On Needle Freaking

I invented the term "needle freaking" to explain my seemingly bizarre fascination with puncture injuries and the strange high I got while donating blood. A chill runs up my spine just thinking about the surgical steel needle running parallel to my arm until it forms an acute angle, penetrating my skin and tapping vein. A thrill would come over me as soon as I saw the words "Blood Drive" chalked on the quad or on fliers posted around campus. I looked forward to going in for blood work.

During the actual act of blood donation, I would lie there in pure bliss, feeling a cold - not hot - wave wash over me. I felt like my life was draining out of me, yet at the same time, it made me feel more aware of how alive I was. I would watch the blood course from my arm, down the clear plastic tubing into the pouch which always reminded me of a clear Capri Sun container. One time, I got up afterward to get some orange juice at the refreshment table and watched myself fall as nearby volunteers caught me and wheeled me over to a cot. I don't know which experience was more exciting, watching myself fall, or finding myself carried off almost instantaneously.

I used to watch documentaries about body suspension and how the experience was so intense that people would feel like they left their bodies, as I did the one time I donated blood a bit too fast. Scientists explained this by the fact that if pain is at a certain level of intensity, the brain releases endorphins, causing a pleasant high. A lot of these documentaries also covered ritual tattooing around the world, using simple implements like a hollow needle and wet ashes.

Some time during last summer, I decided that I wanted to take the next step in my fascination with needles and get a tattoo. After numerous schedule postponements due to my work schedule and the fact that Tilt (the owner of New Life who did my tattoo) forgot that he had something else going on that weekend, I finally got it done today.

It wasn't quite what I expected. Everyone I knew kept asking me if I was sure I wanted to do this. Even the people at New Life asked me if I was sure I wanted to get a tattoo. Yet I know I have no regrets and will not have any concerning this experience. I think life is just one opportunity after another to find new experiences and either learn from them or gain as much pleasure from them as possible. For awhile, I sort of saw this as my own rite of passage, as other cultures have used tattoos, but I remember that Adam at New Life says that usually people here tend to get tattoos due to aesthetic than any symbolic meaning.

This was definitely not like donating blood, since people weren't exactly nurturing. For one thing, when I said that my roommate had come to hold my hand, Tilt (jokingly, of course) said "No holding hands! If you pass out, you'll take her with you." I guess they act that way to add to the ambience of the tattoo place, or maybe some of them really are just jerks. Things were pretty cool for the most part, except for the random jabs at my roommate. I probably should have stood up for her and asked "hey, why are you being such an ass to my roommate?" but I didn't.

Also, the pain wasn't like donating blood either. Instead of a low, dull throb for a few minutes, it was a sort of whinging repeated sting. I knew it would be different, especially considering I was being stabbed with a needle countless times at a rapid speed. I honestly don't know how my tribal "counterparts" in the Philippines or elsewhere could deal with non-machine tattooing, with someone just stabbing your skin with a hollow needle slowly, sometimes on the face. I didn't really expect to feel any more "grown up" than before, but I figured I wanted something to commemorate my graduation.

I'm not sure which hurt worse, the actual tattooing or the antiseptic ointment they used to keep things clean, which felt a lot like how I imagine pouring gasoline on my skin and tossing a cigarette on it would feel. I definitely appreciated the attention to hygiene though. I expected pain, but seemed to be making a much bigger deal of it than anyone really wanted. However, I think the real reason for my alarm was that for some reason, my chest felt tight and I had difficulty breathing. With the occasional gasp of air and clutch at the chest, I would be all right in between needlings. The sensation reminded me of how I imagined the pavement feels when being jackhammered. I felt the rumbling on my shoulderblades, spine, and the back of my ribcage. It reverberated, shooting needles of pain that seemed to shoot through my organs and bounce back on the other side.

Occasionally people came in to talk to and just hang out with the artists. One girl was a bit drunk after a tailgate. There were some visuals of T&A with the unveiling of various tattoos. I sort of felt a bit concerned for Jenna since as she told me later, this definitely wasn't "her people." In all truth, I don't think they're really mine either. After all, above all other things, I am a tourist. I hung around UC Hip Hop and Illini Film and Video but never really got "involved." The woman next to me was getting a cardinal tattooed on her shoulder. She said nothing, and I think laughed once or twice at my frequent wincing. Tilt asked Jenna if she was named Jenna like the porn star Jenna Jameson, which people have asked her in the past. This naturally resulted in a conversation about porn and "getting off." Everyone knows how freely I talk about sex, but for some reason, I wasn't as comfortable about it, what with the occasional nervous laughter. Of course, if I wasn't comfortable with it, I figured Jenna probably wasn't either.

Three hours and $275 bucks (plus tip) later, it was finished. Joel, the apprentice (aka cute Asian guy, but you didn't read that here), bandaged me up with what looked like scotch tape and a paper towel with a layer of stinging antistptic and cocoa butter beneath it. As he was patching me up, he gave me the rundown of what I would have to do. The bandage would have to stay on overnight. Sunday, I would have to keep it as clean as possible using dye and fragrance-free antibacterial soap and dry it off with paper towels since bath towels harbor bacteria which would cause infection. I would have to keep it clean and dry for a couple of days and then start using cocoa butter around Tuesday or Wednesday.

Needless to say, after three hours in the chair slouching and getting repeatedly stabbed with a needle, I wanted to get out of there. Granted, I could have asked Tilt to do more, but I honestly wouldn't have known what to ask for since I thought it looked great the way it was. Not to mention the fact that I don't think I could have taken anymore needling or blatently abrasive/offensive dialogue hurled at either me or my roommate.

Still, a lot of it was fun. It was a bonding experience for me and Jenna since she went to get me water and drove me there and back. She also reinforced the scotch tape with medical tape. Liz wished she could have been there since she had to go to work but got to hear about it as soon as I got back. For now, we're ordering a pizza and watching movies.

In the end, I sort of wish I had taken pictures of the process of my tattoo. It was interesting to see how the colors were coming together. I can't wait until it heals and I can show it off or keep it hidden as I please. I always figured it could be a secret sign of some sort since only a few people would be able to see it (unless I start wearing halter tops again). Maybe I'm just being overly romantic. Hell, everyone at New Life saw it, so it's hardly a secret to them. I remember Paul joking to me "is it 'Paul' on your inner thigh?" when I told him I was getting a tattoo. Of course it's not. I was amused at the fact that the conversation Jenna used to try to distract me from the wincing and get me to laugh again was asking what I was "going to do about him." I figured I wouldn't really "do" anything about it. Nothing puts you into more perspective than having ink injected repeatedly into your skin.

Ok, I'm starting to ramble more than usual. Here endeth the lesson. That is, if there was anything to learn from this.