Okay I admit I’m writing this ridiculously early in the morning but writing when other people are asleep is nothing new for me. I have had seven major surgeries in my life thus far and from those 11 scars most of which are still plainly noticeable, or would be if I were not wearing clothes. As a child I hated them for no other reason then as a direct result of the surgery I move than expected to willingly put myself through the torture that is physical therapy to incrementally increase my mobility and regain the limited function which six weeks in various casts and, in the case of my back surgery, laying in a completely flat bed for a week (on my side) before they would let me sit up, had stolen from me.
As a teenager I hated them because they were just one more piece of physical proof that I was “other” something I desperately wanted to deny even though there was no way I possibly could have. It was a dress code violation in my high school to wear shorts but if we had been able to I still would not have worn them because of the scars across my knees, if wearing jeans allowed me to fool myself into believing that the rest of my “peers” thought I was normal then I was happy to labor under that delusion. The scar from my back surgery came with a certain kind of pride actually. At that time I had it that particular surgery was still experimental and the warning that came with it then and is still given now is that the patient may not regain the same level of function they had before. Most other surgeries, with the correct therapy improvement however minor, is pretty much guaranteed, not so in this case. I was aware of the risks yet I still went through with it. Yes I was the one to make that choice on my own seeing as how I would have to live with the repercussions of it intimately if something went wrong. At least in this case I am glad to say I am a statistic, fortunately a positive one.
Despite that I still harbored a general dislike of my scars. I have called myself “Frankenstein’s daughter” on more than one occasion as well as several other generally not nice phrases. Recently however, it has been brought to my attention, by more than one person, that my scars (particularly the one on my spine) could be… “intriguing” . Needless to say I was, and still am, floored. I had never even considered that a person might have that particular reaction to something I obviously considered a prominent sign of a defect I wished to deny the existence of. Now if I blush at the thought of my scars it still could be my general annoyance with things I can’t change but there is an equal chance that I have remembered that some people can know about my scars and instead of seeing Frankenstein’s daughter they still see a girl worthy of being a Princess.
Amazing the change in depth perception a few years can make.