The China Doll

I went in for more work on my memorial tattoo today. Truthfully I had been dreading it a bit, the last time I was in the pain was excruciating and because I have been suffering with horrible cramps the last couple of days, I just didn't feel like going. Nevertheless I went. I had thought about taking a couple of Advil before I left the house but in my rush to get down there, I forgot. The first clue that today would be an uncomfortable session was in the position of the table. I looked at Kai, and asked him if I could lift the head of the table up and he replied no, that he needed my back as extended as possible. So, to start things off, I was laying there with my head pointing down at the floor and feet up towards the ceiling. That alone was horrible. All the blood in my body started to rush into my head and I could feel my nose becoming stuffed up. As he started on colouring my tattoo, the pain wasn't too bad at first. By the time we were an hour and a bit in, I started to ask for a break because it was starting to become unbearable. Kai was in "good flow"mode though and wanted to keep working. Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth I tried to stay focused by repeating to myself over and over, "This is to honour Calvin, think about his beautiful face..." Soon though, I started to lose control. Picturing my son's face, feeling the pain, having the pressure of all the blood in my head and dealing with cramps started to get to me. I struggled to hang on. The next thing I knew, hot, fat tears were sliding down my nose and dripping onto the paper protector on the table. I started to shake. Kai must have noticed because he turned off his gun and asked me if I wanted to break now and as I stood up, I began sobbing uncontrollably. Embarassed, I kept apologizing as I quickly got dressed, telling him I just needed some air and that it was the cramps from my period bothering me. I felt and have been feeling fragile lately, like the wrong word or look, or thoughtless remark could break me. I have never felt fragile like this before. I have always considered myself a strong woman, having been through so much in my life that has been painful and always coming out the other side okay. As I paced outside, the word Atonement kept running through my head. Like the pain from the tattoo needle would make up for some of Calvin's pain. Ridiculous notion, but as I paced and sobbed and tried to get myself under control it was all I could think about. The suffering of my beautiful baby. My broken heart. Needing to acknowledge my "invisible" child to the outside world. Making sure he is remembered. Taking some deep breaths I regained control of myself and walked back in, ready for more. I was there four hours in total, the last two hours spent lying on my left side with my left arm curled up underneath me holding my shirt to cover my breasts and my right arm stretched over my head so that he could work on my side. By the time I left I wanted to puke. If I wasn't almost done with it, I would have walked away after today's session and said forget it, I can't do it. Just watching my own blood running down my back and sides today was enough to make me squeamish, never mind the relentless pain that goes along with getting tattoo'ed. Maybe in my own stupid way the pain is my way of "doing" for my son. If I could have given him my own heart, my own blood, my life, I would have. None of it was an option. For me, this is simply one thing to do for him. Too bad I'm turning into a china doll, lately everything threatens to break me. It's like my shattered heart has worn me down physically, spiritually and mentally. I'm a mess right now, I'm lonely for my son and wishing desperately for him to be remembered. And not just by me....