I just got my first tattoo!!!

I had one of those moments today, in this cancer roller coaster I currently find myself, that can only be described as surreal. Bizarre. A 'how did I get here' moment. It's happened a few times since being diagnosed and sometimes it doesn't take an event like today. Sometimes it can be as simple as driving somewhere and I rest my head into my right hand, elbow on edge of the open window, and I become conscious of the fact that I only feel scalp. Or when I am grabbing the towel in the bathroom dripping wet and I suddenly notice the incision on my left breast. Or the other day when I gathered up all of the anti nausea and 'chemo' medications, the Dexy, the Emend and the Maxolon and there were bottles and bottles and as I nursed them in my T shirt up the stairs to go into a cupboard and out of sight I thought 'how did I ever end up having to swallow all of this just to feel ok'?

Today I found myself back at the Cancer Centre in Lismore this time for a scan and what is referred to as 'planning' for my next stage - yep the race to third base is about to be on! There was a great deal of waiting around in between seeing professional staff to discuss next steps and what I can expect from 6 weeks every day (bar weekends) of Radiation Therapy. At one stage I was led into a big cold room with a giant scanning machine (my knowledge of correct medical terminology leaves a lot to be desired) and the Radiation Technicians walked me through what I can expect from the therapy - the good and the bad. I'm thinking more good than bad - if it zaps the absolute last of this cancer out of my body, I will gladly take the potential burns and the drudgery of daily drives to Lismore.

The technician offered me a rotating curtain to stand behind as I undressed and put on the gown (split to the front please Kym). It's a tokenistic gesture of privacy because the minute you walk out from behind the curtain you are asked to lie down, arms out of the gown and full top half exposed as they poke, prod, move you ever so slightly up, down, over, no too much go back - aligning you carefully on the machine. Clearly precision is of utmost importance. Finally after two technicians spent what feels like an awfully long time getting it right, they then ask you to continue holding two metal bars that are above your head and not move an inch while they draw on you, slide you in and out of the machine, speak in code to each other and then request the presence of my third base coach Michael to come in. Now I have three people staring at my breasts, drawing on me and even making a traced replica on a plastic cover as an extra triple check of the required 'zapping' area. But wait, there was more. They then moved in with the tattoo needles and gave me my first 'ink' which I had hoped would be something small, sexy and meaningful but in fact turned out to be three freckles. :-) Doesn't matter - I still feel wild and edgy and like I now need to buy a motorbike......clearly shaving ones head is soooooo 2011. I also have a new respect for the pain threshold of people who actually pay money to have tattoos placed on really sensitive areas of their body. The second tattoo for me was in the centre of my chest right on my chest plate and it really hurt! What a wimp....
The finale was the technician requesting permission to photograph me lying there, from the position of my legs to the way my hands gripped the bars above my head and all points in between.

After all of that was done, Michael nodded his approval and he and the two efficient technicians left me there to undergo the scanning process but assured me that they were just outside and could see and hear me if needed. It was during this process that I had my very surreal moment. Alone and as I lay grasping this big cold medical monster of a machine, naked from the waist up with all sorts of drawing all over me I could hear it wizz and click as it did its thing. And as I was being slowly moved further inside to be positioned just so concentrating hard on not moving a muscle I thought 'how on earth did I ever get to this place and how can this be happening to me'? Even after four months of dealing with this unwanted invader, i still question its actuality. I feel like a fraud. I am not the typical person that gets cancer, so therefore it can't really be happening can it? Even more ironic is that cancer for me occupies an enormous part of my head space. From the minute I wake up aspects of having been diagnosed with breast cancer, the symptoms related to the cure, medical appointments, dealing with the worry of its return fill my brain daily. So how is it that I then have moments of wondering if it's actually real? What's that about?

It may be because it feels like time stands still in these moments that even the act of breathing becomes a conscious effort and so it forces your brain to focus on exactly what is happening right then and there - and nothing else matters at the time other than working in partnership, for example, with a medical machine. Being in that moment means all the other aspects of your life fall away and you are alone with your body and the cancer and maybe it's all too intense?

It may be because every step of this journey is about focusing on the positive, digging the deepest you've ever dug both physically and emotionally to ensure that you give this cancer the greatest fight of your life. And in doing that you realise there have been so many distractions in your life, things you worried about or worked so hard to achieve, that are now no longer important. And the fact that cancer has given you this opportunity for a major priority rethink messes with your mind?

Or maybe it is because you thought you knew what fear felt like until you were diagnosed with a life threatening illness and now you've been provided an actual opportunity to be legitimately and completely terrified.

Whatever the reason for me today, it was a bizarre introspective moment of complete surrealism. A fleeting moment of impossibility in my head happening at the same time as the cold reality of permanent tattoo markings and scary medical machinery.

As quickly as it comes, the moment passes and you go back to making boob jokes, laughing with the friendly staff and racing to get your clothes on. Kym returns to the hospital foyer. And the wait for next stage continues.

Despite my description of what went on quietly in my head today, i am pleased to announce I am scheduled to begin the race to third base kicking off on March 15th. I am tracking well and my base coaches have all given me the big fat tick of approval! Another hurdle to get through but I feel even more confident about this next run than the previous innings. It's shorter in time for a start and although they tell me I may suffer fatigue, I am hoping that it will be minimal. Tired and sleepy! Baaaaa - i will catch up on sleep in my 90's! Right now i am regaining energy and I'm raring to go! Radiation does mean there may be some potential skin effects so sorbelene will become my new friend along with aloe vera cut fresh from the garden. And yes, it means a daily commitment of hospital visits and waiting rooms but I know already it will be my opportunity to meet new friends with their stories and their smiles. I find such strength in the resilience of the cancer colleagues i meet along the way and i am sure those undergoing radiation at the same time as me will be no different.

I know the next 2 months will come packaged with its own challenges and i am in no way dismissing the seriousness of this next round of treatment but in comparison to what chemo packs as a punch, i feel confident that this next phase will be just a friendly scuffle. Bring it on people - I love a good rumble and I'm competitive in nature. I will have radiation pinned to the floor and screaming for mercy! And this tattooed chick means business so step aside, I wouldn't want to hurt you on my way to victory.