Rethinking the ink: Laser tattoo removal gains popularity

Emotional pain, physical pain

On a rainy Tuesday, Dave Adams, 36, a musician and massage therapist, goes to Saler to have three neck tattoos removed. They are religious symbols, and there’s one on each side of his neck: a Star of David, a Hindu yantra and an upside-down cross.

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 Some who are inked have regrets. That’s where lasers come in. New technology is making the removal process easier, and more commonplace.

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An interactive guide to tattoos

“Tattoos were viewed as forever. But now I like the idea that I can treat the skin like an artist can treat a canvas,” he says, adding that he loves and respects tattoo work and expects to get more. “But I just got these too quickly. I feel like they are jumping off my neck.”

Then the burly, tattoo-faced Wayne Stokes, 34, arrives. He’s on his sixth session of a removal that might take up to 25.

He has tattoos on his face, neck, hands and chest. Both eyes are encircled by a black leopardlike Maori-inspired design, which is based on the tattoo sported by boxer Mike Tyson. The tops of his hands spell out S-U-F-F-E-R-I-N-G when he holds them side by side. The left side of his neck says “Life,” the back of his neck says “Is,” and the right side says “Pain.”

He started getting tattoos when he was 16. He says he grew up in rough neighborhoods in Baltimore, suffered abuse at the hands of his father and was threatened outside his home, too: by drugs, by peers on the streets.

“Subconsciously I was creating an image to keep people at bay and away from me. I wanted to look tough,” he says. “People ask me every day, ‘Why did you do it? Why did you put yourself through that pain of tattooing your entire face?’ I’ve realized I don’t have to keep that trauma on my body.”

He’s gone through a lot of therapy. He works as a cook, but when the tattoos are off, he wants to mentor abused kids.

Now that the painful decision to get rid of the tattoos is over, the physical pain begins. He prays in the bathroom for strength. He gets into the chair and squeezes a ball as the laser hits his skin, turning parts of it red and then frosted white as the ink crystallizes into smaller particles that will be removed by his body’s immune system over the next few weeks. The laser emits a green light, and the room smells a little bit like burned hair.

Saler uses a hose — known as the “Zimmer Cryo cooler” — to blow air onto the skin and deaden the sensation. “Each time, I get [part of] it removed, it’s like I can exhale,” Stokes says. “Sometimes I do dread coming in. But it’s the end result.

“I want to look in the mirror and see myself again.”