"nipple piercing" a cautionary tale.
I was fourteen; I guess I thought I was punk rock. My nipple piercing was purely the result of rebellion and foolishness. Too young for professional piercing, too unwise to wait, the spontaneous suggestion I allow my friend to pierce my nipple in her bedroom seemed like a fabulous idea.
It was grade nine. I spent a great deal of time at my friend's house. Let's call her Pipa. Typically our sleepovers involved lighting a whole lot of candles and staying up most of the night listening to the cranberries.
One night in particular we got it in our heads to pierce my ears. At this point in time we still thought that safety pins were both excellent piercing tools and a great fashion statement. We also thought that a candle was a good way to sterilize something. Pipa found a large safety pin, which we probably found on the floor or in an item of clothing, put it into one of the many candle burning all over the room and set an apple slice behind my left ear. Pipa pierced the lobe twice. (One of which I still have.) We slid the apple slice behind my left ear and Pipa pierced my lobe once and my helix once. (Both of which have been retired.)
I was probably in shock. Safety pins are not sharp. So when Pipa all the sudden looked at me and said with enthusiasm "We should pierce you nipple!" I thought, yes! We should pierce my nipple! Pipa already had her nipples pierced (professionally) and so I assumed she was familiar with the process. Pipa had a barbell lying around; she dropped it in peroxide and went to find so ice. Bad news, No ice. Searching her room, she emerged from the closet with half a bottle of warm, flat Molson Canadian. As I set to choking down my anaesthetic Pipa located a very large kilt pin she pulled out of a skirt. "It's the same gauge!" she said. A stroke of brilliance! I thought. The fact that it was about as Sharpe as a knitting needle did not occur to me until much later. She dropped it in the peroxide along with the barbell and asked me what my favourite cranberries song was. "I just shot john Lennon." I said. "It was the fearful night of December 8th.
He was returning home from the studio late.
He had perceptively known that it wouldn't be nice.
Because in 1980, he paid the price."
As I have quite large breasts and flat nipples we were having difficulty deciding where to actually pierce me. Pipa said she thought we needed something to use as clamps. She disappeared to the kitchen and came back with to metal measuring cups and a roll of electrical tape. The handles of the measuring cups had small holes in them, and she put these on either side of my breast and secured them with the electrical tape. Quite an innovation.
Pipa told be to relax and take a deep breath. The she grabbed the kilt pin, counted to three, and began to pierce me. It was excruciating. When I felt he stop pushing I looked up to see an expression of pure terror on her face. I looked down to see the pin midway thorough my skin and the other half tenting out of the measuring cup under the blunt force of the kilt pin. I screamed, Pipa pushed the pin through, there was a pop, and it was done.
Now, I was most certainly in shock. Pipa wrapped a blanket around me. I couldn't stop shivering. I wouldn't' let her put the barbell in for half an hour. When she did but the bar in, it was much to short. She had pierced the soft skin of my areola, well be low the nipple. It was about an inch in length.
Over the next few days, this caused the balls to literally disappear under the skin and I had to pop them back out regularly. A girl at school told me to cut the sides off a band-aid, cut a slit down them for the bar, and stick them around the piercing. This did prevent them from sinking; it also caused my areola to chafe.
So a week or to later I went to a local piercing shop and asked for a longer barbell. I remember the piercer had visible dirty hands, as if shed been gardening moments ago. She wouldn't repierce me because I was to young, but she offered to put the new jewellery, an inch long barbell, in with a taper for forty bucks. Never once did she suggest I take it out. Since forty dollars was not only money I didn't have, but was the exact price of a nipple piercing at the much more reputable shop across town, I declined. I paid for the barbell and went down the street to change it in the bathroom of the seven eleven. (This little girl just seems smarter and smarter doesn't she?) I washed my hands and manage to change the barbell without difficulty. Although I did drop a ball into the sink. I really hope I washed it before putting it on my piercing, but I don't remember.
Over the next couple of months my "nipple" piercing was a great favourite of mine. I told most of the people at school, showed most of the kids in the parking lot at punk shows, and revelled in the big secret "FUCK YOU!" To my very strict conservative parents. But, as you've no doubt come to assume, I had to retire this piercing, about three months after we did it. It was a bad idea that just kept getting worse. Now, six years later and a whole lot wiser the whole incident seems reckless, insensible and very, very stupid. Although I have to admit it's left me with an awesome little white vampire bite of a scar and a pretty special memory to share with my good friend and have a laugh over, this is primarily a tale of caution. I hope someone can learn something from it, the easy way.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 09 July 2008
in Nipple Piercing