Scars

Over the past few years I have acquired many physical scars because of my illness.  I experience dizziness and lightheadedness without warning.  In turn, I faint quite often.  One minute I am fine, and the next I'm face down on the floor.  It's alarming how quickly it can happen.  Nine out of ten time I hit my face, neck, or arms on the way down.  Aside from waking up on the floor, I am am often laying in a pool of blood.

My most recently scars have been burn scars.  I have gotten burned by a multitude of equipment at the hospital.  The most painful burns are radiation burns.  These burns are large and very deep.  I can feel the pain down to the bone, and every time I move.  I have had to alter my clothing, bedding and furniture in order for me to find some sort of comfort from these irritated areas.

The most prominent scars are those that are on my face.  I have a mix of old and new from passing out, and catching my forehead, or chin on corners.  I tell most people(strangers), when they ask about them, they are from a car accident.  It is easier to give them a generic answer.  Car accidents, unfortunately, are a fairly common occurrence, so they don't pry any deeper into the situation.  Children are most likely to ask personal questions that are difficult to find the answers for.  In general, they also have a short attention span, so a direct answer is all they want to listen to.  That is the saving grace for both of us.  They get an answer to their question, and I don't have to dwell on past injuries.

Adults on the other hand, they like to pry.  I understand.  It's human nature to explore the unknown, and to be nosey at times.  I admit that I like to be all up in everyone's business.  I'm just as curious about the lives of those around me, as they are about mine.  It's the way of the world.  Social media would never be what it is today without inquiring minds.

I was visiting a new patient at the hospital today.  We were getting to know each other, naturally, she was asking about my scars.  I gave her a short synopsis of where they came from, and we moved onto another topic.  We talked for about 20 minutes while she was settling in.  I had to go in for my last dose of radiation for the day, so we said our goodbyes.  I told her I would check in on her tomorrow, and I left the room.  As I was walking out, her father stopped me at the door.  He asked if we could chat in the hallway.  I was perplexed by his request.  I hoped I hadn't imposed on time with his daughter.  My anxiety was trough the roof.  I thought he was upset with me for interrupting him, and his daughter.  To my surprise the conversation went in the opposite direction.  He thanked me for coming to welcome his daughter, and his family to the hospital.  He said that the nurses and doctors haven't been very accommodating.  He appreciated that I made time for them.  I was relieve that he was not angry with me.  I told him that it was my pleasure to talk to his family.  I truly enjoy making connections with other patients, and their loved ones.  I assured him that this would not be a one-time thing.  I will be "bugging" them all the time.  They'll be sick of me.  We shared a laugh, and I told him that I had to head over to my treatment room.  He nodded, and left me with a strange message.  He said "You wear your scars well.  I can tell they are much more that skin deep.  You have earned them."

I was dumbfounded by what he said while I was walking away.  I only just met this man, and he could already see through me.  Am I that transparent?  The hospital is the one place that I do shed all of my walls and barriers.  It is the one place I am truly exposed.  I can be as strong, and hardheaded as I want to be outside the hospital doors, but once inside I am frightened, and alone.  I feel like I am stripped of all of my "superpowers", and I lay there a lost little girl.  My scars are there for everyone to see.  I can no longer hide them because they are who I am.  I am wounded.  He saw the broken person inside of me.  He connected with her.

Scars are not just superficial.  Scars run deep.  There is a physical and emotional attachment to each one.  I have tried for many years to hide them, or cover them up.  I didn't want to show my flaws.  For the first time in my life I am proud of my scars.  The man at the hospital helped me realize that I wear my scars, they do NOT wear me.  They are markings on a roadmap of my life showing me where I've been, and the struggles I've endured.  Each scar holds a memory that helps me continue on this life-long journey.