What It Was Like Getting Rid of My Radiation Tattoos After Breast Cancer

My Journey is a series of personal essays about what it's like to cope with a medical condition.

Every time I change clothes or shower, I cringe at the ugly black dots on my chest. I have five of them, unwanted souvenirs from radiation therapy for breast cancer. They look like marks from a felt-tip pen - two on my left side, two on my right, and one right in the center of my cleavage.

Sometimes, I forget about them and terrify myself by thinking they're melanomas.

My lumpectomy scar has never bothered me. It's a symbol of survival. But I've despised the tattoos since the moment they were jabbed into me. I wanted them gone, erased.

Four years after treatment, I decided to do something about it. Now, I'm in the middle of the long process of removing the tattoos. It's been harder than I expected, but I have no regrets. I can't wait until those black dots disappear forever.

Radiation tattoos were an unwelcome surprise

I was diagnosed with noninvasive breast cancer (ductal carcinoma in situ) in August 2019, at age 56. Because the cancer was fully contained and hadn't spread, I didn't need chemotherapy. The tumor was estrogen sensitive, so my oncologist prescribed me tamoxifen to help prevent a recurrence. She also recommended a short course of radiation therapy.

The radiation oncologist did a great job explaining how the treatment worked, complete with hand-drawn charts and diagrams. I loved how he never talked down to me, and I thought his absent-minded professor vibe was adorable. I felt good about my decision to move forward with radiation.

But it caught me off guard when the radiation therapist told me they would give me tattoos. The markings ensured the beams targeted the same location for every treatment. I understood the need for precision, but I felt like crying when the therapist showed me the permanent blue-black dot on her own arm. I don't have anything against tattoos. I just wanted to be the one to decide where, when, and if I received them.

By then, I was already committed to radiation therapy. I accepted the tattoos as another inevitable loss of dignity and control. There had already been so many of those during my cancer journey, what was one more?

The therapist tried to make me feel better by chirping, "If you ever have a cancer recurrence, you'll already have your tattoos!" She did not make me feel better.

The tattoo process itself was quick, a few pinpricks of discomfort. But from the beginning, I hated how the dots stood out against my fair skin.

Several months after I finished treatment, I learned that another friend with cancer was never tattooed. Her radiation marks were made with a felt-tip pen. I wished my healthcare team had given me that option.

That's when I started to think about the options I still had. I couldn't go back in time and refuse the tattoos, but maybe I could have them taken off.

Removing tattoos is harder than getting tattoos

At first, I assumed I could waltz into any tattoo studio and they would cover up the blots with a touch of lighter-colored ink. But the process turned out to be more involved than I thought. Laser removal, the preferred method, required several treatments. I also had to find someone with the specialized equipment to do it.

I got a few recommendations but dragged my feet about contacting any doctors or clinics. I wanted to be sure I had the time, money, and energy for yet another round of medical procedures.

When I decided to move forward, I was delighted to find a nearby clinic that offered removal of radiation tattoos at no charge. They required a doctor's sign-off, which I had to make several polite-but-firm phone calls to get. When the authorization arrived after a month of wrangling, I was so happy I kissed the letter.

Finally, I was ready to get started.

What it's like to have radiation tattoos removed

My treatments began with a consultation. A technician examined my tattoos and asked why I wanted to remove them. (Does "because they're butt-ugly" count as a reason?) She explained that the treatments would be spaced 6 to 8 weeks apart, and the entire process would take almost a year. The long time frame surprised me, but when the tech asked if I wanted to proceed, my answer was a firm "yes." We got started the same day.

The treatments themselves are quick. I'm seated in a reclining chair, similar to a dental chair, wearing protective glasses to shield my eyes from the laser beam. The tech gives me ice packs to numb the areas. Then, she blows cold air against my skin, also for numbing, while she targets each dot with the laser. It hurts, but it's over faster than a routine shot.

After each treatment, I keep a lookout for complications, like infection or blistering. But I haven't experienced any issues yet. I cover the tattooed areas with petroleum jelly a few times a day and avoid heat, sweat, and showers for about 24 hours after the treatments. The tattoos also need to be kept out of direct sunlight. Avoiding heat and sun can be tricky during our scorching Oklahoma summers, but I've managed.

The tattoos are sore for a day or two after each session, and I feel a little queasy and tired. I asked the tech about the fatigue and nausea, and she said it's not typical but it does happen to some people. To ease the side effects, I asked the clinic to limit the number of laser pulses at each treatment. This means I'll need more sessions, but it makes the process more comfortable.

Getting the tattoos removed has been worth it

Radiation tattoo removal is a personal decision. I have friends who live peacefully with their tattoos. Others have transformed the dots into something beautiful by placing another tattoo over them. I respect their choices, but for me, erasure was the only way to go.

Everyone assumes I'm doing this to get rid of the reminders of cancer. But tattoos or no tattoos, I'm reminded of my illness and the risk of recurrence every single day. Taking away my tattoos isn't about erasing cancer. It's about taking back my power. It's about deciding what I want my future to look like.

I love watching the tattoos fade. The two smallest dots are barely visible now. The others are becoming smaller and lighter every week. Even if they never disappear completely, they'll come close.

After my last procedure, I know exactly how I'll celebrate. I'll take myself to a tattoo studio and get my first real ink. I'm thinking about a small butterfly on my wrist, or maybe a stylized rainbow spiral.

This time, I get to choose.