The radiation techs were really nice, and everything went well. They kept a running commentary up about what they were doing and why as they used markers to mark spots on my sternum, ribs and chest that will help them position me correctly for my treatments.
The tech who did the tattoos - a needle stick with a drop of ink - warned me when she was going to do the needle stick, and I think I joked about needles not scaring me anymore.
I don't remember for sure, because when she made the first mark, I freaked out. I couldn't catch my breath, and then I was sitting up on the CT scanner table, gasping and crying and just generally coming unhinged. The other tech came into the room and it took them both to calm me down. I still can't remember everything about it. I don't think I was scared, because really, what was there to be scared of? I was embarrassed and ashamed; I don't think I've ever felt so vulnerable in my life.
(Writing this a day later is still making me uncomfortable.)
Somehow, I got it back together (I should say the techs got me put back together, because I remember feeling absolutely helpless) and the tech was able to finish the tattoos and finish up the appointment. Both of the techs were so kind and told me everything was OK, but man, did I feel pathetic. I got in my car and, instead of driving back to work, went to the park to look at the ducks and geese and try and calm down. At this point, my head hurt and I'm sure my eyes were red and I looked like hell, so I went ahead and cried a little more. (As I drove back to work later, I was thankful for probably the first time that I don't have any eyelashes - I would have been a mascara-d mess.)
I got back to work - thankfully, no one asked me about my appointment - and went home. I never did text Tom about my tattoos.
I thought that writing this down might help me process what happened, but it's really only made me uncomfortable and kind of upset again. I don't know what that outburst was about, and I kind of dread going in for my first treatment next Wednesday. Will the techs be wary of me, ready for a freakout for no reason? Will I feel like I do now - on the verge of tears just remembering what happened?
This weekend is Cornell's homecoming. Jen and I will go out there - she's thinking about going there next year - and I'll meet up with a bunch of my Delphi sisters. We've had a running Messenger thread going for a few days now about crashing a Delt party, getting together for drinks, etc. One of my friends who will be there had cancer 10 years ago. Another Delphi sister (who can't be there this weekend) has Stage IV breast cancer. So we'll be talking about cancer, I'm sure, and how badass we are for beating it. I'm not a badass. Right now, I feel beaten.
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