Tats. I gots um.

Today was the first consult with the radiological oncologist. All the nurses and such really admired Dr. Cavillo's work. The radiology technician even said that if I hadn't pointed out the scar to her, she would have had trouble finding it.

And as it happens, they had time to do all the mapping studies today, so I stayed an extra hour and got scanned and tattooed. Since I am large and floppy, they ended up making bubble-wrap supports for my breast. These are kept for use during the actual treatments. They also had to strap me up here and there. Such an unglamorous use of boob tape -- these Hollywood starlets that rely on the stuff to prevent wardrobe malfunctions don't know what they're missing. (And I hope none of them ever have to find out.)

The tats are tiny. What they do is make an x-marks-the-spot with a Sharpie, drop some ink on the cross-hairs, and prick the crossing-point with a needle. It's got all the glamour of a zit. I have one at what might be called center-left, totally hidden by les balcon, and another just below my armpit.

The bummer is NO perfumed skin products, NO anti-perspirants, NO deoderant, and NO powder. Cornstarch, Tom's of Maine Unscented, and goop they'll give me is it, for the duration. And LUSH has a whole host of products I love that are being discontinued, not to mention all the scented soaps and ungents I use daily. But ... it's in passing. All of this is in passing.

And in better news, I have Five O'Clock Shadow Head!

(And apparently I still don't look old enough to be the mother of a 31-year-old.)