I got my industrial a year ago. I'd been thinking about it for several months, ever since I'd left a five-year relationship with someone who was decidedly not into piercings (or heavy metal, or punk rock, or anything else I was into!). I wanted a mod that would somehow mark the experience of me growing a spine and finally figuring out how to change my life for the better--something tough but sexy, delicate but raw. The shiny barbell joining two distant holes in my ear cartilage seemed like the perfect monument to a temporary destruction towards reconstruction, a miniature lattice-like metaphor for the new strength I'd achieved and would continue to reach for.
At A Glance Author Jane When A year ago Artist Christina Studio ACME Location Charlottesville I was in Charlottesville with my current girlfriend, a beautiful, brilliant, take-no-shit Irish fiddler whom I met in my Ph.D. program. I told her about my idea for this piercing and she thought it was fantastic. She asked some good friends of hers from the C-ville area to recommend a good place to go. The unanimous vote was Acme Tattoo and Piercing, near UVA, and after taking a look at the many beautifully-healed lip, cartilage, and earlobe piercings of my girlfriend's pals, I was sold. Off we went.
I didn't know what the piercing was called at this point--I'd only seen it on a handful of people, so when I walked into the studio and approached the piercer (a lovely angular-faced young lady with bleach-blonde-and-pink hair and flickering eyes), I found myself a bit tongue tied: "Uh, hi, I'd like to pierce my cartilage with the barbell that, like, joins two holes?"
"The industrial?" she asked, archly raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah!" I *loved* the sound of the name.
"It takes six months to a year to heal," she responded immediately, looking me over with something like skepticism--or maybe bafflement. (This is all in retrospect--I had no idea how "hardcore" a reputation this piercing had, and looking back, I realize that I must have seemed the fair opposite of hardcore: peacoat and oversized scarf, uninteresting haircut, no other piercings or tattoos to speak of).
"Ok, that's no problem!" I warbled, anxious to finish what I'd started, get in that chair, and end my stagnant journey of complacency and wimpy inertia.
"Which ear do you want it in? Not all ears are appropriate for this piercing." She took a careful look at the ear I chose (my right), noticing that I was missing some skin from the edge (childhood eczema, which nearly caused my ear to rot away and fall off when I was about two). "I don't think this ear has enough skin," she remarked. "But let me see the other one." After a quick glance, and smiled and said, "This one looks great!"
"Excellent...I'll do it in the left, then." I was relieved!
"Great...I'll just have you fill this out." I signed a release form, and then C., the piercer, guided me to a massage table, where she donned sterile gloves, removed the jewelry and needle and clamp from the autoclave, and very patiently explained to me what she was going to do. As she spoke, I noticed a certificate on the wall, proclaiming that she was "certified in bloodborne pathogens." "Guess that bodes well," I remember thinking. C. then took some kind of wooden stub and tried out several places for the jewelry to go, giving me a mirror to get my opinion. I was thrilled--even with the fake barbell this piercing looked hot. I was, as they say, "read to go."
T., my girlfriend--knowing full well how squeamish I am about blood (especially my own)--came and sat next to me, holding my hand and reassuring me that I'd be fine. I was already at ease, though--C. was extremely deft and calm, instructing me to lay down, slathering my ear with iodine, and preparing to make the first poke. Her voice, as soothing as velvet but as sharp and present as a surgeon's, guided me gently through the process--"Okay, you'll feel a little stick, but it's not the needle yet....okay, give me some deep breaths...okay, deep breath in, and when you feel the stick of the needle, breathe out slowly for me..."
Yes. It did hurt. A lot. I'm a wimp, but since I was lying down and squeezing my girlfriend's sympathetic hand (my girlfriend who, not being the least bit squeamish and also being famously fascinated by grody things, watched C. perform the piercing in total awe), I made it through *two* very painful needle pokes, plus the stinging discomfort of the entry of the jewelry directly after. Apparently I bled a lot, because C. spent about five minutes after she'd pierced me clamping gauze over my wounds. I was slightly light-headed and giddy, grinning and saying, "Wow, am I a bleeder or what?"
"Not too bad," C. assured me. "You're almost done, but you can lie here for as long as you like."
"How's it look, T.?" I asked breathlessly.
"It's so hot, babe!" she responded, nearly as excited as I was.
After about ten minutes, C. decided I was done bleeding and removed the gauze. I managed to sit up--somewhat shakily--and grab a mirror. WOW. This was by far the most exciting and sexy accessory I had ever worn, including clothing. A surge of thrill and delight swarmed through me, joining the delicious throbbing sting of the piercing in an elixir of endorphins and ecstasy. I finally understood all that junk about the close relationship between pleasure and pain--this sensation was like a hugely amplified version of the sweet soreness that accompanies a vigorous workout, or the cringing glory pains of being sore from great sex. I was absolutely thrilled with the way the piercing announced itself, proudly, shining in the light, holding my ear together like a modern flying buttress, and calling attention to the fact that, as a professional musician, my ear is one of my most important assets.
C. congratulated me on my bravery, and I admitted that it had hurt quite a bit. She grinned and said, "Yeah, but I definitely feel that one has to, like, earn the piercing."
It was a statement she'd probably made without thinking, but those words have stayed with me to this day: earn the piercing. I've been trying to live by them ever since--to earn the right to get what I want in this world, even if it hurts a little bit at first.
I don't have much else to say, happily--following C's instructions, I cleaned my piercing twice a day with Q-tips and sterile saline solution (the spray kind from CVS), and soaked it at night in warm saline solution to loosen the crud. About six months later it was looking and feeling like it had completely healed. It's been a year now, and I still clean it at least once a day, but it hardly ever produces any crud or pus. I've had C look at it twice on our trips down south, and she agrees it's healing beautifully. I try not to sleep on it, and I don't wear my big headphones as much anymore--I've had to compromise with iPod earbuds. The only other grief I've experienced is from my parents, who find the thing hideous...but I think my mom is secretly fascinated by it.
My next mod will be stretched earlobes, which I discussed with C. while T. was getting her cartilage pierced last week. C. didn't fail to offer me some more sage wisdom: "stretching is all about taking it slow, about having patience." I've just begun a long journey from 16g to (I think) 4g--I'll write about that in a year or so, when I finally complete it in a way that honors my body ahead of my desire to modify it.
Earn the piercing!