Woman wears tattoo on her chest like a war medal

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BY COLLEEN KENNEY / Lincoln Journal Star

There’s going to be pain, the big guy at Hungry Eye Tattoo had warned Trish Westphal.

She just smiled. She knew exactly what tattoo she wanted, and why, and where she wanted him to ink it onto her 57-year-old body.

This tattoo, her first, was to be a birthday gift, a celebration. People would ask her about it. The tattoo would tell a story.

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Breast cancer survivor Trish Westphal will be participating in the "Making Strides Against Breast Cancer" walk on Oct. 19 at Holmes Lake. (Erin Duerr)

Breast cancer survivor Trish Westphal will be participating in the "Making Strides Against Breast Cancer" walk on Oct. 19 at Holmes Lake. (Erin Duerr)

Tattoos covered the big guy’s arm. He looked concerned.

Are you OK?

Yeah.

Are you sure?

Trish laughs, recalling that day this past May.

“I said, ‘Boy, if this is your idea of pain, you’d better put your big girl panties on, because this is nothing.’”

Here’s pain:

It’s going in for a routine mammogram a year ago February with no worries and no family history and no lumps, but then being called back for more tests.

It’s waiting, then getting the call from your gynecologist days later, confirming that word you fear. Cancer.

It’s a type of cancer that’s scattered, like grains of salt. (If she hadn’t had gone in for a mammogram, she says, she wouldn’t have detected anything until maybe too late. So go!)

It’s what makes you cry out those first words:

Oh, my gosh. My grandchildren! They are too little to go through this. I still have things to teach them …

It’s telling your husband and grown children, and it’s suddenly as if they have cancer, too.

It’s the first lumpectomy, then more waiting.

It’s the second lumpectomy.

It’s the third lumpectomy a year ago April, on Friday the 13th, and the hematoma that develops.

It’s rushing to the ER, your breast like a watermelon, so large you have to carry it with both hands.

It’s passing out.

It’s another surgery (18 in all).

It’s the words “invasive cancer,” and the mastectomy that comes next because another lumpectomy would be too disfiguring.

It’s thinking to yourself: “Like this hasn’t been?”

It’s deciding to have your other breast removed, too.

It’s believing the surgeries are finally over but then being told you now need a port for your chemo medicine.

It’s having the port inserted in your chest, under the left collarbone, for all the world to see.

It’s Round Two. Chemo.

It’s losing your blond hair, first just a little and then in chunks.

It’s wearing a ball cap so the grandkids won’t be scared.

It’s trying to walk with no toenails and no feeling in your feet last October at the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk.

It’s telling your family and friends not to walk with you. This is something you must do alone.

It’s stopping just one-fourth of the way, looking back, feeling nauseous and out of breath, as if you can’t take another step.

It’s only a mile, but it seems like a marathon.

It’s knowing no one would care if you turned back.

It’s taking another step, and then another, until you make it to the finish line and the arms of your angels, your family and friends.

“I stopped many times and kept looking back. I talked to myself a lot that day, and always convinced myself to keep going on.”

Trish sits behind the desk at Westphal Motors, 20th and P streets. She has short, spiky hair that’s now gray. She’s tall, slim, the picture of health.

Her skin is beautiful and tan and you’d never know all the pain she’s been through if it weren’t for the 2-inch tattoo she got that day at the Hungry Eye.

It’s just under her left collarbone, covering the scar from her port.

It’s a pink ribbon.

Reach Colleen Kenney at 473-2655 or ckenney@journalstar.com.