Everyone has scars

Everyone has scars. Some scars can easily be seen, while other scars are so deepthat the human mind erects a shield to protect the damaged spirit from the trauma it hasendured. Perhaps it’s because both visual and unseen scars come from different forms oftrauma that makes us retain the memories of how we acquired them. I see scars notmerely as damaged skin and tissue marring the body and soul, but as a detailed mapoutlining actual events of my past leaving a detailed history of my life.Each scar that marks my flesh holds a story all of its own. Some of my scars areso small and insignificant that no one would notice them, yet it is these scars that haveleft me with vivid memories of my childhood. Without them, I would have easilyforgotten the precious if not painful memories that have shaped me into the woman I amtoday.

If I start with the beaded line tracking its way across my lower right abdomen, Ican hear (in my then eight year old drug induced state as I awoke from anesthetic) theconcern in my father’s voice. I’d just had an appendectomy, and he was worried that mylips were dry. He’d asked the nurse if they could get some Vaseline for my lips. Asstrange as that may sound, I remember the concern my father had for me every time I seethat scar. Perhaps I remember it so well because it is one of the few times I can recall mydad being worried about me.The smallest scar I have is on my left wrist. I received it from a burn when I wasten years old. I got that scar on my aunt’s wood burning stove when I stayed the night tobabysit for her. To this day, whenever I breathe in the brisk autumn air and smell smokecoming from a chimney, I think about my aunt’s large wood burning stove.Two lower lines, now nearly faded and running parallel to one another is from anemergency C-section performed for the birth of my first child. The second was for mythird child. (I won’t bore you with all the details concerning stretch marks and thesagging areas between my girls and down to my southern parts. Suffice it to say, God hasa strange sense of humor that one day He and I are going to have a long chat about!)I’m pretty sure the scars from having my gallbladder removed have taken on thelook of Orion, while the Big Dipper, adequately describes the scars I have from myhysterectomy. Now if I ever get really bored I could draw a perfectly straight line fromthe tip of the Big Dipper up to my left arm pit. This particular scar doesn’t look anythinglike the North Star, but it does show a gnarly scar where five lymph nodes were removedfrom my arm pit due to breast cancer.My girls, (Thelma & Louise) have also had multiple surgeries. While Thelma,(my left breast) looks like a Barbie doll on steroids, (thanks in part to radiation and apermanent implant,) she looks like she is happily winking over at Louise’s saggingimplanted breast. Both of my girls have scars running along the top of them where myheadlights were permanently removed. (Yes, my Ta-ta’s somewhat resemble LightningMcQueen’s flashing headlights from the Disney movie, “Cars.” In other words, myheadlights aren’t real . . . Cha-Ching.) I guess whenever I get around to having the

finished product completed; I’ll need to be careful not to poke somebody’s eyes out. Fornow, my breasts are silently winking at people, and nobody is the wiser.I have a pretty good sense of humor concerning most of my scars, and yet thescars I’ve received from breast cancer are very personal on many levels. While I can finda lot of humor in them, sometimes these same scars can be physically, emotionally andmentally painful. They are not so much a reminder of what I have physically lost, butwhat I could have lost. I can visually see my oldest son, thirteen at the time, curling intohimself. His arms wrapped around his middle, silent tears running down his face as Ibroke the news to him that I had breast cancer. When I look at the scars from myhysterectomy, I can hear the fear in my eleven year old sons’ voice, asking me if I have tohave another surgery because he’s afraid the cancer is back. I think the internal scarring on my emotions and soul has come from what myfamily went through as they watched me go through breast cancer. That has been thehardest thing to heal from. I guess like any scar tissue damage or internal and emotionalscaring, there will always be some type of mark left on the soul that marks the passage oftime and trauma. I just pray my spirit is strong enough to always survive whatever lifethrows at me. I am willing to take the bad as long as the good comes with it, so when Ilook at the scar marks from childbirth and my C-sections, and start to feel ugly, I remindmyself of the three beautiful miracles of life God gave me, and I no longer see them asmarring my body, but as badges of motherhood.In short, the scars that line my body are vast in number and size. I could probablymap all the constellations in the sky and still manage to give a dang good horoscopereading from just the scars on my chest and abdomen alone. Although I have many scars,I do not see them as battle wounds, ugly marks, or mangled deformities. To me, my scarsare simply a part of who I am. They do not define me, and though they may show theworld what I have endured on the outside, they are not a reflection of what I have lost orwho I am on the inside. Instead, I choose to see them as a reflection of blessings,miracles, love, and the gift of life God has granted and blessed me with.