MARKED
Dear Diary,
Today I got my first tattoo!
No, I’m not a 19-year-old sorority sister with Tinkerbell on my sacrum.
I’m a 43-year-old physician-mother, newly diagnosed with breast cancer.
Surgery took the cancer out, but even “clean margins” carry a risk.
These tattoos mark my breast for radiation, and with luck, me as a survivor.
RADIATION
Elderly man with suspenders, a farmer perhaps?
Anther older man, who likes the sports section.
Often, those with walkers, canes, the occasional wheelchair.
But also, a bald child, a girl, I think. Maybe five.
Her parents, my age, possibly younger.
She cries.
Me too.
I’d come here every day to spare my child her pain.
FATIGUE
Medical student: new terminology, endless studying. Fatigue. Severe tiredness. Got it.
Resident: 36-hour on-call shifts, sleepless. Fatigue. Got it.
First trimester pregnancy: needing naps. Fatigue. Got it!
Midlife infectious mono: can’t sit up to knit in bed. Fatigue. Got it!
Screening mammogram: cancer. Surgery, radiation. Fatigue. Really, I understand!
Can I be done now?
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