As a young adult, I exhibited behavior that could be generously labeled as “rebellious.” In hindsight, “disrespectful” and “self-centered” might be more accurate descriptors. Society tends to excuse such behavior in teenagers, attributing it to the ongoing development of the brain, but now that I am approaching forty, I recognize my past indiscretions with a critical eye. I doubt I would tolerate similar antics from my children as they navigate their teenage years, yet my past was a wild one, indeed.
At eighteen, my mother gifted me $80 for my birthday, intended for a new pair of shoes. Instead of making a responsible choice, I bought a modest pair and pocketed the remainder for my first piercing—an act of defiance typical of the 1990s. While others opted for conventional piercings, I sought something bolder and more unconventional. So, I made the decision to pierce my genitals. At that age, the implications of such a choice were far from my mind.
For a decade, I maintained that piercing, even as I transitioned into adulthood, married, and became a parent. Despite contemplating its removal, I discovered that the horseshoe-shaped ring would require a professional’s assistance to extract—a task I was reluctant to undertake. When I became pregnant, I was reminded of this decision. My knowledgeable OB-GYN was unfazed, assuring me that many women with genital piercings have successful deliveries.
However, complications arose during labor. After two exhausting days, I faced a medical emergency that necessitated an immediate C-section. As the medical team prepared for surgery, they brought up my piercing. In a moment of panic, I realized my mother had never known about this part of my past. The nurses informed me that the piercing posed a significant risk during the procedure. If resuscitation were necessary, the presence of metal could lead to severe injury.
A bolt cutter was introduced into the room, an alarming sight that made me curse my younger self’s poor judgment. Thankfully, the situation was resolved without the need for drastic measures, and my baby was born safely.
When I became pregnant again, my new physician insisted on the removal of the piercing. Dreading the visit to a professional piercer, I reluctantly sought help in a local shop, where I nervously explained my predicament. The piercer efficiently removed my jewelry, noting the grooves from the previous bolt cutter incident as a reminder of my youthful folly.
Ultimately, I have since had three successful C-sections, welcoming three wonderful sons into my life. The piercing now resides in my wallet—a symbol of my growth and the lessons learned from my past. While some chapters of our lives may remain hidden, it is essential to acknowledge our choices and their consequences as we evolve into responsible adults.
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Summary:
Reflecting on my journey from a rebellious teenager to a responsible adult, I share the story of my piercing and its implications, particularly during pregnancy and childbirth. My experiences highlight the importance of making informed decisions and the lessons learned through time.