I was quite the rebellious teen—let’s just say I had a knack for being rude and disrespectful. When people refer to this phase as being a “wild teenager,” it’s often because we understand that their brains aren’t fully developed, allowing them a bit of grace for their antics. Now that I’m nearing forty, I often reflect on my past behavior, and while I don’t intend to let my kids pull the same stunts, it’s wild to think how far I’ve come. Back then, my level of defiance could have rivaled any punk rock band.
When I turned eighteen, my mom gifted me $80 for a new pair of shoes. Naturally, I spent $40 on shoes and pocketed the rest for my first piercing. It was the 90s, after all, and everyone was sporting nose rings or eyebrow piercings. But not me—I was determined to go beyond the norm. As you can probably guess, I opted for something more daring: a genital piercing. At eighteen, the future seemed so distant.
For the next decade, I wore that piercing, even as I transitioned into adulthood, settled down, and became a wife and mother. I thought about removing it a few times but found it surprisingly difficult to extract. The horseshoe-shaped ring with a ball in the middle required a professional piercer, and I wasn’t about to drop my pants in front of a stranger.
Then came pregnancy. My OB-GYN, who had been my doctor for years, was aware of my “jewelry.” “It’s not an issue,” she assured me, as the piercing didn’t obstruct anything. After a smooth and uneventful pregnancy, I was admitted for an induction.
On a Thursday night, I was in the hospital, feeling uncomfortable and huge. They administered medication to help with labor, and I waited. The next morning, my water was broken to hasten the process. But after two long days of labor, I had only dilated to 3 centimeters.
Family visited, and as they chatted, the room filled with beeping machines and hurried nurses. Suddenly, I was faced with the words: “Baby distress, lack of oxygen, C-section.” Panic set in, but I was determined to keep my baby safe. Just then, the nurses entered with an urgent tone, asking about my piercing. My heart sank. I realized I had never shared this part of my life with my mom. My husband ushered my parents out while I confronted the nurses.
The nurse with the most courage explained that while the piercing was manageable for natural labor, it posed a significant risk for surgery. If they needed to use paddles to revive me, any jewelry could cause burns. My heart raced as they suggested cutting it off. Seriously?
As I was prepped for the C-section, three nurses entered, brandishing a massive bolt cutter. I shut my eyes, cursing my younger self for this reckless decision. Thankfully, my pregnant belly was substantial enough to distract me from the impending doom. Ultimately, they decided to cover the piercing with tape and hoped for the best. Fortunately, I didn’t have to face any drastic measures.
My baby arrived—perfect and healthy—and all thoughts of the labor chaos faded away. Then I found out I was expecting again. At nearly eight months, my new OB-GYN, a vibrant man full of humor, asked if I had removed my piercing yet. I dreaded the thought of visiting a piercing shop while heavily pregnant.
I eventually mustered the courage to go to a local tattoo and piercing parlor. They had a sign on the door stating, “If you’re pregnant, sunburned, drunk, high, broke, or rude, do not enter.” Great. With a deep breath, I waddled in and explained my situation to a pin-up styled girl behind the desk.
She took me to a medical-style area of the shop, and with a swift motion, she popped the ball from my horseshoe piercing. The piercing was removed, and I held it in a little bag, now marked with scars from the bolt cutter incident.
I’ve since had three successful C-sections, resulting in three beautiful sons. I keep that piercing in my wallet as a reminder of my journey from being a rebellious teen to a responsible mom. And my mother? Well, she’s still blissfully unaware of my past “jewelry,” and I think it’s best to let that remain a secret now that I’m a grown-up mom myself.
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In summary, my piercing journey has been a wild ride from teenage rebellion to motherhood, filled with unexpected moments and lessons learned.