My new tattoo

…calms me and connects me

(A picture of my new tattoo. A Galaxy Snail with a small sticker bearing the number 42, racing slowly across space leaves a trail of stars and nebulae behind it. Art by Emerson Roach, finished in an hour and a half on August 29th, 2024)

I LOVE MY NEW TATTOO.

First of all, I can see it.

My first tattoo, though beautiful script and a meaningful phrase by the writer Antoine de St. Exupery from Le Petit Prince done in the style of the title page by the very talented Sienna Coppa, my former girlfriend, and phenomenal best friend’s wife (try to sort that one out if you will)…it’s on my back. And I can’t see it. And it is mostly covered unless I’m wearing something backless. When I do have it showing I occasionally get asked what it says. It’s in French. It’s in French because my first language is technically French. My first word was ‘poisson’. That’s fish. In French. My second word was ‘owl’…in English. Because my father is francophone and my mother is anglophone. I am what I call a Bilangue (but I saw it in French).

It helps people know that I speak French, it reminds me of one of my favourite books in the world that my Dad read to me when I was 5. It connects me to two of my favourite people from Seattle.

I got my first tattoo when I was 37. It didn’t hurt the way I was expecting. It was more like a cat scratching me for a couple of hours. Plus I had my friends to entertain me. And when it was done…it looked like it had always been there. Like it was meant to be. But unless I’m looking in a mirror, or taking a picture, I can’t see it, and often forget it’s there.

My second tattoo was a long time coming.

It took me 8 years to decide on something.

I moved to the East Coast of Canada last October. I fell in with all the right people almost immediately. I found two magical jobs. I joined a Rainbow Social group. One of my friends told me about this thoughtful non-binary queer tattoo chronically ill artist and showed me their work.

As a non-binary queer chronically ill human I was excited to find someone like me, out in the world creating beautiful tattoos.

Emerson Roach had been scheduling, and rescheduling this tattoo appointment since March.

First I came back from a trip having been exposed to someone with a cold, and I didn’t want to put Emerson in harm’s way. So we rescheduled. Then the day before the next appointment Emerson emailed to let me know that they were exhausted and on the edge of burnout, and as a fellow person who understands burnout I assuaged their concerns and let them know that when this tattoo was meant to happen, it would happen.

On August 29th I had an overwhelming morning.

But somehow I knew that I needed to follow through on my tattoo appointment.

When I arrived at Emerson’s studio I was graciously given a better fitting N95 mask because the one I bought didn’t fit properly. And when they asked how I was I asked if I could be honest.

And I cried. Releasing the stress of the day.

They were thoughtful and gentle and understanding and I knew I’d made the right decision.

I had chosen to get one of their flash pieces. A gorgeous galaxy snail. But I was hoping for one change that we had discussed previously. I wanted there to be a 42 somewhere in the tattoo.

For those of you who know me, you’ll know that the number 42 helps me with my OCD. That I’ve trained my brain to associated the number 42 out in the world with positive things. It reminds me to breathe. It reminds me that good things are possible.

And yes. I did read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. And yes. 42 is the answer to life, the universe and everything else.

But it’s more than that.

When I was 42 I had a severe lateral medullary stroke. Not too long after my 42nd birthday.

And not only did I survive, I relearned to walk, I rebuilt pathways in my brain, and I’m still here.

I asked Emerson if they could make the 42 obvious and they jokingly and quickly drew a sticker taped onto the snail, as if it were racing across the galaxy…

And it was so perfect I nearly cried again.

Then they had me okay the placement of the tattoo. I thought it would be racing towards my heart, but Emerson put it moving towards my hand, so I could see it upright when I pulled my arm in towards me, and it was PERFECT. Again. It was headed to the ever expanding edge of the universe.

They had me lay down. They asked me if I wanted music. They put on a playlist they felt matched our energy in that moment. Perfect.

Then I asked if I could tell them some exciting and intense personal stories that all ended happily. To weave those stories into the fabric of this experience and this tattoo.

They agreed happily.

I told them about my stroke. I told them about the time my kiddo survived acute appendicitis on our trip to Montreal. I told them about my good friend, Abigenesis and how important she is to me, and how her stories prompted me to write a book about grief, ghosts and queer joy, set in the town where we had met.

The time and tattoo went so quickly that I barely felt the pain it happening.

When I looked down and saw the snail. My snail. I had that same feeling. As if it had always been there.

Every day since then I have been so excited to see my new tattoo, and the stories and connections I have made via this very personal art have be magical.

It’s like wearing my heart on my sleeve in a very real way. I love answering questions about it. I love that people are curious about it. If someday I don’t feel like explaining it, I will likely wear long sleeves.

But for now I just want to show it to the world.

So I do. I ask people if I can show them my tattoo. I offer to answer their questions if they have them.

It is my autistic icebreaker. My way to say…here, this means something to me. Lend me your curiosity and we can be curious together.

Heart,

Wake (they/them)

P.S. after I got this tattoo I found out that Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was published in 1979. I was born in 1979. So we both turned 42 the same year. That was another beautiful coincidence.