I realized after stepping out of the shower that I am losing my scars.
Most people view scars negatively, but my scars represent something different. My scars represent life, love and sacrifice. My scar is nothing compared to his giant gash that runs the length of his abdomen…but they are my own. They tell a story, they invite conversation and encourage awareness… they are my scars.
Because the Nephrectomy (kidney transplant) was done laproscopically I had one small Csection type incision above my pubic bone and three even smaller incisions on my left side from the sugical instruments. Although I encouraged healthy and quick healing of my wounds… I still secretly wished they would form large easily noticable scars. I wanted them to be seen. I wanted people to notice them and ask questions. Then I got pregnant and throughout the pregnancy I was horribly sick and didnt gain much weight until the end. At this point, although I didnt want anything to happen to my scars, I paid little attention to their condition because I was more concerned with the health of the baby. Everything turned out fine and I hadn’t even taken the time to check on my scars after she was born either. But suddenly today I decided to see….and they were gone!
Not really gone, but almost non existant, unless you are directly in front of me with a light on or something. My once noticable scars were fading away. This makes me sad because I had hoped I would have a little more time, me and my scars…. Someone advised me that my skin is trying to adjust to no longer being pregnant and that in a month or two my scars will be back, but we will see….we will see.
Here is a poem I found, although it is about csection scars, for the most part this poem seems to be rather fitting for the occasion. My scars were a badge of honor. My scars made me proud. My scars told a story, a story about life, love and sacrifice. My scars…Oh how I will miss you…
“Ever time I dress I look at the marks. The purples, the reds, and the darken grays. I shower and I watch the suds run down them. I remember every cut that made them and every stitch that sewed them shut. The pain that exploded underneath them and the fire that caused them to burn.
Would I change it? Not for a million dollars. They are the marks of my womanhood, the marks of my motherhood, and the marks of my strength. I admire them, I worship them, I trace them with my finger tips just to feel the power that they hold. To be amazed how each scar can offer such life changing events. To switch your paths of destiny in a blink of an eye and a sweep of a blade.
You can see a persons life within each and every one of them. To see the pain and passion they have overcome. To see the offerings they have brought to this earth to make it a better place. Most look and see just ugly markings. Only the open eyes and mind can see the truth and spirit behind each line. That is where the storys are and that is where you can find the only truths. “