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THE NARRATIVE ARC
I Got My First Tattoo at 47
It serves as a reminder to prioritise my health
Last year, I had an idea for a tattoo. As an avid open-water swimmer all year round, even in freezing temperatures, my tattoo would honour what was both a hobby and a way of managing my mental health. It would be a simple line drawing of a swimmer.
I always hated the idea of a tattoo. Not the tattoo itself, but the thought of having a permanent mark that I’d grow to regret one day. The TV shows that follow the journey of those making rash decisions about their bodies are often my evening’s entertainment. From botched boob jobs to the tattoo of a camel on a person’s toe done during a lad’s holiday bender, I find myself drawn in.
That’d never be me. I’m too sensible.
2025 would be the year of the career break, the breast reduction surgery and the swimmer tattoo. Then, last December, my health took a nosedive. My kidney stone decided to move, causing sepsis and excruciating pain. I had a nephrostomy in place for three weeks to drain my kidney whilst waiting for the planned surgery to remove the stone. My kidney function returned to normal quickly following the second procedure, but my recovery took much longer. I was left with a small scar on my back.
