As far as piercings go, the septum was always on the top of my list for something I wanted to get done. Around here, it may be a fairly common thing to see. In my hometown, all of one person has had it done. They aren't very fond of body piercings here.
At A Glance Author wicked1 Contact wicked1@bme.anon IAM wicked1 When It just happened Artist Jessika Simmons Studio River City Tattoo Company Location Richmond, VA My family isn't very accepting of body modifications. Not that they hate them; they'd rather I be happy with a face full of metal than be depressed and have naked skin. Their only condition on me was that I wait until I was eighteen before I did something that would have otherwise required parental consent. I talked it over long and hard with them, discussing my reasons and motivations for what I was planning. We're a fairly cerebral group; I was sure they would be upset if I did something for a reason that wouldn't satisfy me.
When I had finally decided that piercing my septum was something I truly wanted to do, I researched the hell out of it. I read every experience I could get my hands on, spent hours looking through galleries on BME, discussing the pros and cons with other IAM members. I must have visited my piercing shop a full dozen times beforehand. I wanted to be prepared.
My eighteenth birthday came on a Wednesday during the school week. It was a quiet morning. I woke up early, showered, put on some makeup and school clothes. I made sure my bags were packed for school and that I had everything I would need: wallet, driver's license, reading glasses. Then I kissed my parents goodbye and headed out the front door. I was excited; it was finally my birthday, I was finally allowed to do things without anyone's permission but my own.
School was generally uneventful, with gifts from friends and wishes of luck from those who'd heard about my plans for the afternoon. I drove home after school with shaking hands and a nervous stomach.
My father was on the computer when I got home, so I dropped off my stuff and said hi. He made me sit for ten minutes just for one last reassurance that what I was doing was right for me. I relaxed a lot from that conversation. It has always been easy to talk to my father about most anything. He hugged me, told me to make sure I had my ID and that my mother would meet me for my 4:30 appointment. I drove to Richmond very calmly, weaving through traffic as I would any other day, but with no less care. I got there very early, about thirty-five minutes before my appointment time, with my mother arriving just a second ahead of me. She was excited for both of us, which made me excited as well. She had chosen to get her ears pierced a second time, to make it a bonding of mother and daughter, but wanted to go after me so that she could take pictures of the process.
Jessika came out from the back room, happy to see us and excited that I was finally going to be pierced. She was good for me; she's the kind of piercer who is genuinely interested in her client and wants them to be happy and safe no matter what. I was comfortable with her, and that mattered more than anything. She took us back to her personal piercing studio. The room was spotless. Shelves of jewelry, pre-sterilized, were ready and waiting, and all of her instruments were prepared. I had asked her to pierce me at a 10 gauge, with a blue glass retainer so that I could hide it if need be. She agreed, but warned me that the actual piercing of my septum would probably hurt a lot. I agreed with her, and swallowed down the nervous giants in my belly. She had me sit up on her doctor's table, having rolled out a sheet of sterile paper. My mother took some pictures of Jessika getting ready, snapping on fresh gloves and cleaning out my nostrils, searching for my sweet spot. The smell of the antiseptic wipe she used stung; the liquid seemed to burn. She clamped me using a pair of rubber banded forceps. She explained as she went that she would pierce it at a 12 gauge, then run a taper through, following it up with the jewelry. She had chosen to do this, she said, because it would be less painful and traumatic to the tissue than simply piercing with a 10 gauge needle. I didn't mind at all.
There was no pinprick of the needle; it felt like a full-out explosion in my head as it went through. It got stuck half-way, as if it had hit a brick wall. The reality was that she'd hit scar tissue and wound up pushing extremely hard the rest of the way through. My eyes watered and tears were streaming by the time she'd fitted me with the retainer. My nose throbbed and began running from the tears. There was no blood, just watery mucous, and she handed me a paper towel and helped clean up the area some. It stung while I sat there, waiting to get my bearings back. When I was ready to stand, I walked over to the mirror on the back of her door. It was a tad crooked, but I was reassured that it would straighten itself out (and in the few days since, it has). She prepared the room for my mother, whose ear piercings went very smoothly and painlessly.
We went over aftercare, asked a million questions, paid, and left two very happy women. The aftermath has been no less than I expected. I clean away the crusties every morning, using Provon wash when I shower and H2Ocean during the day when I don't have access to a sink and q-tips. It's been nice, having my septum pierced. The endless questions people ask me are funny, little children are honest, and my father hasn't complained once about it.
To be completely honest, though, I don't think I ever would have done it had it not been for the support of my friends and family here at BME.