Scars. Those permanent marks left on our skin as a result of some kind of injury.
Every one of our scars tell a story.
That jagged one on your knee from a trip on the pavement. The large one on your arm from getting too close to a hot iron. The perfectly round ones dotting your back like a constellation, a memento from childhood chickenpox.
Who hasn’t swapped scar stories?
My kids display their new wounds with the flair of Vanna White, accompanying it with an elaborate story. When my kids awake one morning to find that the evidence has faded, there’s relief in their eyes, but also nostalgia. As if they wanted proof that they’ve had an adventure.
Prior to my surgery a few weeks ago, I only had two permanent scars that had a history woven in them.
I have a two-inch horizontal crater below my right knee that I earned in graduate school. A result of walking a 110-pound malamute in a park with a retractable leash which got caught around my leg when he tore off to harass a pug.
And then there’s my c-section scars, which most of the time I have forgotten about. Partly because they’re hidden by underwear and hair, but mostly because they signify two beautiful babies that mean the world to me.
Now I’m armed (no pun intended) with a new story. One of age and injury and (hopefully) recovery.
My shoulder surgery stitches were taken out last week. All in all, a total of about 10 stitches were removed. Including five from that arm coochie.
When I expressed my concern to the nurse, she assured me that the biceps tendon incision will flatten out at some point, but it probably won’t ever go away.
I will be stuck with these marks on my arm for a while. And I can’t even tell you how much that depresses me.
I don’t have much going on in the way of physique. I refuse to wear tights or yoga pants because I am embarrassed at the size and chunkiness of my thighs and butt. My abs have seen better days. My hair and skin is a roulette wheel of inconsistency.
But my arms? I was always able to rely on my arms. They looked strong and athletic. They were the feature I could feel proud to show off.
Now, I’m embarrassed to wear a tank top. I look at my closet, filled with spaghetti string dresses and halter tops and think there’s no way I’ll be able to wear them again.
Perhaps I’m making a bigger deal out of this. Sure, this is vanity and ego speaking. When I’m all healed and can finally raise my arm above my head or swim with my kids without pain, perhaps I won’t give a shit about some silly scars on my arms.
After my dad and I had a conversation about how bummed I was that I had this big scar on my arm, he sent me a photo of someone who’d taken advantage of their incision line.
They tattooed Darth Vader around the scar, using the scar line as his light saber.
I thought it was brilliant, and proceeded to waste hours Googling the heck out of this idea.
Some of the results were fascinating. Some were mildly . Some were not suitable for work or kids. All of them trying to marry wounds with artwork and beauty.
I love the idea behind it. That someone would take something that might signify a traumatic point in their life and turn it into something that feels more like themselves, enhancing the history and story of that scar. Perhaps the permanent scar was not intentional, but the permanence of that tattoo was their choice.
Will I really get a tattoo? No. As embarrassed as I might be to wear the tank tops I used to feel good in, I’m not that big on ink.
But man, wouldn’t Princess Leia wielding a light saber on my arm make for a pretty damn good story?
Do you have any scars? What do they say about you and your personal history? Do you hide them under clothing or show them off with pride?
Whether you have scars or not, I’d love to hear from you. Follow Full Of It on , or yet?
G – I have some massage therapist “wisdom” about scar tissue. I’ll send you a fb note…
Most of my scars are on and around my knees. I was FOREVER falling as a child.
I just went looking for the one on my shin that resulted from slipping off a broken swingset glided that I shouldn’t have been standing on in the first place. Whadda ya know! After over 30 years, it has finally faded enough that I almost couldn’t find it! It’s on my left shin…
Last fall, I had my gallbladder removed laproscopically while I was 17 weeks pregnant. While I would not recommend it, the scar did have the added plus of keeping my belly button from becoming an “outie”. My belly button is very weird now. I haven’t decided how I feel about it yet. It may be cool.
Ah, LRM, the Scabby Knee Syndrome. I’m familiar with that one. I remember when you had that surgery – I didn’t know it was near your navel though. Is it noticeable? I had a scar on my pinkie from when I got it caught in my dad’s car door almost 20 years ago, and that’s no longer there either, though I was convinced I’d have it forever. I look forward to your FB message. This shoulder continues to be a mess. Yesterday, while still in the sling, I freaked out from a spider biting my leg and instinctively snapped my arm down to slap it. Bad, bad, bad move. I’m sore as hell today and keeping my fingers crossed that I didn’t do any permanent damage.
The surgery was one hundred percent through my navel. No other incisions. I am a very lucky lady. Most of the scar has retreated back into my belly button since giving birth, and it is even returning to a normal skin color. Delightful.
I hate that your arm hurts. I hate it even more that you slapped down a spider and hurt it even more. The comedy potential of that moment is fairly high, though… in retrospect, was it even vaguely amusing?
Thanks, R, it means a lot to me. And yes, from the outside, I’m sure that incident had to be hilarious!
I can understand that it can be upsetting to have your body altered even in the slightest way. I have a gash on my leg from the teenage years and I’m never fully comfortable exposing it. I hope you recover soon. That tattoo sounds like a good idea, if you’re game!
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Thanks for the well wishes, TK, I appreciate it. No, I probably won’t get a tattoo. But I may have to reevaluate my wardrobe next summer. Who knows, maybe it won’t be so noticeable?