Dear Skin, Volume 2
Welcome readers!
(with scars or no scars)
She walked into my studio with the quiet confidence of someone who has wrestled with life and decided to choose joy anyway.
Lydia was 47 when everything began to unravel. Her first diagnosis led to a double mastectomy and reconstruction—already a life-altering event for any woman. Five months later, before she had time to even process that trauma, came cancer #2: stage 3 colon cancer. A year of chemotherapy and radiation followed.
Two different cancers within five months, in two different organs. This pattern is so unusual that oncology teams sometimes refer to it as a “tumor board case”—the kind that requires a full panel of experts because it defies the usual rules.
In February 2020, just as the world was shutting down and hospital corridors were filled with fear and isolation, Lydia stood alone and rang the “warrior bell” at the cancer center. No family crowding around, no hugs, no celebration photos with friends. Just Lydia, in the darkness and loneliness of COVID, one hand gripping the rope, the other holding onto hope, as she prepared for colon surgery and the removal of an abnormal appendix.
By October 2020, she decided to do something extraordinary: she climbed Mount Washington. That climb was more than a physical challenge—it was a declaration that she was still here, still strong, still moving forward.
But life was not finished testing her.
While she was unpacking after that trip, a routine scan delivered crushing news: nine new tumors in her liver and lungs. Surgeons removed 75% of her liver. More chemo. More radiation. Lung surgery. At one point, her prognosis was reduced to just two months to live.
As if that were not enough, a sci‑fi‑looking robotic device was inserted into her wrist as part of her treatment. It caused a catastrophic puncture of her gallbladder and led to emergency surgery. She emerged with two drains and a body that seemed to have given everything it had.
Weakened on one side, she fell down a flight of stairs and fractured her back.
By then, Lydia had endured 14 surgeries and 4 different cancers. Each step forward seemed to be met with another impossible hurdle—yet she kept stepping.
And then, after this relentless storm, something miraculous: a clear scan.
After so much darkness, the light finally broke through the tunnel.
That is when I met her.
When Lydia came to see me for 3D nipple and areola tattooing, it wasn’t “just a tattoo.” It was a closing of a very long chapter. It was about reclaiming her body, her femininity, her sense of wholeness. Sitting with her, touching skin marked by scars and survival, I felt deeply honored. This was sacred work.
As I created her 3D areola, I listened to her story and to the quiet, unwavering note that runs through it: an almost inexhaustible reserve of courage and joy. Lydia later sent me a beautiful review, and I’m sharing her story with you today because it reminds us of something essential:
“It took three years after my mastectomy to process the emotional impact of the surgery, especially the impact of losing a body part that had nurtured my two children and brought me so much joy.
“I’d heard of reconstructive tattoos, but didn’t have the drive or energy to pursue another painful procedure. Through synchronicity, I met Bibi and felt at ease with her immediately. She clearly works from her heart on behalf of survivors, sharing some of her own story and introducing me to supportive resources like Ink for Pink. Just weeks later, I got out of the shower and teared up when I realized I was no longer avoiding the mirror. I felt like myself again. Working with Bibi was a deeply meaningful gift. I didn’t imagine I would get to see my then 15 year old daughter go off to college, but she is happily launched (and a big fan of me getting tattoos). Bibi helped me regain some beauty and comfort I had reluctantly surrendered.”
There is so much more strength in us than we ever suspect. There is a deep reservoir we can tap into when life demands everything we have and more.
Through all of this, Lydia has kept a talent for happiness—yes, a talent. A conscious choice to find light, connection, and even beauty in the most unlikely places.
To Lydia: thank you for trusting me with this final step of your reconstruction. To everyone reading: may her journey remind you that even in the darkest tunnels, there is light ahead—and sometimes, like Lydia, we climb mountains on the way to finding it.
