Scars! Scars! Scars!

Scars! Scars! Scars!

I have often heard that scars aren’t something that you should be ashamed of; they are a sign that you have struggled and survived! Scars aren’t something that needs to be hidden; instead they are something to be shown off with pride. Every single scar has a legendary story buried in it and it speaks louder than the sword that caused it.

My body had several scars when I came out of the Intensive Care Unit after a seven day stay [17 June 2008- 24 June2008] which gave almost everyone around me a mini heart attack. I have a quite vague memory of those days. It would be totally fine to say that I remember almost everything of my five year treatment but almost nothing about those seven days in the ICU. People say it is a good thing. I wish it were! I keep wondering what happened to me in that chamber? My parents, when asked, say that I was surrounded by all kinds of medical equipments that they had ever seen. They did not even know what was needed for what. Every machine showed readings and they did not understand them. It was a sight that they were scared of. It, of course, wasn’t pretty but I still wish that I had the memory of it. In my semi conscious state, I had no idea how many veins and arteries were poked, how many long lines were attached.

After many days, when I was finally able to balance my body and walk on my own, I saw the scars. The scars were scattered on both my legs. They weren’t deep but they were there. They were silently trying to hide, only my mother noticed them before they could camouflage with my skin.  She was sad about how much her daughter was cut here and there. I never really thought about them.

Of all the scars that I have, the biggest and probably the scariest one was that from the minor surgery to put the chemoport beneath my skin.  Stitches made the scar I guess. I have never accepted it before but yes for sometime even I was afraid to look at it. Later, I got used to it. Even this dear scar, situated slightly above my waist remains hidden.

The only scar that is visible is the one on the front of my neck. The thin tube connecting the chemoport above my waist to the main vein was visible beneath the skin on the right side of my neck. Every time someone asked me about what it was, my face would light up with a smile and the story of owning a chemoport would follow. It did not last long. Chemoport had to be removed after the treatment. But still the scar remained on my neck, only the questions lessened.

It has been a long time that someone asked me about my scar. I totally miss that moment of pride, “I have something that you never had. Haha!” The sad thing? Well my scars are now vanishing slowly. Time heals all wounds, scars too I guess. What if you do not want them to go away? What if you want to treasure them? What if you want to keep them as a souvenir? 

During the last visit to my doctor at CMC, I asked her if anyone else before or after me had pancreatitis with the same severity as mine. She had answered that a few had suffered and gone to the ICU but I was the only one who gave everyone a bad heart attack!

And you know what, no matter what I am proud of it! J Yes, no one can ever make me forget my little leukemia. Not because it gave me a trauma but because it gave me enough scars to live, smile and enjoy!