My Tattoo Experience (In Pictures)

So yesterday, I told you all about why I got my second tattoo. Today, I'm going to tell you all about the experience in the best way I know how...with bad illustrations.

As the clock ticked toward Sunday, I started to get REALLY nervous--for three reasons. 

Number one--the only other tattoo I have took less than 10 minutes to complete. So I was worried how my pain threshold would handle being in the chair for closer to an hour. (Read: I was terrified I was going to cry all over the big, burly man who was scheduled to brand my skin with a very sharp, pointy needle.)

Number two: I had never gotten a color tattoo, and though most everyone I know who has a color tattoo had told me that color and shading doesn't hurt as bad as solid black, I was still scared it might hurt me a lot. (Read: Still terrified about the crying thing mentioned above.)

Number three: I'd decided to get the tattoo a few weeks ago, and had spent a ton of time trying to find the perfect design. I'd found one that I liked, but I never really fell in love with it. And because of that, as the appointment loomed, I actually found myself having second thoughts about getting the tattoo at all. 

Deciding to play the "I'm a woman so I can change my mind whenever I want" card, I turned again to the internet in hopes of finding the perfect design. After about an hour, I found a tattoo that I loved. And when I found it, my nerves settled. 

So, Sunday morning, I jump out of bed, totally psyched about my new ink. Brian and I head to House of Ink, and as soon as we walk in the front door, my nerves start to pick up again. I had never actually gotten the opportunity to talk to Steve (The Artist) after I'd changed my mind, and instead had relied on the internet and email to convey my desire to switch things up a bit. After a short 10 minute wait, Steve emerged from the depths of the studio with a tiny little sheet of paper---and on it was his concept of the design I'd sent. And it was just exactly right. Perfect size, perfect detail, perfect everything. Nerves settled again.

We head back to Steve's room, and he instantly puts me at ease. He was funny, easy to talk to, and the art work that papered the walls of his office were ah-maz-ing. I knew I was in good hands with this guy. 

As Steve set up, I climbed up onto the chair, laid back, and prepared myself for the pain that comes with body art. And I'm not gonna lie. It hurt like hell. Even though the design I'd chosen was outlined in burgundy instead of black, and even though Steve had assured me that if I could survive a wrist tattoo, I could survive anything, I was literally gritting my teeth.

However, other than a few pleading glances at my husband, who was sitting across from me, the casual observer would have just seen a brave woman, relaxed, eyes closed, getting tatted up. (That's right, I use the cool lingo.)

In my head, however, I kept thinking about the burning fires of Mordor.

Conversation bloomed around me. I know I participated somewhat, when the needles weren't doing their work.  But when Steve put needle to skin, I retreated back into my brain, thinking of Frodo and the gang, and wondering when the pain would stop.

Truthfully, as the outlining stopped and the shading began, the pain began to lessen. And then, after about 45 minutes, it stopped all together. I waited, eyes closed, for the needle to touch my skin again. And when it didn't, I peeked over at Steve, who sat back, arms crossed, a big grin on his face. 

"Well, what do you think?" he asked.

I craned my neck to look down at my shoulder, and could barely make out the bottom of the ribbon. Even with my fuzzy vision without my glasses, I could tell that it was beautiful. And I said so.

"Wanna see it in the mirror?" he asked.

And I did. Brian handed me my glasses and I walked over to the full length mirror on the opposite wall. I couldn't contain my glee. It was EVERYTHING I'd hoped for, and more. The placement was perfect, the color was outstanding, and the scroll detail was even prettier than on the original concept I'd sent in.

In short, I was really, really, really, over-the-moon excited.

Two days later, it's still a little tender.  It's a little dry, and itchy, and I've been putting Aquaphor on it every couple of hours or so, just to keep the dryness to a minimum. And as easily as I bruise, it will probably be the end of the week before I stop wincing when I put on a shirt in the morning.

But every time I look at it, I'm filled with that same sense of glee that I felt when I first saw it in the mirror, Brian and Steve looking on. 

And I'm already coming up with ideas for tattoo #3.

Thanks, Steve. I'll be back to see you soon.

Pink Ink

This is my breast cancer awareness pin:

I bought that pin back in 2003, at Walmart. It's a simple little pin, trimmed in silver, about the size of a quarter. I don't wear it nearly as often as I should, but every year since 2003--the year my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer--I dig it out of my jewelry box. I pin it to my shirt, on my left shoulder, near to my heart, and I wear it every single day during the month of October.

To some, the pink ribbon has become obsolete. I've read articles and blogs about women who  refuse to wear the ribbon because they say it's nothing but scare tactics, that the money spent on pink ribbon paraphernalia would be better spent elsewhere--like going to specific charities in the name of cancer research.

The truth is, I don't disagree. I'd rather donate my money to a trusted charity than spend it at an online boutique selling nothing but breast cancer ribbons and bumper stickers and tee shirts. I don't often know where that money is going. And so I keep it in my pocket instead.

But this little ribbon--pink and tiny and poignant--cost me less than $5. I didn't buy it in order to make a political statement. I haven't worn it every single October for the past 9 years in order to scare women into getting mammograms. I've worn it for a very simple reason.

Because it is a physical reminder to me that my mother is a survivor. 

And I'm so stinkin' proud of her--her strength, her courage, her perseverance--that I want the whole world to know it.

I don't think there's anything wrong with that, do you?

Yesterday, I took my little pin to an entirely different level. I wanted that physical reminder to also be a permanent reminder. And so, I got a tattoo, in exactly the same spot where I pin that little pink ribbon every year:

And I love it.

It may only be a symbol to you--one that represents a market, or a franchise, or even a foolhardy expense.

But to me, every time I look at my Pink Ink, I'll be reminded of the battle Mom fought. I'll think about how she put on a brave face for us when I know she was in pain. I'll remember the hat she bought to wear to my college graduation, and how she gleefully ripped it off as soon as we got to the car, happy to be free from its presence. I'll remember lying my head on my father's shoulder as we sat, fidgeting, in the waiting room as Mom had her surgery. I'll think about how hard Adam tried not to cry--a kid on the cusp of adulthood--and how brave he was despite the nervous adults surrounding him. I'll remember calling Brian from the hospital with hourly updates, and how hearing his voice over the phone was like a balm to my fraying heart. I'll remember the joy I felt each time we got good news--the surgery was a success, her treatments are working, she's five years cancer free!!

And I'll remember how it felt to see that little pin, gleaming on the counter surrounded by thirty more just like it, and knowing I had to have it. For Mom.

Thank you, Steve, for seeing my vision and giving me a very special gift. I'll treasure it always. And thanks, Mom, for inspiring me, as always. I love you!

Readers--stay tuned for the more humorous side of this tale tomorrow. There may or may not be illustrations!!

Three Love Letters for the Price Of One

Dear Donnie Wahlberg,

It has been awhile since your name has been mentioned here on Abby Gabs. And I feel like I owe you an explanation. You see, a few months ago, my husband made the statement that he felt like my blog was more often a "Donnie Wahlberg Featurette" than anything else. He felt slighted that he was rarely mentioned in my daily writings, where you, dear Donnie, were always front and center.

This little statement led to a blog-wide stat counting endeavor, which led to the eventual score board you can see in the left-hand column of my blog. (Just scroll down a bit...yep...there it is.)

As you can see, Brian was sorely mistaken. Although I wrote your name quite frequently, Donnie, his was still mentioned the most. (May I interject that this in no way represents how I feel about you!)

Since the contest was issued in July, you have only been mentioned once--on August 21, 2012, also known as National First Twug Day (the first time you "twugged" me on Twitter.) (Thanks again for that, by the way. It made my whole summer.) (Can we do it again soon?)

But I have to tell you, Mr. Wahlberg, that despite my lack of blogging in your name, I have nonetheless been spending plenty of time with you (whether you realize it or not.) I'm still faithfully tweeting almost every day...

I haven't missed an episode of Blue Bloods yet, and was parked in front of my TV for September's season premiere...

I've been rockin' out to The Block---in my car, at my computer, in the kitchen while cooking dinner, through my iPod while I'm working out---and even though it's been 4 years, I still shake my bootie just like I did back in 2008...

And as of yesterday, my nose has been permanently stuck between the pages of the new NKOTB biography, "Five Brothers and A Million Sisters." (I read the first chapter last night, and cried no less than 3 times.)

So, Donnie, I just wanted to reassure you that, although I haven't written about you lately here on Abby Gabs, I'm still very much a Donnie Girl. My husband knows this, as when he goes to bed each night, the last face he sees is yours.

I know you're a busy guy, and you probably didn't even notice. But I thought it would be nice to send you a letter today to let you know that you're still very much a part of the Abby Gabs household, even if I haven't blogged about you in awhile. (Brian says it's psychological warfare, because I'm trying to prove a point by writing about him more than you. I say I'm trying to maintain a relationship with a man who's jealous of your animal magnetism.)

Love always and forever,
Abby

PS: This blog is totally a point in your column. Oh yeah! Rock it!!

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

Dear Brian,

I love you to the moon and back with a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, no take back, oodles and oodles, to infinity and beyond, the end that's all folks.

Love your slightly crazy wife,

Abby

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥
Dear Faithful Reader,
Did you happen to notice that I'm wearing a pink ribbon today, in honor of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month?

Can you see it?

Well guess what...I'm not just sporting a pink ribbon on my shirt. Every single facet of Abby Gabs is donned in pink---and it's easy for you to join me! Just click on the tab at the top of the page titled "Web Wide Pink Out" and you'll find a TON of free graphics to use on your Twitter account, Facebook timeline, and more!  I would love you even more than I already do if you helped me on my mission to turn the internet pink in October. ♥♥♥
Have a beautiful Friday.
Love, Abby

October Is Brought To You By The Color Pink

Breast Cancer. 

Those two little words came into my life for the first time in 2003. My Mom--Super Warrior Princess that she is--battled the disease and won. I told you all about her story last year. 

But what you don't know is that breast cancer runs rampant on both sides of my family tree. I lost two great-grandmothers to breast cancer, one on each side. A great aunt on my Dad's side of the family also lost her life to the disease. My maternal grandmother had a scare in her twenties that left her shaken but safe. And my Aunt Myra--my mother's oldest sister--has battled cancer not once, but twice.

Double mastectomies, radiation, chemotherapy, Tamoxifen, metastatic, lymphnode removal...these are words in our family vernacular. We know what each word means without explanation. We've shaped the words in our mouths, each one spoken leaving a mark on the ones around us. We've named the drugs, the treatments, the procedures so many times we could spell them in our sleep. We sport scars on our chests, and uneven breasts from lumpectomies and reconstruction surgeries. We warn those women we love best to practice self-examination, without shame, but with determined regularity. 

We are Pink Warriors, each woman in my family.

That is why, each and every October, I institute a "pink out" across my many forms of social media. My personal Facebook page gets a makeover:

My Twitter page gets an overhaul:

And as you can see, Abby Gabs has joined the party this year with an all-pink background.

My goal isn't to inundate you with pink. I'm not trying to beat you over the head with the breast cancer awareness stick, or make you uncomfortable by talking about health issues or make you blush by mentioning boobies.

The truth of the matter is that, in my family, we fly pink like a flag. Because to us, it stands for strength. Hope. Victory. And I will continue to sport that pink ribbon faithfully---for my Mom, for my Aunt, for my Grandmother, for my Great-Grandmothers--and for all the women in the world who have faced breast cancer, victors or not.

And while October is breast cancer awareness month, and it's when I fly my pink flag more prominently, I have decided that, along with my brother, I will be getting a tattoo this month so that I can wear my ribbon every single day.

I will wear it in honor of those women in my family who have given cancer the stiff arm. I will wear it in memory of those who have battled and lost. And I will wear it for myself--a woman who hopes that a cure will be found before I am forced into a battle of my own. 

Want to join us in our Web Wide Pink Out? I'd love to help. If you'd like a personalized profile picture bearing the pink ribbon symbol, a Twitter background similar to mine, or a Facebook timeline cover, let me know!  If you don't want one specific to you and your family, you can also check out the new tab above for some generic breast cancer awareness buttons, banners, and profile picture options. I'm thrilled to help you spread the word about breast cancer awareness, one ribbon at a time.

Also, I'm joining up with this week's crew over at yeahwrite's speakeasy to help spread the word. It's a story worth sharing, if nothing else. And after this week, they're going to a short-fiction-only format. So I wanted one last opportunity to join up with the mighty forces of the speakeasy. Stop by and read the other awesome bloggers taking part this week.

Celebrate Good Times, C'Mon!

Some special occasions are so special, the only thing left to do is to don your favorite party dress and dancin' shoes and PAR-TAY.

I'd say being one year cancer free is one of those occasions.

So last night, Brian and I headed to Mt. Pleasant to attend a breast cancer awareness charity event, hosted by my favorite singer/songwriter Edwin McCain.

And yes, we wore pink. That's right, I said WE.

It was a gorgeous South Carolina sunset. Shem Creek was bustling with activity, the breeze was cool on our skin. And Mother Nature showed her support with a vibrant pink sky.

The first thing I need to say about this event is this: Holy Pink Cocktails, Batman. I have NO idea what was in these things. All I know is that they were pink, fruity, delicious, and went down WAY too easy. Forty-five minutes into the event, I'd already consumed two. 

And the liquid courage was just what I needed when I spotted my musical muse standing near the back of the venue, quietly surveying the activity around him.

I grabbed my camera, my husband, and my drink and over we marched to talk to Edwin.

And I'm proud to say, despite the butterflies in my belly, I managed to stay poised and calm. I shook his hand, told him I'd been a fan since 1994. I asked about his wife, who recently had a double mastectomy. I told him of the 3 generations of women in my family who have battled the same disease. And then I told him about Brian, and that we were there to celebrate his big anniversary with Edwin. He was gracious, kind, generous with his time, and totally willing to pose for pictures.

A little out of focus, but it's a new camera. So a learning curve is expected.

Except for the woman behind us, who offered to take this picture. It took her 6 minutes to figure out how to work the "capture" button. LOL

The venue was decked out from floor to ceiling. Pink table cloths, pink lighting, gorgeous pink centerpieces--every single detail, large to small, was carried out to perfection.

And believe me when I say, I noticed every. Little. Thing.

The best thing about this event: there was no set plan. Edwin mentioned that he'd just sent out a smattering of emails to friends in the music industry, and it was literally up to the last minute as to who would show. Local talent, friends who helped Edwin get his start, even his best friend from high school--a sax player, all joined Edwin on stage and jammed. It was musical chaos, and it was fantastic.

I nearly hyperventilated when Darius Rucker, of Hootie and the Blowfish fame, came on stage to sing "Solitude," with Edwin. As in, literally almost passed out from excitement. Darius was the one who gave Edwin his first shot at the big leagues, and they've been great friends ever since. All the many times I've ever seen Edwin live, I've never gotten to see him sing with Darius. Until last night.

Amazing.

I could cry right now just thinking about it. Edwin's voice is one of those you can feel in your soul. And with Darius...well, it was haunting and heartbreaking, all at the same time.

What it all boils down to is this: we had a terrific time. The food was great, the drinks were great, the ambiance was great, my date was great, and Edwin was great. Suffice it to say that, if he makes it an annual thing, we'll be there every year, hands down. We got to celebrate Brian's anniversary in style. And that's a memory I'll always treasure.

One year cancer free. Who gets a cocktail? BRIAN gets a cocktail!!!

Be Enough Me: The Day I Became An Adult

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in February of 2003.

My Mommy and me, circa 1985.

I remember sitting on the dusty boxes in the storage room of the bookstore where I worked, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder. My hands went numb, and my heart stopped beating in my chest.

In those brief moments when my father told me they'd found a lump in my mother's breast, and that she would be having surgery to remove it, I instantly changed.

Before that phone call, I was just a senior in college. Brian and I were busy making plans, thinking about our wedding, dreaming of moving to the sunny South Carolina coast. The most worrisome things in our lives were making rent, studying for exams, and figuring out how to get Kool Aid stains out of the carpet. I was young. Carefree. A child on the cusp of maturity.

It took two words to snap me into adulthood. "Breast Cancer."

I wanted to scream and cry and shake my fist at the world. I wanted to drive home, pack a bag, and race to my mother's side. I wanted to hug my Daddy, and cry with my Mommy. I wanted to comfort my younger brother, and I wanted him to comfort me. I wanted my family.

The last family portrait taken before I got married.

But I couldn't. I knew, as I placed the phone back in it's cradle, that I had responsibilities in my own life that I had to deal with first, before I could have all that I needed in that one moment.

So instead, I finished out my shift at the bookstore. Then I went to class. I made arrangements to take a test early that I knew I'd miss when I went home for my Mom's surgery. I called around to co-workers and got my next few shifts covered. I phoned the editor at the newspaper I was interning for and let him know I'd be out of town for a week, and when he asked me to finish the story I'd been working on, I did so and forwarded it to his inbox. I deposited my paycheck so Brian would have funds available to pay the rent while I was gone. 

That night, I collapsed into Brian's arms. I cried for my mother, and the pain I knew she would endure. I cried for the unknown, the uncertainty that comes with chemo and radiation. I cried for my father, knowing he'd have to be strong enough to carry this burden without shedding tears. And I cried for the girl I was, knowing in some way that I was leaving her behind.

Cancer is life altering. It is terrifying, and sobering, and invasive. It makes decisions for you that take your life on an unexpected, unplanned course.

And for a 21-year-old college kid, it launched her into adulthood.

♥My Mom. My Friend. And Breast Cancer Survivor.♥

I'm proud to say that my Mom beat Cancer, and has been healthy and cancer-free since 2003. She may have lost her hair during chemo, and she may have suffered the effects of radiation, but she's stronger than even she knows. Love you, Mom.  

Every MONDAY join us…
Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice.
Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission
to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children
that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. In that spirit, please note the new addition to Abby Gabs on the top of the left column! Every time you click the Breast Cancer Site button, their sponsors make donations to help pay for mammograms for women who can't afford them. Let's beat Breast Cancer, one click at a time!