A short and sweet post, but the info is very much worth sharing.  

DID YOU KNOW.....
A woman's satisfaction levels have less to do with how much pain she felt in labor & birth, but whether or not she felt like she was listened to?  Being a part of the decision making process is crucial for the mother, baby, and family unit as a whole.  Giving informed consent or informed refusal plays a big part in how happy you feel with your birth experience.  When asked to go through with a procedure or consider an intervention, always use your BRAIN.

Ask yourself...

B-- What are the benefits?

R-- What are the risks?

A-- Are there any alternatives?

I-- What does my intuition tell me?  

N-- What happens if I do nothing or say "no?"

Often times, women have more options than they think.  There are many interventions out there that are routine, or used regularly with patients, but that does not mean the intervention is right for you or that you do not have other choices.  Always use your BRAIN when considering the next step.  Collaborate with your care provider.  Find your voice.  After all, you hired him, right?  He is working for YOU!  

Guess what? I got a tattoo this week!  Well, to clarify, I’ve had the outline since the fall of 2012, but I got shading and lots of color added in this past week.  When I booked the appointment the week before, I could hardly wait.  I was so excited to see the end result!   

The day of:

I walk into Skinquake promptly for my 3pm appointment on Thursday.  A wave of nervousness hits.  I think to myself, “Why are you nervous?  You’ve gotten a tattoo before. “  I hear my mom’s voice creep in my head, “Would you want that on your arm when you’re ninety?”  I shake the negative thoughts away.  (By the way, my mom is a very lovely person and actually really likes the tattoo now that she’s seen it in person).  My mind instantly jumped to the thought of pain.  What would it feel like?  How long would I be getting tattooed? Shit, I didn’t bring a friend.  Maybe I’ll have a nice, distracting conversation with Colin. In minutes, we discuss the price of the tattoo and my color preferences.  And now it’s time. I am going to get this tattoo finished!

I wait anxiously as I sit in the chair at the tattoo parlor, staring at the countless pieces of art hanging on the wall.  “Are you ready?”  Colin asks.  “Yep, let’s do this.”  I hear the needle start to buzz.  

We talk about life. And my wedding (7 months away!).  And what I do for a living.  And naturally, we begin to talk about birth.  This topic really carries me through the first half of the session.  Then, conversation dies down a bit, and we decide to take a small break.  I get up to pull my phone out of my coat pocket.  I want to take a picture of this.  I take the classic selfie with the help of my reflection in the mirror.  I feel like a badass.  I think I’ll post this to Facebook.  Colin comes back in, and we get started again.  Facebook continues to provide a nice distraction.  People begin to comment on my picture.  “NICE!!!” and “WOW! Pretty.”  Their positive vibes help me feel better.  I jokingly post, “I need a tattoo doula!”  A fellow doula and good friend replies, “Breathe, breathe. This won't last forever...the pain I mean. The tattoo SHOULD last a pretty long time, I'm told, but the pain? The pain will pass. Just find your rhythm. That's right. You can do this. You were made for this tattoo.”  Amy Beck, you smartass. I love you.

I look up at the clock.  It’s going on 5pm.  “You know, I’m not sure we can get all of this done today… I need to leave at 6.”  I say, “okay,” not really knowing what to feel.  A part of me says, “Yes!  It was really starting to hurt, maybe coming back later to finish it up will give my skin time to heal.”  Another part of me says, “Noooo!  We must do this today, or it will take me another few months before I end up back in this chair.”  Now I begin to look at the clock every 5 minutes.  Time.starts.dragging.  And unfortunately, my phone battery is dying.  Social media cannot save me now.

I start to breathe more deeply.  I close my eyes and I focus on my breaths.  As I turn inward, I realize I’m tensing up.  How long have I been tense like this?  I attempt to relax, allow my arms to hang loosely, and let the man finish his masterpiece.  WFIU is playing in the background and the sound of very mellow music drifts through the parlor.  I doze off once or twice.  My high endorphin levels provide comfort.

“Alright, we’ve just got this bit on the back of your arm left.  I’ll need you to lay on your stomach so I can reach it, if that’s okay.”  Change positions?! Okay, I’ll do it. But how long do I have to lie like this?  I won’t be able to see the clock.  Is that a good thing?  I take one last glance at the clock before flipping over.  5:40.  Oh, twenty minutes? I got this.  That is, if he’ll be DONE in twenty minutes.  My mind wanders and I start to worry about having to come back in again.  

…tick tock tick tock… (that’s an exaggeration—I couldn’t actually hear the clock ticking).

In what felt like five minutes, I hear Colin say, “Alright, we did it!  It’s finished!”  He stands up to clean his work area.  I feel a smile creep across my face.  I did it!  And it feels so damn good.

Thinking back:

So…is getting a tattoo like birthing a baby?  Well, probably not. BUT I do think they carry preparation and advice that run parallel:

• Pick your tattoo artist (care provider) wisely.  Do you trust this person?  Do you feel comfortable around him/her?  Is he good at what he does?  Really though, Colin would have been in big trouble if he screwed up my arm before I slip into this wedding dress. 
• Tattoos are messy (did you see that blood, folks? B-A-D-A-S-S) and so is birth.  Okay, so maybe birth is a little messier, but you catch my drift.  
• The pain was self-limiting.  That’s right.  I had to remind myself that it would be over with in good time.  And if that damn clock hadn’t been visible, maybe my thought processes would have gone a bit differently. 
• It was pain with a purpose.  'Lindsey, don’t wimp out now.  You are going to love this new part of you when the tattoo is complete.' There was a lot of self-talk happening.  It was important, for me, to remember why I was going through this shit ton of pain to begin with.   This piece of art would be with me for the rest of my life! 
• Round up a cheerleader or two.  Encouragement feels good.  Positive energy gives light to the situation.  Giggling releases oxytocin.  A support person in birth and tattooing can make the difference (I just lol’ed after typing, but I won’t change it even if it sounds funny.  It’s true!)  I firmly believe a person should have a doula by their side at every life event. 
• DISTRACTION IS KEY! Holy moly, is this ever true.  Whether I was talking about our wedding venue or browsing Pinterest, anything but sitting quietly still did the trick.  Seriously, I tried it and it sucked.  And while it sucked, I thought about how much it sucked.  Inner peace goddess, where are you when I need you?  
• Nourish your body!  I ate before I showed up at the tattoo parlor.  If I hadn’t, I might have passed out during the process.  And probably gone home without a tattoo. FAIL.  
• It’s expensive.  Kids are expensive and so are tattoos.  I can’t cuddle with my tattoo though...just sayin’.  I also don’t have to feed it. 
• You are sore afterwards.  Laboring can be physically and mentally exhausting.  Pushing out a baby is a lot of work.  And rightfully so, your body needs time to recover after the experience.  When a needle pierces my skin repeatedly, it definitely hurts.  And afterwards, when it’s healing, it feels like the worst sunburn ever.  If my friends ever find the picture of me with my actual worst sunburn ever (sophomore year of high school, when it was cool to lather baby oil on your skin while spring breaking in Florida) you would cringe upon viewing it.  Wear sunblock, folks. 
• You don’t know how it will go.  Yes, I knew it would take a while, but I didn’t know exactly how long.  And, yes.  I had an idea of what I wanted…. but did it turn out exactly as I had pictured it in my head?  No.  Am I bummed about that? No, not really.  The colors are more vivid than I imagined.  The process a bit longer than I had hoped for.  But it was my own journey—it was mine and mine alone.