3 years out

There is something about the late hours of night that make me stop and write--Yesterday (okay, now that it's 12:53 a.m. it was technically two days ago) or October 2, 2010 was the three year mark of my official diagnosis of Breast Cancer--one phrase that played a very important role that day was "highly treatable and survivable". Even with those reassuring words--the word cancer trumps all! Cancer makes people automatically think you are going to die--and while that is true in many cases, luckily mine was highly treatable and survivable. I remember one wise friend commenting that at least I got cancer in a disposable organ.....that made me laugh a little bit, and realize that there was some serious truth in that remark. Breasts are removable and replaceable...but perhaps not with the ease that I assumed three years ago.

Here I am three years out and still wondering why I easily cry when I hear that someone has been recently diagnosed with breast cancer--it's not really a concern or sadness about loosing a breast--those really are replaceable--...but the realization that a new "sister" is on the journey to becoming a breast cancer survivor--and that journey is no walk in the park. As a knee jerk reaction, I want to somehow shield and protect my new "sister" from what she is preparing to face, but in reality I know that the journey is hers alone to pursue. There are no comforting answers, or self-help books that will help her along each step of the process, there is no advice I can give that will truly provide relief because her journey will be uniquely hers--even though we are fighting the same disease. I want to warn her that the treatment is the easy part and that learning to live after treatment is finished is harder than she thinks it will be....but then again shouldn't I let her believe that this healing process will be fast and easy because she is strong and amazing??.....like I thought it would be 3 years ago.

How was I to know that the chemo and radiation would be just the start of the healing process???-the part that was scheduled and organized and predictable, the part that was full of friends and family supporting and a cheering section of medical specialists and valet parking attendants. Who knew that I would feel lost and alone when the last radiation appointment on Friday June 13th, 2008 finally arrived.

I was so thrilled to be finished...and so sure that I felt "GREAT"--I threw myself an amazing "CELEBRATE LIFE" Party. In spite of Ken's worry that perhaps no one would come, I invited all my neighbors and friends and family, all the people who had prayed, brought food, purchased pink items for me, gave me tips for surviving, fixed my girls' hair and got them to school and the list goes on. My Dad came down from Idaho to help me celebrate my survival and treatment completion. We toasted life with sparkling cider, ate yummy food, and had a pink silly string fest. I celebrated until all the guests left and then went to bed exhausted and spent the next week recouperating and cleaning up from my party.

I started to exercise again and expected to be back to my old self within 6 months....wow I had lofty expectations for myself! In defense of my physicians', they said it would take at least a year...but I was sooo healthy and fit when I was diagnosed I was sure that were exaggerating just so I wouldn't get discouraged. For the RECORD, I'm blogging to remind myself in 10 years that it really took a good LONG time to recover and even get back to a portion of what I was 2 months after my 38th birthday when I had both my breasts ( and shortly thereafter my braces) removed. Recovering has been a journey much longer and harder than I anticipated--oh, yeah, did I mention before that I'm a slow learner?

My body didn't just bounce back--it's been a fight to get it back to where it wants to move and exercise. I was starting to think it was not humanly possible to get out of bed before 9 am ...that 12 hours of sleep still wasn't enough and that I might actually enjoy exercising again, and be able to exercise with my heart rate above 125 for longer than 10 minutes, and without requiring a 1 or 2 hour nap in the afternoon to have the ability to make it through the rest of the evening.

I had no idea that I would miss going to treatment (did I mention that they valet parked my car 5 days a week for 6 weeks???? I loved those cute college kids who parked and picked up my car everyday)--all those docs and support staff knew my story and knew me...they were my monthly friends for chemo and daily friends for radiation, they understood what treatment was doing to me physically and emotionally better than any of my non-breast cancer friends or family did. They hugged me, smiled at me and cheered me on (and got paid for it!) while all my friends and family were busy living their own lives. I took up shopping at TjMaxx on my way home from radiation so I didn't have to think too much about how alone I was on my journey to be cancer free.

Someone recently mentioned that they don't have very good information about how long or intense chemo and radiation exhaustion can be--mostly because we breast cancer patients always say " I'm doing great, I'm fine, I feel amazing" instead of fessing up to how overwhelmed and exhausted we are during the process. Are we being tough because we expect that of ourselves or because there really isn't anyone to pamper and coddle us the way we really need to be pampered and coddled?? Somewhat like my friend that gave birth to a 10 lb baby then showed up for church the next day, I carried on my volunteer and motherhood duties as if my life was a normal as ever. I patted myself on the back for cutting back ever so slightly on my reading tutoring commitments and for the fact that I didn't sign up as a weekly classroom volunteer. I even cut back in my bowling league and lined up subs for the week after chemo so I could rest (or stay home from bowling and work on my backlog of house chores) I hired the cleaning team to come in weekly and felt relieved that it was winter so I didn't have the urge to play in my gardens. I tried to keep things as normal as possible so that my kids didn't feel gypped during my cancer treatment......well at least I thought I was keeping things normal.

The truth is that 6 months after I finished all my treatments I was miserable. The day i finished treatment my family was ready to put cancer behind them and move on--in their minds I was healed and back to normal. They were feeling like cancer had superceded everything for long enough. They were ready to be doing the normal kid thing and I was trying to support that concept and show that I could keep up, even if I really couldn't. Ken was ready to move on as well. My fellow physician spouse friend put it her finger on it....your husband's an Anesthesiologist--if you are breathing and walking he feels his job is done, you are fine!

I recently attended a Survivor luncheon hosted by the Salt Lake Susan Komen Chapter--lunch was provided free to me and all my survivor sisters (perks of the disease:) and I was in a room filled with women who have or are battling breast cancer at all stages of life and in all stages of the disease. Two of my sisters are battling stage 4 with metastisis and sometimes I feel guilty that my diagnosis was early, I had insurance, I had life intact enough that I didn't have to postpone taking care of myself--I want somehow to be able to share my good fortune and save them from the continued pain and discomfort that they are subject to on a daily basis. Their bravery and courage and great attitudes amaze and inspire me and I pray daily that they will continue to get bonus days and live long past their doctors' predictions. One sister was told she had two years left--her kids are the same ages as my two oldest and she is divorced and raising them beautifully on her own. Everyday I see her smiling, because every day is a bonus, one more than she was thinking she would have 3 years ago....she started her journey about 6 months before I did, and luckily for me, she has been willing to share her wisdom and experiences with me.

One last time under the knife

So finally the day has arrived that my industrial grade, bionic expanders have been removed for some realistic softer implants--I told the surgeon to make them look good and so far I'm thinking he did a great job....except for those snake bite things that are on my tummy.  Having an anesthesiologist for a husband does have its perks--he informed me that they are staple marks.  Staple wounds???  I feel like a wall in a 3rd grade classroom that just had the latest art project stapled on it...and then pulled off to send the project home.  A nice line of snake bite looking marks that apparently held one of the surgical drapes in place....and then I had an itch below my shoulder...and what is there, but another set of staple marks on the left side and the right side just where my bra strap should go.  Funny that these staple marks seem to be the most irritating part of my recovery so far--the pain drugs take care of the discomfort of the procedure, but not the itch of the staple marks.  And it can be said that having all your nerve endings cut during the mastectomy definitely makes for a less painful recovery for subsequent breast surgeries.

Surgery was scheduled back in November for January 5...of course they don't assign an OR time until the Friday before surgery, so last Friday I got a call letting me know that my surgery time was 2:15--a bit of a bummer since you can't eat or drink after midnight the night before (early OR time means less stomach growling).  Then the advantage of having a spouse that works where I am having surgery....he can look at the actual OR schedule and tell me that I'm an "add on".  How can you be an add on when you have been on the waiting list since November?????  One of the great mysteries of the medical world is divulged here--the Senior surgeon can put whoever he wants on the schedule whenever he wants no matter when you got in line.  So I was in line after two other cancer patients and I really couldn't be that grumpy as I would have wanted my mastectomy to be first on the list too--although I might mention that I wasn't first on the list then either.

   So I faithfully avoided food and water (except for the one almond I popped in and ate before I remembered I was NPO) and showed up on time to check in even though I knew they would be "running late" --and just as we guessed, the ORs were behind schedule and my OR time ended up being 5:30 not 2:15.  But Dr. Ajarwal made up for it by operating in fast forward and I was in the recovery room at 6:40 and talking to the nurse at 6:45 (my firm opinion that TIVA should be the only kind of anesthesia allowed in most cases was cemented by listening to the poor lady next to me spew and spew and spew) - They kicked me out of the recovery room at 7:15--I was probably too alert and talkative...and headed home at 9 pm.  We even stopped for a "spoon me" yogurt slathered with blueberries, pineapple and pomegranate seeds.  YUM!! 

   Came home to "hug" my kids goodnight and our efficient daughter already had them in bed,asleep, so we settled for kissing on them in their sleep and headed to bed--and all was good until the puppy started yelping to go out for a potty break at 2 am and Ken was dead asleep (a dejavu experience of 4 babies???). 

   Whose idea was it to get a puppy anyway???  Oh, yeah, I was the one that finally caved to the batting eyes and begging notes that our 10 year old has been using for the past two years to persuade us that she "NEEDS" a dog.  So as the awesome mom I am, I rolled myself carefully out of bed and took the puppy outside to do her thing...took a pain med and went back to bed.  

You'll be so proud that I laid in bed (well, except for trips up and down the stairs) and watched movies, read a book and rested all day Tuesday and all day Wednesday.  Thursday I actually washed a few loads of laundry and spent some time in the kitchen making the kids do homework (they wish I would go back to bed!).  Thankfully friends have brought good food so all I have to do is dish up a paper plate and throw it in the microwave.  The only crazy thing about having to take it easy is that you think about all the things you could be doing with a "free" day if you felt good enough to get up and go full speed...and on those full speed days you wish you had a written excuse from your doctor to sit around and watch movies for a few days--oh, the ironies of life.

Basic Human Touch

Remember that movie where the doctor became the patient and realized he hadn't been as compassionate as he'd always thought himself to be??? I think he started to realize the value of treating people as a human being instead of just a patient history to be gathered and treated. Lets just say that there are lots of people at the Huntsman who have either been very well trained, or inately understand the value of treating the whole patient not just the disease. It's funny that you would feel the need to be comforted and reassured by the people who are taking care of the technical details of treating your disease, but I remember several times when human touch was just the thing I needed to be reassured--a doctor who reached out to hug me and comfort me after delivering bad news, or celebrate being finished...or just a touch of the hand to connect.

Debbie in Radiation instinctively had the gift of touch--I can still remember laying on the radiation table waiting to be shifted into the right position when a new tech walked into the room, gently touched my arm and introduced herself. I immediately shifted from patient mode to real human being mode--from a name on a chart to a real person needed real treatment--from a body part in need of radiation, to a whole person trying to heal. There was an immediate release of my worries and a sense of calm that someone really cared about me--When I commented to her about how comforting it was she mentioned that in all her experience she'd only had one patient ask her not to touch--too bad they were that stiff--they missed a chance to feel like a human being instead of a patient being. I was sad when Debbie had to leave to be a patient herself (luckily not for any life threatening issues)--I missed her daily touch on my arm or leg to reassure me that she was looking out for my best interests. One other nurse had that gift of touch--I had lots of great nurses take care of me when I had my mastectomies done--but the one I instinctively loved the most was the one who comforted me with a light stroke down my arm when I was waking up from anesthesia, or needing more pain meds. Too bad our society has become paranoid to touch for fear of false allegations--human touch might be the medicine we need the very most!

Disco Bras and such

On my desk for the last few months are the notes to myself of things I didn't want to forget about my cancer experience--there are things that I'd rather forget...like the moments I have been less than grateful to be going through daily tortures of sunburns or cranky that I'm a cancer patient in the first place. Let's just say that it begins to feel a bit unfair when most of the patients waiting in front of you or after you are at least 20 years older than you (or even way more than that) and then just when you are feeling picked on you see someone even younger than you wandering around in one of those lovely gaping hospital gowns--bald head revealing that his/her chemo was way worse than yours. I prefer to stay in the "pity party" mode, seeing only the old, old guys in the men only waiting area waiting for prostate radiation--but the reality is that I'm not the only person feeling picked on by cancer--there seem to be lots of us out there and we seem to come in every color, shape and age...

So rather than dwell on the not so hot things about having cancer I should tell you that I had a few moments of joy on the radiation table--I mean--not everyone gets the chance to experience a disco bra in radiation. Okay, so it really wasn't a disco bra, but calling it my disco bra made the daily trips to radiation seem way less mundane than getting up everyday, trying to squeeze in some form of moderate exercise (walking up and down the stairs counts?) getting the kids off to school and trying to at least clean up the breakfast dishes before it was time to jump in the car and head off to the radiation lab. I did have the perk of Valet Parking my vehicle--but believe me it's worth it to park your own car and say you are a visitor and not a patient! The gals at the front desk soon called me by name and smiled as I checked in--commenting on a cute necklace or cute new shirt. Funny that I would dress up for my appointments instead of wearing sweats...but somehow it made me feel more human to dress up and head to my toture session pretending like I was headed off to lunch with my friends, or to a daily job at the office.

My awesome team of techs were always ready to "invite" me back to the room--and always willing to answer my endless stream of questions. I must even admit that I would think of things to talk about with my "team" because finding out about their lives seemed like much more fun than the reality that I was just one of hundreds of people they treat on a yearly basis. I found out that one of the techs is my neighbor. I drive past his street multiple times a day and wonder if I'll ever bump into him at the grocery store. We shared stories about our kids, vacations, life, and daily adventures. I started to think of them as friends rather than just people doing their jobs, but I'm still grounded enough to know that I'm just a blip in the stream of people that they see--the mental image of them as friends was helpful for my mental stability--but not necessary for theirs.

And that brings me back to the disco bra--which you've all been dying to hear about--After week one of radiation and a quick skin check by the radiologist it was determined that the rays just weren't quite intense enough and they needed to bump the burn up a notch or two--hence the disco bra--or more realistically I should call it my chain mail bra, but disco bra sounds more exciting so I'm sticking with it. Lindsay came in with a smile and a shiny square of gold metal chain mail (seriously like the stuff a knight would wear) and after carefully covering me with saran wrap she would arrange the "disco bra" so that the radiation would be more intense. Lights turned down low and music turned on (not usually of the disco variety)--and off the techs would go to watch me on the computer monitor and leave me and the radiation rays to disco away--16 whole seconds of radiation 8 from one angle and 8 from the other--and the techs would come back in and help me sit up and send me off to do the daily disco of taking care of the family and the house--even that seems more exciting if you know you've started the day with a disco bra!

Aftermath

So the reality that cancer is a permanent thought in my brain has been harder to cope with than I imagined. Somehow I thought this might fade into my memory the way the pain of a broken arm fades once the cast is off and full use of the arm is regained. Not so lucky....the word cancer remains in the daily vocabulary of myself, my family, and friends, and a part of my daily existence--a box of cold cereal with a breast cancer ribbon prominently displayed, a small box of pink tic tacs for my purse, I'm beginning to think that there is not a product on the market that hasn't committed a donation to the Susan Komen foundation for Breast Cancer research....and I'm positive that it's a successful campaign judging just from the number of items that go into my cart on even the shortest trip to the grocery store. Let's not forget that the number of pink items increases exponentially if I take one of my children in the store!
The fact that my diagnosis occurred one year ago on October 2, 2007 at the beginning of breast cancer awareness month means that every anniversary of my diagnosis will be marked with a flood of pink into the stores and signs and posters reminding me that I am one of the lucky ones whose cancer was detected early...but unlucky in the fact that they found breast cancer in the first place...but lucky in the fact that a yearly exam sent me to the mammogram machine, and lucky in the fact that I chose to do the mastectomy which lead to the discovery of the chemo inducing 1.2 cm invasive tumor that lurked undetected by the mammogram or the MRI. Hardly a day passes that I don't think of my surgeon looking me straight in the eye and saying "you do realize that you just got another shot at life"--it's a sobering thought to have rumbling around in your brain...surfacing everytime you have a spare moment to contemplate the blessing of still being alive and healthy.
In some ways I have this euphoria that I'm alive and yet, I also have this tremendous sadness that I can't live in my pre-cancer state of naivette: that state when I thought my health was controllable and influenced mostly by my actions or lack thereof. Now I have the bald reality staring me down--I have no present control over my genes and their actions and while the magazines and reports are full of suggestions like "women who exercise have a 40% reduction in their risk of breast cancer" that statistic gives me no comfort or satisfaction or feeling of relief. If I had read those lists 2 years ago, I would have put myself squarely in the very low risk category...I had my babies young, I nursed my babies, I exercised, kept my weight under control, ate lots of fruits and veggies, didn't have family members with breast cancer... it's sort of like playing OLD MAID with Andria, I can be ahead the whole entire game, have stacks of matches stored up, but if I pick the old maid out of her hand at the last minute I still loose! I seem to handle loosing a card game okay, but I'm not so hot at handling the loss of faith in my body to do what it should!

I used to consider myself a happy optimistic person--and while I'm still happy (most of the time) and optimistic (most of the time) I feel a little more like a bi-polar personality, flip-flopping between euphoria and anger/sadness at random times and in random places. I find myself wondering more often if I'm really spending time on the things that matter, if there was some way I could have avoided lossing my temper, or have been more gentle and patient. Shouldn't I have enough perspective to let go of the small stuff and focus on the big picture? Shouldn't I be better at enjoying the little moments of life and letting go of irritations and offenses? Maybe all I accomplished in the last year besides fighting cancer was creating a whirlwind out of my emtions-I used to think I had a plan, direction, and trajectory for my life...and now I'm not so sure that I have anything figured out--and that makes it hard to live with me--for myself, my spouse and my kids!

How do I articulate that cancer has changed my view of the world and my view of myself and my view of life in general? How do I express my joy at living and my frustration with lingering fatigue? How do I express my grattitude for the gift of life, and my fear that the cancer might return? How can I explain to my child that the cancer I have is hopefully permanently in remission, but the person in the movie died from cancer that spread to another area--to a 7 year old Cancer is all the same! How can I explain the sadness that passes over me when my child says "when I have kids and you are a grandma" and I have the thought " I sure hope I get to be a grandma"...then I realize that before October 2, 2007 I never, ever, questioned the fact that I would be the most amazing, doting grandmother--because my long life was inevitable. How do I convey my sadness that at age 39 I'm wondering how many birthdays I will get to celebrate (while optimistically thinking I'll have tons) and then just as quickly I am mad at myself for feeling ungrateful--I know lots of Cancer friends that won't get nearly as many birthdays as I will. It feels almost wrong to be so happy that my cancer was found early when friends my own age or younger have worse pronosises.

I hit my one year from diagnosis mark and went to celebrate with my family--a toast with fruit topped frozen yogurt that I have a long and healthy future to look forward to, yet my emotions feel raw and on the surface just waiting to be exposed. I shed tears as I went to meet with my internist one year after she sent me for a mammogram--it was too real and heart wrenching to remember the ease with which I went to my appointment, the lack of fear I had going to the mammogram, the pinch of fear at having the biopsy and the heartbreaking day of telling my kids and family that I had breast cancer--Raw and Real to remember meeting the plastic surgeon and hearing about microsurgical options that weren't really practical options for me, seeing my scars for the first time, not being able to hug my kids, and the list could go on for days. It took me a couple of days and lots of tears to get over that day of remembering, and just writing about it reopens the wounds. And as I go about checking back in with my oncologist, or see my radiologist at a bike ride, or ask my gynecologist to join my cancer team (gotta watch for endometrial cancer now that I'm on tamoxifen) I realize how much my life has changed for better and for worse. Now that I'm in the "maintenance" stage--I'm wondering what medicine there is for maintaining a balance between my emotions of sadness and loss of innocence and my joy and gratitude for a life to live--somehow a pill just doesn't seem enough to process all the emotions and thoughts that move through my brain on a daily basis. So check in tomorrow--I could be teary eyed, or laughing; joyful or fearful; cranky or sassy...but no matter what emotion fills the moment it is who I am at this point in time...and I'm still moving forward.

Last Day HipHipHooray!!

HipHipHooray was a common phrase my mom used whenever we had good news at our house when we were kids...and today I am yelling the biggest Hip Hip Hooray!!! as it was my last day of radiation! As Andria puts it I "can share germs" now and to her that means life is back on track and we need to celebrate--like my hips really need lots of chocolate and icecream today!

Believe it or not I do have feelings of happiness and sadness today--

Top five Sad things:

5. I don't have my daily commute to listen to a book on tape, or NPR or music--my choice, not the kids' choice.

4. No daily hope that I can have lunch with my husband since he works "just over there" at the U and might have a chance to escape the OR just long enough to have lunch with me!

3. All the support of my vast fan club in all its various forms and at all its random times.

2. I'm losing the excuse --" I don't have it all together because I have Breast Cancer!!"

1. I said goodbye today to all my Friends in the Radiation department who have smiled, waved, chatted, comforted, listened, cheered, and supported me for the last 33 weekdays of my life. They've seen more of me than they've wanted and they can still look me in the eyes and talk to me about the commonalities of life that we share. They've made me feel like Jenifer--not just a random nameless patient...although I am aware that the reality is that the impression they have made on me will last longer than the impression I have made on them (I don't expect them to remember every single patient--but I can pretend that they will remember me!)

Top five happy feelings:

5. No more daily commutes, speeding to the U to be on time for my tanning session--bottom line is that I'm pretty hopeless at being "on time" 5 days a week to anything!

4. I can stay home and enjoy a summer sleep- in and snuggle and read and talk with my kids in the mornings like I always have in summers past! Bonus--I appreciate what used to be the normal routine!

3. I might have time to actually exercise, shower, read the paper over breakfast and throw in a load of laundry before I have to run out the door to do something important! Laundry loads washed daily??? Never thought I would miss the simplicity of having time to do that!

2. I have two and 1/2 hours every day for the rest of my life that I haven't had for the last 33 weekdays to vacuum a floor, dust off a bookshelf, read a book, work in my yard, answer emails, call my siblings, gaze into space, sleep-in, talk to a friend, breath deeply, go for a bike ride, do a random act of kindness, play airhockey, jump on the trampoline, chase a child learning to ride a bike, text my teenagers, date my husband.... Guess there still won't be enough hours in each day to do all the things I love, but I will profoundly enjoy everything I can squish into each 24 hour day!

1. I can finally say that I am a Cancer Survivor..not a Cancer Patient!!

I still have so much to tell you about what I have been doing for the past 33 days in the radiation lab, but for now I'll just say that I'm sooo grateful for access to incredible medical care...and I'm off to celebrate!!

Few random tidbits I've thought of blogging, but napped instead

So back when I started this radiation process I had all these thoughts of what I should blog about...but since I was still fresh off of Chemo I was dragging a bit much to stay up late and write..and all my waking moments seem to revolve around doing just the basics (plus a little stamping and a few trips to bowl with my alliance friends) Somehow those appointments at Huntsman seem to throw my life as a "lady of leisure" into tumult and I am a lady of dashing from one task to the next--but smiling that I can actually dash!

There didn't seem to be much of a break between Chemo and the radiation process but I did have the chance to do a walk through with my friend Susan who started her radiation just before my last chemo--it was nice to know what I was getting myself into and the one thing I remember most was listening to the big steel door clang shut as the techs left her in the room and turned on the machines to make sure they were lined up just right--that room was cold and big..and the clank of the door seemed ominous as if sealing the dangerous stuff in the room with you like something from a futuristic horror film. I just realized a few radiations ago that I never hear the door clank at the Huntsman..but I have looked, it is big and steel with a large "warning radiation" symbol front and center--one of these days I'll remember to ask if they shut it when they head out to turn on the radiation.

One thing Susan didn't prepare me for was that it would hurt when they did my tattoos. I had been harassing my kids for weeks about what I was going to get tattooed on my left breast...butterflies, hearts, KJ, a skull and crossbones...anything I could to torment them. Ryan was the most bugged by my teasing...perhaps because there is a part of him that knows I have a wicked side and that I might not just be teasing! I was stamping with a few girlfriends the day before my tattoo appt and dramatically I mentioned that I might get "KEN" emblazoned acrossed my chest. My sweet friend questioned "TEN???" and my reply was quick "yep, a 1o over the left breast and a 9 over the right since it is missing its nipple!" This was getting to be too much fun!

So the first thing I did when I met with my tattoo artist was to ask if she could tattoo something nice for me...she assured me she could, but that she wasn't a very good artist, so I opted for the regular blue ink dots. Once she had me marked and checked out by the doc, she dabbed some ink on the spots and promptly jabbed me with something pokey! Ouch!! No one mentioned that it hurt! When I ouched she said quickly--"sorry about that, I had a patient once who had lots of real tattoos and she told me these hurt worse than getting the real deal" I don't know if that's true...but it was definitely worse than waxing my legs and I don't plan to repeat either experience!

Just to make things interesting I did stop by Zurchers to stock up on a few tattoos before I went home--I had some good pirate ones, but somehow lost them in the car before I got home...but was saved by my neighbor who raided her son's collection to provide me with a great dragonfly which I put on the most visible tattoo and then added a frog on a lily pad, a gecko, a butterfly and a hibiscus blossom to cover each of my dots--Ryan raised his eye brow for at least a minute (see, he really doesn't trust me to obey the rules!) and Cathryn was immediately unimpressed with my "plastic border" that made it obvious that I was faking (15 years olds DO know everything!). Rachel and Andria were the most impressed...and Ken sort of liked them too, although I'm sure he would have like the "10" and "9" even better!