Reggie drew up a beautiful tattoo for me, not as uptight as the original little bouquet of wildflowers I considered but not as loose and abstract as Chihuly glass.
(He did keep moving his mask up & it kept sliding down. They had good “mask required” signage. Everyone in the shop wore them, including customers.)
The actual tattooing took a little less than an hour-and-a-half. I don’t mind the feeling of receiving the ink but, man, that lavender on the shin bone made me cringe and breathe deeply. Reminding myself of pain borne while birthing a baby, this paled.
When I sent a picture of the finished artwork to each of my sons, they both remarked that it was pretty and asked if it hurt. I said to my eldest, who will be 24 on Halloween, “It was nothing compared with the doctor trying to turn you while you were still inside me.” For the 22-year-old, “It was nothing compared to birthing a 9 pound baby – you!” I crack myself up sometimes.
Reggie used an after-tattoo covering that he said is fairly new. It’s called Saniderm. Just saw that they have it on Amazon under wound care and tattoo aftercare. It’s used in burn units, providing second skin healing, and to cover sutures or staples to keep them free of infection. I’ll leave that on for 4-5 days. It’s supposed to heal 30% faster and skip the stage when scabs may form.
I am relieved the process lasted only an hour and 45 minutes from check in to paid and out the door. I’d taken a muscle relaxer and Tylenol ahead of time. Even so, walking was quite difficult due to stiffness and poor balance. Lying on my bed at home was wonderful. Today, I’m pretty sick and there are many sites of aching or sharp, shooting pain. I’m not even trying to put laundry away or empty the dishwasher.
Suicidal thoughts yet pass through my mind, so I was thinking maybe it would be hypocritical to get a permanent reminder that I choose life. My husband assured me that I’ve already chosen life many, many times. Yes, I have, and the evidence is that I’m still breathing.