Scars Tell A Story ..

Scars tell a story. 

The External:

Most of mine are from surgical procedures. Though I do have one on my elbow from a bike accident when I was in middle school.  When I think of that day I remember well. Riding way too fast because I was upset, probably over a boy, shooting across the two lane toad into my neighborhood, my tires skidding, graveling flying and me headfirst over the handlebars. An ER doctor kindly numbing me up to clean them out. I am lucky I said not end up hitting my head or breaking my neck. 

My surgical scars are many. Three c-sections, each one with its own drama, and some trauma. The memories from them, while filled with scary moments, are mingled with the joy of new life and gratefulness being alive to raise my kids. The gall bladder brings back thoughts of being alone with two small kids, excruciating pain, fear I might be having a heart attack and would die with them watching, and then an easy diagnosis and textbook procedure and recovery. The hysterectomy brings back an unexpected journey of  emotional grief, extended pain and a three year recovery. It is complicated by the fact that I probably started my journey to the chronic illnesses I deal with now. Two hernia repairs, the first minor  bringing back humorous memories of twilight sedation, and the second  major with a grateful heart for good doctors, mixed with a painful recovery. 

All those scars are on my body still easily seen, well by me.  They have all healed, but thanks to my fibromyalgia, they sometimes smart, or sting. They can feel like the procedure was last week, instead of many years ago. All of these scars, I have come to believe, are gifts. For you see, they remind me of the people who performed them, and loved ones who cared for me after. Every one of these were life saving procedures, done to prolong my life here on this earth and I am grateful.