Tuesday, June 6, 2017

My belly button betrayed me.

First things first.... are we counting belly button as one word or two? Like, belly...button or bellybutton? I know I could just say "naval" but that sounds kind of pretentious and we know I don't play like that.... get back to me.

A little back story: I got my bellybutton (belly button?) pierced when I was twelve years old.

Yes, twelve. My Momma didn't play with that whole "you're too young" shit. Some of my friends were already pregnant by twelve (seriously, she was thirteen, but I was twelve), so if the worst thing I ever did was pierce a little something like that, we were good. (Also, I didn't sneak and do it, she signed for it.... I knew better than to try and sneak something like that!)
I'm twenty-seven now and I have never had one problem with my piercing. Not one. In fact, for the most part, I actually forgot that I had it. I never "showed it off" and most people never even knew that I had it. Why would they? I don't wear crop tops or bikinis (or bathing suits of any sorts for that matter). I've just never been one to wear things like that.

But while I'm still a few years away, I am getting closer to thirty.... closer to it than teen years, at least. I thought that it might just be time to take it out. For the sake of age (and because it kept getting caught on random shit) I figured it was time to go ahead and take it out.... just "because." It really did for some reason just seem (feel?) like it was time.

So, I did. I took it out almost two months ago and didn't really think much about it. In fact, I've had it for so long (longer than I've NOT had it.... fifteen years) that it still feels like the metal bar is in there. I know that sounds gross, but it's actually pretty cool (to me). Then a couple of days ago I got curious just to see if it would still go through (you can thank whiskey for that) since it has been almost two months, so I tried it.... and IT DID.

I didn't think much about it (again, because whiskey), but the next day my stomach was super sore. Like, a sore that I had never even experienced before. When I lifted my shirt to see what was up I realized that my piercing was infected. Yes, infected. Not the horrible "ahhh!!!" kind of infected, but infected nonetheless. The piercing that I have had for FIFTEEN F*CKING YEARS and have NEVER had an issue with became infected.

Why? You may ask. That's the best part. Apparently within the one-two months that I had removed it, my body has decided that I am now allergic to that type of metal (the reason that I wear no other jewelry anymore-aside from my Grammy's ring- is because I am highly allergic to most jewelry metals (metals?)). And now, I am allergic to that one as well. **insert exasperated eye roll here** And now, my old piercing has to be cleaned, have antibiotic ointment applied, and covered with a bandage until it heals.... dumb.

I guess I was right to begin with.... this Katie right here ain't young no 'mo.
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