8 years ago, my friend got her navel pierced. It was right before the big piercing craze. I live in the very south of the Netherlands, and piercing wasn't common at all around here at the time. I knew it existed, but I never saw one up close. She showed me, and I loved it. I thought it was wonderful and unique. I had to have one. I told my parents about it, and of course, they were absolutely against it. My mum got seriously angry with me: "No way you're getting your navel pierced! You'll get an infection and you'll die!" So I just told her that I was going to do it anyway, it was my body and I would soon turn eighteen. (I was sixteen at the time but they bought it anyway). I blackmailed my parents by suggesting that if I had to do it on my own, I'd have to go to a place with a very bad reputation because that was the only one I could get to by public transport. So they could just as well take me to a decent place. After a few days, they gave in and my dad promised to drive me.
At A Glance Author psychonautje Contact psychonautje@bme.anon IAM psychonautje When Ten years ago or more Studio South Side Tattoo Location Schin op Geul, The Netherlands Now, I had no clue what a decent place was, so I started asking around. A tattooed co-worker was very satisfied with South Side tattoo in Schin op Geul, a little village in the countryside. The tattooist had been piercing for a couple of years, and I trusted my colleague, so I assumed it would be fine. My dad drove me over there, but didn't want to come in with me. So there I was, 16 years old, nervous and scared, standing all alone in front of this tattoo shop that looked more like a biker place.
I went in. I did make an appointment upfront and I told the heavily tattooed guy at the counter that I had an appointment to have my navel pierced. He told me to sit down and wait until he finished discussing a tattoo design with another customer. I don't remember having to sign any forms. In my memory, I waited at least for an hour but it probably was only fifteen minutes. I sat down looking around at all the flash. I remember that a boy, 13 years old or so and probably the son of the tattoo artist, was drawing up tattoo designs. I was amazed that such a young boy was working in a tattoo parlor.
Finally, it was my turn. We walked to the back of the store, a curtain was closed and I was asked to lie down on the reclining chair. I was nervous as hell. I hadn't eaten that day because I was so nervous, so I was feeling lightheaded. The piercer talked me through the procedure, but all I could do was nod. Thinking back, I don't think the studio was as hygienic as it should have been, but he made sure that I saw the needle, clamp and jewelry come out of new packages, and he was wearing gloves although I don't remember that he changed them during the procedure. He asked if I was ready to go and I nodded again. He cleaned and marked my navel. I was not asked to OK the placement but I wouldn't have known anyway. Then he clamped it and asked me to breath deeply three times. He stuck the needle (which is huge in my memory, not in gauge size but in length, I remember it to be like 20 inches, which was probably not the case, but I must have been intimidated) through on the first breath out. I did hurt a bit but not half as much as I had expected it to do. Jewelry (a 14 ga CBR, I'm still wearing it) insertion was no problem at all, the piercer cleaned up the blood and put some gauze over it. While I was still lying down he talked me through the aftercare. "Clean it with Sterilon three times a day". Now I know Sterilon is way too harsh on fresh piercings but back then nobody really knew around here.
Then I was ready to go. Or so I thought. I sat up, but being high on adrenaline and endorphins, and having a low blood sugar level, I felt I was going to faint. I told the piercer and he told me "ok, just lay down again". I did, and that's the last thing I remember until I gained back my consciousness again. I was hyperventilating, the piercer was holding a little small plastic bag in front of my mouth, and my trousers were all wet. My bladder went out of control and I peed all over the place. When my breathing got back to normal I tried sitting up, but immediately I fainted again. I woke up again, feeling extremely light-headed and embarrassed. The piercer did an amazing job at comforting me though, telling me that this happened all the time and that I should not be embarrassed and that it was no problem at all.
Somebody gave me a glass of water and I just sat there talking to the piercer for at least half an hour, with him telling me all kinds of stories about big biker-guys that would faint when being tattooed. Finally I felt confident enough to stand up and walk out. I paid, thanked him and went to my dad in the car, who was kind of pissed that it took so long. I explained what had happened and we quickly drove home. Back home I told my mum what had happened and showed her the piercing. She said: "hmmm, that doesn't even look that bad, but let's go and get you a shower".
Healing was troublesome. Though I kept cleaning it with Sterilon as the piercer had told me, I got infections on and off for half a year. I never experienced any keloids or other forms of scar tissue, just infections. The lower part of the piercing seemed to do fine and looked healed, but the upper part kept pussing on and off. After half a year I was pretty sick and tired of it. I was in Thailand at the time and thought: "Hell, it's infected anyway, I'm going to take a swim now". And I don't know what stuff they put in the swimming-pool water, but it must have been an extremely good disinfectant (it hurt your eyes terribly as well). Within 4 days, the infection disappeared miraculously and the piercing healed fully within a week. Now, I have a perfectly healed navel ring that hasn't given me any trouble at all after the Thailand trip. So if you have trouble healing your piercings, go take a swim in a Thai swimming pool, heh.
And my mum, who thought I was going to die and didn't want me to get the piercing? She pierced her own navel a couple of years later...