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 :)

The View From My Couch: Pampering

I decided to spoil myself recently and buy some lovely Sohum body cream and soaps.  It's the little luxuries that get you through the day.  It was one of 'those' days, so I sent my offspring into the store with instructions, whilst I sat with my head in my lap in the car.  The came back to the car with a big bag and a grin that would impress the Cheshire Cat.  I opened up the bag to find a present, complete with gold ribbon.  They had decided to tell the store assistant it was a present for their mum so she wrapped it up.  They wanted me to have a special gift to unwrap.  I didn't tear up, really I didn't.  It was a bad hayfever day, okay.

Cheers
Michelle :)

Unexpected Packages Equals Unexpectd Joy.

A package arrived in the mail the other day.  I had no idea it was on it's way.  I had no idea who would be sending me a package when Mr Grumpy handed it over.  A quick look at the sender said it was from a fellow blogger here in Oz.  I've been following Elizabeth's blog for a while now.  She runs a gorgeous boutique here in Melbourne, Fanantique, with beautiful vintage clothing and accessories.  She also creates a mean cocktail, loves a champers, and all things Tim Burton, so I already knew she was a top chick.  But I never expected such a thoughtful package to arrive.

For a while now I've lamented my inability to travel to meet her in person and attend her recent fashion event (check out some of the gorgeous dresses, Mr Grumpy take note, hint hint) held at a local boutique perfumery, thanks to Bob.  So in complete and unexpected lovliness she sent me a package of bits and bobs from her boutique.  A case of, if I can't make it down to Bay St, a little bit of Bay St can come to me. 

(My gorgeous goodies)

It was such a lovely, and unexpected surprise.  There was perfume, hand cream, cards with her art work,and even champagne chocolates to chomp on until I can have a champagne with her in person, to name but a few.  There were even Christmas dog biscuits from her local dog bakery for Freyja and Thor.  It was such a thoughtful gift and really made my day.

(Yummy lip balm and cute little red bird to feed my red addiction.  
Okay, I just realised the lip balm is upside down.  Damn brain fog.)

(Eye mask, Turkish Delight perfume  and hand cream)

 

(Freyja giving Thor the death stare whilst I make her wait for her biscuit)

("Hurry up mum and let me have the damn biscuit".  Ignore Thor's drool patches on the floor.)

  (Mmmm.... buscuit)

I think my favourite out of all the gifts were two bon voyage cards, one for Bob and one for Jeff.  So as you can probably guess I've been beaming.  It wasn't so much the gifts themselves, although they are lovely, but the thoughtfulness behind them.  It's so nice to know that there really are some truly thoughtful and lovely people in the world.  It's also rather nice to be able to write about something joyful rather than the usual woe is me.

Must now go crank up some classic Edith Piaf, splash on some Chanel No.5, and nanna nap with my leopard print eye mask.  One of my first purchases when I started getting a regular pay cheque, was a set of gorgeous, and stupidly expensive, ivory silk and handcrafted lace, French lingerie (something I'd always wanted). I wonder if I can get them past my thighs these days?  That would complete the mood.  Maybe I should just have enjoy some Brie, or a glass of Sauvignon Blanc? Decisions, decisions.

Au Revoir

The very pampered Michelle :)

Mood music, Edith Piaf, La Vie En Rose (1946)