cancer still sucks

I have been looking at the telephone number for the cosmetic tattoo parlor my plastic surgeon recommended for about two weeks.

After months and months (and months) of treatment, this procedure will signal the end of all of this nonsense.

And while I really want to put the finishing touches on his good work, I also really don't.

Part of me may decide to just leave my scars the way they are, the focal point of my chest.  I have never been particularly vain, and so leaving my blank canvas makes sense to me.

But another part of me thinks, what happens when Doug and I are on the topless beaches of St. Barths? Do I really want to be that bold?

I wonder what a French woman would do.

The other problem is, it is simply another appointment.  And I let all of my other health concerns slack over the last year, so I am overdue for a litany of maintenance.

Perhaps what I am realizing is that I am fine with it either way.