Scars.

Today was another day of joy changing my dressings. Dodgy collagen means that two weeks post-surgery my wound still isn't fully sealed. There's one pesky patch that teases me. One day I look at it and think, "Finally. Finally, it is starting to come together." The next day I have a line of open, pink wound. Sitting there. Laughing at me. I'm pretty sure I heard it whisper "sucker", complete with maniacal laugh. Ugh. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up. That I should just be patient. But patience and I aren't good friends. Never have been, and likely never will be. Add in that day-after-day that the adhesives needed to keep my dressings on, and the wound protected, are eating away at my skin and I know that scarring is once again in my future.

Many have asked if I am worried about scarring. 

Am I worried about people being able to see the lump on my chest where Jeri sits? 

The answer is simple. No. 

I have a number of scars on my body. I don't try and hide them. It never occurred to me that I should. I don't see them as a cause for concern. I don't see them as something that I should think of with shame or embarrassment. 

They tell me tales of my life. And speak of gifts big and small. 

The stretch marks on my stomach told me of the gift of two beautiful boys. 

The scar on my right breast told me I would be given the gift of attending way too many school concerts.

The scar on my left breast told me I would have the gift of spending many late nights making birthday cakes.

The scar on my stomach told me that I would be given the gift of seeing my kids grow up.

The scar on my thigh told me that I would have the gift of more years with my husband.

The scar on my ankle told me that I would have the gift of spending more Sunday's having family roasts.

The scar under my left breast told me of the gift that my intuition was right.

This new scar tells me of the gift that I will wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. 

It tells me of the gift that I will be able to sit on my couch and argue about what we'll watch on TV tonight. That I will be able to yell at my kids for not cleaning their rooms. That I will do a bazillion loads of laundry. That the cleaning of many toilet bowls are in my future. That I will be able to argue with my husband over stupid little things. That I will be able to both snuggle with my dogs and yell at them for chewing up yet another remote. That I will be able to embarrass my kids with hugs in public and stories from their childhood. That I will be able to hug them and spend time with them. That I can hold my husbands hand this night and the next and the next.  

This new scar gives me time.

Time that suddenly became more pressing.

It gives me hope. 

Hope I'd lost.

It gives me possibilities. 

Possibilities I'd started to forget.

It is a gift.

A gift I never imagined.

There is no shame or embarrassment associated with with this scar. Or any of the others I wear.

I will celebrate it and yell my joy from the rooftops. This scar is a gift, not a burden. It is beautiful. And I will wear it with my head held high and a smile on my face.  

Michelle :)