In 2003, a colleague lamented to me that her daughter had recently
gotten a tattoo. My friend said, “The only
thing a tattoo qualifies her for is a job where she asks the customer, ‘Do you
want fries with that?’” I had been
interested in tattoos for years and her comments did not resonate with me, so I
decided to survey consecutive patients with tattoos and ask them what their ink
meant to them. Over a period of a few
months, I collected 50 sequential patients.
With their permission, I photographed their tattoos. (No one declined to have a photograph taken!) In the process, I learned that many (not
all) tattoos have special meaning for the patients I saw. Often, their explanations gave me insight into
the person before me.
The images of my patients are on Google Photos.
If you would like to see them, please
email
DJ Elpern and I’ll send you the link.
Permanent Ink, an recent essay in JAMA's “A Piece of My Mind,” is a reflective
piece on patients' tattoos by Paige Lunenberg, an internist from Baltimore.
It resonated
with me, and some of you may find it inspirational as well.
See: Paige Luneburg, MD Permanent Ink
It begins:
Over the years, I have
developed a fascination with patients’ tattoos. I make a habit of asking about
them. My team often jokes with me; I imagine them sitting in the conference
room before morning rounds, telling each other, “Make sure you mention his
tattoo. That’s her thing.” All attendings have quirks, and I guess a
fascination with body art has become mine. One intern went so far as to
eponymously brand novel information gleaned from a tattoo, “The Luneburg sign.”
We all laughed, especially me.
I saw this patient in 2003 with a dragonfly tattoo on her lower back. When I asked its significance, she told me that a few years earlier her sister had died. At the funeral, a dragonfly landed on the coffin. She got this tattoo to commemorate her mother and that event. DJE