According to the dictionary a scar is defined as: a mark left by a healed wound, sore, or burn. For me and many others, it means so much more.
I’ve obtained a few in my lifetime. One on my knee from flying over the handlebars on my bike as a kid, one on my knuckle for skinning it again a brick wall in grade school. Funny, no matter how minimal the act to get them I never forget how they got there. My husband has a few from before we met and he has a great recollection of exactly how they got there.
In the past two years I’ve received two sets of scars that hold a very special place in my heart. As strange as that may sound.
The first are my delivery scars. My Caesarian scar from Ella’s emergency delivery is extremely faded now and measures half the size that it did when it was fresh. No matter how much it’s changed, or how much time has passed, looking at it brings me right back to March 3rd 2013 at 1:30 in the morning. That’s when the obstetrician delivering my twins determined that despite Zoey being born vaginally, for Ella’s sake, a c-section was needed. Although I can’t see the scar from my episiotomy I know it’s there, and when I think of it I’m brought back to the operating room at 1 in the morning; pushing like I’ve never pushed before, two months earlier than expected, because Zoey has decided she’s ready to meet the world.
The second is my biopsy scar. This scar makes me happy and sad and scared all at the same time. Although barely noticeable now it serves as a constant reminder of the struggles I went through to feed my preemies. It reminds me of my perseverance despite many obstacles. Looking at it also brings me back to the doctors office and waiting to hear the results of my biopsy. A very scary and emotional time (which I describe in detail in My Biopsy blog).
I’m not the only one who accumulated scars over the past two years. My two little tough girls have their fair share as well.
I can see very clearly the tiny white marks on their ankles and wrists and I can almost picture the IV lines going in to their tiny little bodies. IV lines that helped them to thrive and grow so that we could eventually bring them home.
Their paediatrician calls them battle wounds rather than scars and I like to think of them this way too for all of us. Battle wounds that show just how tough we really are and help us never forget what we’ve overcome.