Brava

May 2013

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laugh " " My also-tattooed husband disagrees with me on this, probably because he writhes in pain and chokes out 'Call…9…1…1' when he has a splinter. How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love, Maybe Like, at Least Tolerate, Needles By Laura Gallagher So, needles, huh? I'll tell ya, I used to hate them. I was the kid/teenager/young woman/should-have-grown-a-pair-by-now that would freak out three days before I knew a blood test was looming, and would have to lie down for the procedure, have hard candy before it, my hand held during it, and copious sips of water afterward. Sometimes I even fainted. But then—we bought kayaks (just hear me out). The first time we took them out, I felt a crazy pull deeeeeeep in my back. I thought I was just out of shape; it was during those years when you don't need to exercise like a maniac and subsist on nothing but veggies and air yet (you know, your '40s), but you are definitely, completely, totally not 20 anymore. Near as I can figure, I sprained a muscle deep in my back, but at the same time I was having other issues that I'd rather not get into in polite company. So between the pain and the other stuff, my doctor decides that this means kidney disease and that means blood tests. It probably means other things too, but "blood tests" is what I take away from it. By the time we figured it out (Well, I did. By then my doctor had left town and labeled all my symptoms "idiopathic," which is 64 BRAVA Magazine May 2013 Latin for "damned if I know"), I'd donated what seemed at least my body weight in blood to various plastic tubes throughout the greater Madison area. (I should probably explain that I was always pretty OK with shots and piercings, where the needle goes in and out. It's when the needle goes in…and just…stays…there …I'd get urpy.) Losing that last bit of my fear of needles made it possible for me to get the tattoo I'd been craving for years. Now it all came down to planning: Which of the four possibilities would I get? Would I do it like I did my nose piercing—stealth—or would I tell Pat ahead of time? What if I chickened out at the last minute? Of special consideration: What if my needle phobia came back halfway through the procedure and some biker-looking tattoo artist with those big-a** holes in his ears had to give me hard candy and a back rub and call my mom? I decided on a design, and several be-tatted friends steered me to the right parlor and artist. And pretty soon there I was, sitting in one of those crazy chairs, wearing my lucky kitty shirt (don't ask) and talking nonstop. The artist, let's call him Bryan because that's his name, warned me about people instinctively holding their breath. So I steered hard in the other direction and kept up a running hour-long monologue about how being 40 isn't that bad, I used to live on the east side now I live in Middleton, we have a greyhound, the rearview mirror fell off my car, I love Indian buffets, and hey, is that that Serj guy from System of a Down on the stereo, it's not, boy it sure sounds like him and have you ever seen his video for "Lie Lie Lie" it's really crazy and are we almost done yet? I'm sure it was one of the longest hours of Bryan's life. It didn't hurt, really. Like I tell people when they ask, "It didn't feel good." My also-tattooed husband disagrees with me on this, probably because he writhes in pain and chokes out "Call…9…1…1" when he has a splinter. And the little buggers really are like potato chips—you can never stop at one. I just need to decide which is next and where it will go. And what I'm going to talk about for an hour. ••• Laura J. Gallagher is a longtime communications professional. When not teasing her husband, Triple M's Pat Gallagher, she is on Facebook at the Laura J. Gallagher page!

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