As I sat at my computer wondering how I could possibly write a story of my experience of a particular piercing (and eating a cinnamon scroll), I thought: But what makes MY experience any different, or worthy of internet publication, than another? Taking another bite, I glanced down at my protruding belly and realised. My experience could serve as a warning – a warning I would have done well to have heeded before it became TOO LATE! *Dramatic burst of music.* Yeah, I know, lame... but seriously, heed my warning dudes. Heed my warning...
At A Glance Author miss abyss Contact foundmissing@hotmail.com When Two years ago Artist Some stoned guy. Studio "Eternal Tattooing" or something like that... Location St. Georges Rd. Northcote (Melbourne, Australia.)
Any who, the point of the matter is that about two years ago, when I was a meek little fifteen-year-old thang, I went frolicking down to my local tattooing/piercing parlour with my mummy in the hopes of getting my navel pierced. In the regular way, of course - nothing flash - just the standard bar with a little faux diamond in the bottom. Oh, what style I had... But I digress. I chose my chosen bar, and with my chosen bar that I chose I frolicked further into the dingy little Tattooing/Piercing Parlour of Death. That I chose. *Ahem.*
The guy who was working there at the time, and who so kindly offered to assist me in the piercing procedure, was a gentleman whom I, and my dear sweet mother, both thought was under the influence of drugs. Basically, he looked stoned off his face: his eyes were really bloodshot, his speech was slurred, and he wasn't exactly (in retrospect) the most professional piercing artist I would ever come to know. But at the time, I felt I had worked up enough courage to face anything, and also that I wouldn't have the guts to get my navel pierced if I didn't get it done that day, so I took a stupid risk and got it done anyway.
The piercing went well, I admit it did hurt me quite a bit as I recall, but nothing unbearable. Afterwards I was quite tender in the navel area, and remained so for maybe a fortnight. I cleaned it well, though, and it healed –as far as I could tell – perfectly normally. It seemed like it was no time before it had healed completely, and I could change bars and the like. Oh, the fun I had. Pretty Shiny bars, Scary Hard-Core Chunk-of-Metal bars, Funky/Kooky bars... the list goes on.
However – and I'm still not sure when this happened exactly – at some point my piercing suffered a trauma. The reason I know this must have happened is because, all of a sudden, my piercing started to move out. It stopped before it came out all the way, but anyone who had a close look at it (even people who had never seen a navel piercing close up before) commented on how little flesh the bar seemed to be sitting behind. And when my incredibly conservative stuck-up English step-grandmother pointed it out, I knew there was something wrong.
And yet, stupid, stupid me didn't do anything about it. I was in love with that piercing in my belly, and couldn't bear to part with it. When I took it out for a moment I felt naked, ugly... I was addicted to my navel piercing – damaged as it was. I didn't go back to my piercer, or any other, and ask for advice. Pleases kiddies: DO ask for advice when something goes wrong. And preferably, ask an expert. That's important. At most, I talked about it with a friend who was having the same problem with her eyebrow ring. Se had actually spoken to her piercer about the situation, and he advised her to take it out before it scarred her face. She could always get it done again once it had healed. I thought this was fair enough, so after a little deliberation we decided to make a pact: We would both take out our respective grown-out piercings. Together. As a team. All for one and one for all.
The next day began her new life without an eyebrow ring. And my new life of denial and procrastination.
"I'll take it out tomorrow."
"Seriously, after this party."
"But it goes with the outfit I'm wearing on Friday."
"On the holidays, I swear!"
*Manical laughter* Oh, I lied and lied, and didn't take it out. Then it started hurting (bear in mind this was maybe 7 months after the aforementioned pact) and getting caught on stuff all the time. It was getting irritating, and it looked pretty dodgy. So, one day, after a life-changing event or two, I had an epiphany and such – and finally did what was the healthy thing to do. I took out my navel piercing, and promised myself I'd let it heal over.
Now, maybe three weeks later, it's almost closed up. Unfortunately, I have been left with a scar from where I was originally pierced to where the piercing ended up at the point when I removed it. What was once my favourite part of my body had now been ruined because I didn't take my piercings condition seriously.
My warning: If it appears as though your piercing is sitting further out than where it was sitting when you were originally pierced, SEE YOUR PIERCER. Please! For the love of our heavily tattooed God! It may be annoying having to heal it over and pay to get it done again, but in the end: money comes and goes - scars hang around for way longer. Seriously.