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His master’s degree from Carleton University might argue the point. So, too, the podcast on disability — 21st Century Disability — that he hosts from his hospital room, or his participation in motorized wheelchair hockey. His advocacy for those with disabilities earned him a Governor General’s award for meritorious service.
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The design of the ‘Thrive’ tattoo, meanwhile, is filled with personal symbolism. The dot above the “i” is a jigsaw puzzle piece representing muscular dystrophy. The “v” resembles an open book, a nod to his academic life. The “t” and “h,” he said, depict him in his wheelchair.
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The tattoo is a middle finger, but it’s also encouragement to thrive, to do better.
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Neither Lawson nor Paradis is surprised that people on 5North want tattoos. They’re more taken by how excited patients are to get them, with Paradis describing them as “ridiculously” happy.
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Paradis, who also does coverups of tattoos on women who were sex trafficked, and nipples and other designs on those who’ve undergone mastectomies, only charges patients $50 for the tattoos, far below his usual rate.
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His experience at the hospital, meanwhile, had an unexpected result: after doing a couple of tattoos there, he began returning once or twice a week as a volunteer. Sometimes he plays cards with patients. Sometimes they’ll talk about music or movies — Paradis is a certified Star Wars tattoo artist. Other times, the conversations are heavier.
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He remembers speaking with one patient with ALS, since deceased, about dying and being frightened.
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“Sometimes I have to go for a walk after,” he said. “It’s not a weight like a burden. But it can be a heavy conversation and sometimes I just need to process it.”
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The tattoos themselves, he added, aren’t all that different than those people get anywhere else.
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“They’re reminders of a person, a place or a thing that is meaningful,” he said. “They’re the same kinds of things everyone gets. But I think they’re more attached to it.
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“There are often tears after it’s done — happy tears.”
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Down the hallway from Peirce’s room, James McLaughlin shows off the Boston Bruins’ tattoo on his left arm. A fan of all things Irish, his tat also bears the Boston Celtics’ mascot, Lucky the Leprechaun, holding a hockey stick and puck.
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Now 64, McLaughlin, who has ALS, spent four decades working at the Civic Hospital before becoming a patient himself.
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“I’d seen some of the others’ tattoos,” he said, “like Roshene’s and Hollis’s, and I thought, ‘Why not?’ It was kind of on a whim.
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“I just never got around to doing it until this happened to me. I thought I’d better do one now because, otherwise, time might not allow.”
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But if his showdown with mortality helped spark him to get a tattoo, it wasn’t the reason. It was simply a matter of living the way he wanted.
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“It was just doing something that wasn’t hospital- or ALS-related,” he said.
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The walls of his room are covered with Bruins and Bobby Orr memorabilia. The tattoo simply joined the collection.
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Another patient, Tim Berry, was preparing for his first tattoo — an owl.
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“It’s my favourite animal,” he said, “my spirit animal.”
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Berry was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy when he was five. Now 27, he has lived in the hospital for the past five years.
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He confessed he was somewhat nervous about the tattoo — but not about the pain or the final product.
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“It’s my first one,” he said.
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