Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): The clock has reset and we are three days away from the latest chop chop date. In a cruel twist, I am also scheduled for a Zoladex injection on Thursday. If I have to be tortured, we might as well go all the way. I am supposed to be at the cancer center at 9:30 for labs, 10:30 meeting with my oncologist, and 11 am injection. We will see what time I have surgery when the schedulers call on Wednesday.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

“I’m feeling reckless,” I exclaimed to my best friend Sue when she picked me up Sunday. We made plans to check out the monthly art walk at the Uptown together. I didn’t tell her that I saw online that my favorite tattoo shop was offering walk-in appointments that day until I got in the car. I had developed this little fantasy that I would get a new tattoo. It has been three years since my last one and I figured if I was cleared for surgery, I could probably get a tattoo. Logic! And for someone who hates needles, sometimes being spontaneous is the best way for me to approach the art of tattoos. My body is a canvas I want to decorate with permanent art. I just have to muster everything in me to get over the whole needle thing. But also tattoos are way different than needles used for medical stuff. One is by choice; often the other one is against your will. In my case, all medical needles are against my will and my worst fucking nightmare. Tattoos do hurt, but more in a weird way that makes you want to keep doing it. If only I felt that way about blood work… Despite my need to plan and be in control, this is the one thing I allow for breathing room and fulfill the urge as it arises.

I got my first tattoo the day I turned 18. That was in 2010. Needle phobic Madison walked into the tattoo shop in downtown Kennewick with her dad and older sister in tow and briefly met with an artist to describe what I was hoping to get. I thought it would be a few days before I would get my tattoo, allowing plenty of time for me to chicken out, but the artist said come back in two hours and I will have something ready for you. Cue anxiety! That day was one of the many days I now refer to as a “destiny day.” I wanted a peacock feather with my cousin’s initials who had passed two months prior. Simple enough. And I had a very unique opportunity to face my fear of needles head on! How bold of fresh 18 year old me!

Two hours later, we came back, approved the design, and sat down for an adventure. I was riddled with anxiety and excitement. I somehow managed to pack the entire tattoo shop with family members who happened to be in town for my graduation (oh yeah I graduated two days prior to turning 18.) If I remember right, over 20 people were in the shop watching me get tatted up (as the youths would say… or probably not say.) Luke, the artist, joked that I had set a new record in the shop for people watching a single person get a tattoo. (I enjoy creating obscure records. Makes me quite memorable.) I walked out of the shop accomplished, tatted, and never imagined that life was set in motion in ways I would not understand until much later.

That would not be the first time I would get a tattoo from Luke. Our paths crossed once more when he began dating my mentor and friend Heather (they are the most perfect little pair and now engaged!) We reconnected because of my solo art show and book, which featured a dear friend we had all in common who ended their life earlier that year in 2016, another unique connection and one with so much meaning.

In 2018, he gave me my ojito (eye) on the back of my arm, another tattoo that I had mulled about only for a short while before deciding to pull the trigger. I got it hours before another art show that my art was being highlighted in. Are we seeing a common thread here?

And finally, my third tattoo by Luke was gifted to me this weekend. I walked into the shop and requested a tiny pink ribbon on my right wrist, the side of my body where breast cancer has called home. I literally had woken up that morning mulling about the idea in my brain. When I had started treatment, I knew I would want to get a tattoo at some point to commemorate this experience, but I was set hard against getting anything obviously affiliated with breast cancer (like the pink ribbon.) I just felt it was overplayed and not something I identified with. But here I am, entering round two of the hardest part of treatment and the tiny symbol felt right. Funny how things can change. But I think it was me who changed. I had to redefine things for myself.

I told Sue about my plan in the car as we drove to the Uptown and she said she would get one in my honor too. We both left the shop with matching pink ribbon tattoos, a unique thread connecting me once again to Luke and now to Sue. I don’t think every tattoo has to be meaningful. I think we should feel free to decorate and honor our bodies as we see fit. But I am grateful to have three of the five tattoos on my body that have intense connections to various seasons and memories in my life. That is a pretty beautiful thing.

The tattoo doesn’t make me feel stronger or make me feel more prepared for my double mastectomy on Thursday. It doesn’t feel proud or beautiful. Cancer is none of that. It kind of is a dark reminder of the fucked upness that this year has been. It is in such a visible spot that it is hard to ignore, but that is my cancer. It is a grave marker on my body, one that I can look at and remember the version of me before everything changed. I miss the old me, but I also know that this is the best version of myself to date. I hate that cancer has shown me and everyone else how resilient I can be. I didn’t want to find out how resilient I could be. I didn’t want to understand this kind of pain that I have seen in others. But I do. And I sure as hell did not ask for my breasts to be removed, but they will be.

My ribbon is a white flag in the storm, surrendering to the fight and moving forward. The war rages on, but I am winning, despite so much that has been lost.

Less than three days until chop chop. This version of me will die and a new one will emerge from the scarred incisions on my chest. She will be more resilient, stronger, and most likely will still enjoy eating potatoes. Not everything has to be so serious and dark you know!

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Evan Giia.

“Water, it falls
Just like it’s supposed to do
Erasing your thoughts
Dwell on the shit you lose
You wish it was better
Oh, yeah, ah fuck it, we just run it back”

– WHAT U NEED?, Evan Giia