The (Ink) Tides have changed

Right before Samhain, I got a phone call, a semi-panicked one at that.

"Gus is coming, Gus is coming!"

It was MI. (Now Rev. MI, congrats). Freaking out because Gus was coming up for a visit with little warning.

She let me know, Gus, August Moon, the amazing tattoo artist from my earlier tattoo post (here: http://realmofagreenwitch.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-monday-tattooing-experience.html) would be coming to my area for a limited engagement. I knew I had to act quickly as his calendar would fill up quickly.

I drove my deposit to the studio and got the first appointment they had.

Nov 7th I got up and headed for the studio after a quick lunch.



I was quickly escorted back after a hug, and the drawing began. No stencil would ever fit on my leg with all the damage there, so the design was drawn on with piercing pens. We drew circles around each pin site so as not to tattoo too close to them, and my flowers began to take shape.





The black ink and shading was done pretty quick. Despite the pain it caused, I was a lot better at holding still this time as the start of the tattooing wasn't directly on the nerves yet.

I now measure my tattoos in hours rather than individual tattoos and this made "regular" tattoo pain seem pleasant in comparison.



I just reminded myself how much the pain would be worth it when I could look down at my leg and see beauty, instead of the scars inflicted by someone else's ugliness.

I used the same chant during tattooing that I used in the hospital when it was time for "pin care". Pin care was always so excruciating that I had to sing and chant to myself or scream, so I picked this chant to help. "Earth My body/ Water my blood/ Air my breath/ and Fire my Spirit".



Chanting silently is much better in my (stubborn) eyes than looking like a "big girl" in front of your incredible tattoo artist.

When we were done, a lot quicker than I imagined, by the way, I got a bit misty eyed from the beauty of this masterpiece that now adorned my leg.











The colors are just as vibrant now, almost two months later as the day they were Inked.

As for the leg itself, it swelled to probably twice it's normal size, and the scar tissue turned angry colors, retribution for the tattooing. It took twice as long as normal to heal, but it's all worth it.

When I took the bandage off after I got home that night, I'm not ashamed to tell you, I cried.

I remember the day that I saw my leg for real before my plastic surgery. I remember looking down and getting so angry. I remember telling Matt that this was not a funny joke. That this THING wasn't MY leg. That it never would be.

The weeks that I lay in the hospital first, and then the nursing home, looking at the scars and wondering if I'd ever see it as 'my leg' again.

Now I do. It may be crooked, and swiss cheese like, (I have to admit a certain perverse enjoyment out of seeing doctors faces when they look at my xrays for the first time and they TRY to keep their "blank doctor face" and can't.) But dammit, I can now say, "Yes, it is my leg."

And I owe it all to August Moon.



As a side note, it's now been a month and a half, and my step brother, J, is out of prison, again. He's been hanging out with my In-laws working in their garage, helping around the place, and trying to stay out of trouble (so I'm told). I found out last night that we have something in common besides my Step dad. We both have tattoos by Gus.

So did JC, my step brother who died. Even if I will never know what happened the day JC died, I feel like this gives us one more bond to understand.