Tats for Tits

I can add another variety of scan to my repertoire.  This morning, I underwent a CT scan, in preparation for my radiation treatment.  No claustophobia, this time;  it's like being fed head first into a doughnut, rather than a toilet roll.

The whole experience was mostly about positioning -- and being able to replicate that position exactly thirty more times in the next few weeks.  Lying on my back on a bed like a seesaw with my head higher than my feet, a bolster beneath my hips (so I didn't slide), my left arm at my side, and my right arm raised above my head, I'd have felt like a pin-up, if it wasn't for the hospital gown and the fluorescent lighting.  Once in place, the tape measures and the Sharpies came out.  Numbers were read out and keyed into the computer, and Xes marked the spots.

With everything confirmed, out came the blue ink and needles.  I always thought my first tattoo would come courtesy of a leather-clad guy with a shaved head and piercings.  Who knew it'd be a student therapist in hospital greens that'd do the job?  So now, where there used to be temporary black pen marks, there are permanent blue freckles.  But no anchors or hearts with "Mom" in the centre.

In the next few days, The Burn, a physicist and a radiation therapist will use the images from my scan to target the beams for the most effective treatment for me.  And starting June 1, we play connect the dots.