That just sounds weird, doesn’t it? My first tattoo. Is there a book out there with this title??………wait, hold on……………ok, I just checked on Amazon and there is not (hhmm, write down idea for future children’s book idea).

A friend of mine asked on Facebook after I posted pictures in an album with aforementioned title……first tattoo? does that mean you’ll be getting more? *sly grin*hhhmmmmm…….mmmmmaybe.

So, why would a middle-aged woman be getting a tattoo at all…you may be asking yourself. Well, ok….you might not be asking but since you’re here on my website, I assume you’re wondering something. I don’t want you leaving my site empty-handed, I mean, empty-headed, I mean….geez, nevermind. On with the story:

I grew up a goody-two shoes, which isn’t a bad thing. However, I may not have always pulled it off. I got into my fair share of trouble and created havoc for my mom, who has plenty of gray hairs (hidden well with the expertise of a great hair stylist) with my name on them. During my childhood, tattoos were of the devil. Well, maybe not the devil exactly but they were taboo and represented n’er do wells and ragamuffins and the like.

As crazy as I was as a teenager and young adult, I don’t think I ever entertained the thought of getting a tattoo. I suppose having the thoughts of ‘what would people think’, ‘you’ll never get a job’, ‘nice girls don’t tattoo’ were pretty ingrained into my brain. So I moved on with my life, got married, and had children. However, something happened to me at the age of 29 that changed my life forever.

Three months before I turned the big THREE OH, I discovered a lump in my left breast.  Yes, it was shocking! For my age and for the fact there was no family history of it. I made the decision with my husband to have a mastectomy, coupled with chemotherapy and radiation. This all lasted about 6 months. It was tough and a battle that was fraught with tears, arguments, sickness, doctor’s appointments and bills…all while trying to work, manage a household, and keep two young children from freaking out about possibly losing their mom.

Five years later, I came out the other side as a victor in that nasty battle. Once you have reached the five and ten year marks, the doctors declare you to be in remission. However, I have a scar that I see in the mirror every day. An ugly line across the left side of my chest (no I didn’t get the reconstruction…a decision I regret somewhat). Do I regret that scar?? Absolutely not!!! It is my war wound, if you will.

This is where the tattoo comes in. Right after I was told by doctors to be in remission, an idea started to form in my mind. I wanted a tattoo. Something that was pretty and feminine but represented that I was a survivor. It took a while for me to get up the courage (and the money) to get it but it was a bucket list wish I was finally able to check off.

So, almost fifteen years after my last chemo/radiation treatment….I celebrate!! With God’s grace, I will be around for a long time to continue celebrating. 🙂