Today I got four tattoos on my chest. I know, I know, shocking for a prude like myself. I’ve never been particularly fond of the idea of a needle penetrating my skin and then having ink injected into it. It always seemed contaminating or toxic to me somehow. Plus, I never liked the idea of having something that permanent. I was sure I would wake up one morning and say, “What in the world was I thinking?”
These tattoos aren't that exciting, in fact, I can barely see them. They are, literally, just a single pinprick. I confess, for someone who never wanted a tattoo, I was a little disappointed when I saw how tiny they were. Certainly nothing big enough that I can whip them out in a bar when people start showing off their 'tats' - they would never show up under those dim bar lights.
So, you might ask, why even get these tattoos? Well, these little 'freckles' are my guides for the machine that gives me my daily dose of radiation. I lay under the machine, and the radiation techs shine a large red light that looks like a gigantic gun site on my body and align it with the marks, so that I only get radiation to the area of my body that needs it. The last few weeks I’ve been making due with blue Sharpie marks all over my chest, but I get some interesting looks when I wear V-cut tops, not to mention the fact that Sharpie smears in the shower. So call me a rebel - who knows, maybe next time I'll get a skull and crossbones.
