Monday, March 28, 2011


When I was 11 people were starting to get their cartilage pierced. Not people my own age, as I was 11, but, it was around. Getting your ear lobes pierced can be done at a hairdresser or anywhere else that wants to train people to. They have a gun, that a pinch later, leaves sparkly studs in your ears. I was a little kid when I went through that myself. Hairdressers and such places that use guns don't do cartilage anymore, because it can shatter or hit a vein. When I was 12, I somehow convinced my parents that they should not only let me get this piercing, and that they should pay for it.

To this day, I still don't know how I managed it. So, my Dad took me to the hairdresser, a woman with no actual training, to shoot holes in my ears. I thought getting both done at once was a good idea. Balance and all that. It wasn't. The initial shot didn't hurt that much, but the second ear was incredibly slanted. I eyed them and asked her to re-do it. At least where I lived, there was not a lot of information about this piercing at the time, but I was told later in life by a professional I was incredibly lucky that the cartilage in my ear didn't shatter, and either brave or stupid for asking for that.

It hurt. And the earrings that were put in were too big studs. They were impossible to sleep in, as they stabbed the side of my head, and the slightest nudge hurt like a Mother. They did eventually heal, though, and I kept them until I was about 15. I took them out one day for what ever reason and just never got around to putting them back in.

When I was a preteen at the cottage, my aunt casually commented that I had a good belly button to get pierced. The idea stuck. When I was 17 I really wanted to, but, you need parents consent. However, I had friends who were older then I was at the time. 19. Old enough to get tattoos and piercings on their own, old enough to actually be known by one of the better piercers in town. My parents should have seen this coming.

My Mother caught me splayed on my back on the couch with a cup of salt water to my stomach (which is how you're supposed to take care of it immediately after, although I found out later, sea salt, not table salt). She just stared at me and said "You better not let that get infected".

My Father, although noticing right away that I was sitting and walking oddly (you stab a hole in your belly button and try not to) didn't notice for about a month. Enough time that I got used to it and got careless. I stretched as I was talking to him, "So I was thinking that Erika Jean Miller WHAT is that in your naval?" Crap.

Somehow, I didn't get in trouble for stabbing holes in myself without my parents consent. They grilled me on it, mind you. Not the how I managed despite being too young, thankfully. Did you research where you got it done ahead of time? How do you take care of it? What are the signs of infection? What do you do if you notice them? To this day I love the fact that these were my parent's concerns.

How about you, my dear readers? Any traumatizing for your parents when you got piercings?

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