Every Scar has a story to tell. This is my story
Every Scar has a story to tell - stories of resilience, strength, and healing. They are not just reminders of past injuries; they are symbols of triumph over adversity, etched onto the canvas of our bodies.
I sent out a call to share your stories and my call was answered.
Thank you so much to the people who have shared their journeys with me. I hope that I will do you justice.
Not all scars are pathological. Not all scars are emotionally charged, but they do all carry a story and sometimes the storytelling helps to wiggle stuff loose, sometimes an old memory is ignited and some good times or people long forgotten come alive again in our memories. No, not everyone has stuff to wiggle free, but they sure do have some great stories to tell.
I decided to offer up my own journey to start us off. When my kids were small and they had to take medicine or they were eating something new, I always had a little taste first. I wanted to know what I was giving them before I expected them to swallow it. I am doing something similar today with my story. I want you to know that I appreciate how vulnerable talking about your injuries makes you feel. I want you to know that I understand how difficult it can be to go back to a time that you have worked so hard to leave behind. I want you to know that every story will touch each reader a little differently. You never know who you might help by sharing your own experience.
Here is mine.
I have several scars from different incidences in my life. Each one has a story to tell about pain, recovery and how I healed and coped. I am not going to talk in detail about them all, I will focus on one. The one whose story no one has heard before.
When I was a toddler my family and I were in a road traffic accident. I hit the windscreen and sustained injuries to my head.
I have a small chip of bone missing from my cranium and a squiggly scar that runs down my forehead to my left eyebrow, but you can't see it because the injury was a very long time ago and it has faded over time.
I have two small scars and a medium-sized one on my left arm from a crushed elbow and broken humerus, road rash and metal pins. another road traffic accident. I was 21. These scars are still visible but barely noticeable as I have freckles and everything blends in. I have a cesarian scar from an emergency cesarian to bring my first son into the world. I have silver zip from hip to hip and a beautiful healthy son. I may seem blasé about these incidents but I can assure you that I have had my time with their stories. I joke about being a baby in the 70's and the absence of car seats. Our parents would just put their arm out to stop us from flying off the front seat, we survived and we have the scars to prove it. I used to brag about how I survived the second crash with minor injuries and tell tales of imminent death as the other vehicle hit us travelling at 120km/h. My emergency cesarian was a tougher one to get over. My son and I were not in a good way and I was repeatedly reminded during my recovery that I should be happy, not sad, that I have a beautiful baby boy in my arms. I would gaze into his deep brown eyes and smile.
We survived. The zip is inconsequential. That is the best story.
A story that I have not talked about, scars that no one ever gets to look at are the ones I have on my left breast. When I was 21 I found a lump in my left breast. My doctor sent me to have tests and scans. I endured the humiliation that is the mammogram machine at the sweet age of 21. I was shoved from pillar to post, prodded and squashed.
No one talked to me. No one asked how I was. No one said 'Don't worry it will be okay'.
Within a few days, I was booked in for surgery and before I knew it the offending lump was removed and I was sent on my way. A few years later I had a repeat appearance of my friend the lump and again I was forced to endure the humiliation of a mammogram and again, none of the radiologists, nurses or doctors told me what I could expect. I was given a flyer about mastectomy and then surgery was planned for a few days later. This was just at the start of the internet. This was also a time when more women were being diagnosed with breast cancer and you did not hear of many who survived. I was in my early 20's and as far as I knew only older women got cancer, and they either died from it or had chemo and then struggled with weakness and recurring illness. I scoured the internet for options. What to do? Reconstruction or flat? My mind was spinning out of control.
I was afraid and confused and at no point did anyone tell me that it may not be cancer and that I may not need a mastectomy.
I did not. It was another innocent little breast mouse as they called it. I was told to keep checking my breasts as I have fibrotic breast tissue that may become a problem and then discharged and sent on my way.
I healed fast and I healed well. No complications or infections. I was young and I was healthy. Everything was fine.
Except it wasn't. I was afraid. I felt as if my body had betrayed me. I felt as if my boobs had become a ticking time bomb. I was ashamed of my scars, these pink stripes on my milky white skin. I didn't want my partner to see them and I didn't want to be questioned about them. What if he thought I was damaged goods? How did he feel when he saw the scars on me? What if I found another lump, what if I had to have a mastectomy, what option would I choose, flat or reconstruction?
The surgery, the scars, the fear of future illness and the fear of my options plagued me and I felt weak and afraid. I chose to run from my fears, away from the fear and the doubt and the insecurity that I felt when I looked at myself, and I chose to live my life loud and hard and to the fullest. I did not cope very well at the time if I am honest.
But as time went on and the scars faded and blended into the background I forgot all about them and the struggle to accept what had happened to my healthy body in my 20's. I moved on and had two babies, both of whom I breastfed with only a few complications. The scar tissue had blocked the milk ducts in my left breast which caused mastitis and low milk production. I was devastated and disappointed. I felt that I had failed my babies. I was supposed to be able to provide for their every need in those first crucial weeks. I spent many hours trying to hold them in different positions, wrapping my breasts in warm cabbage leaves, drinking fennel tea, pumping milk and trying to keep the mastitis from recurring. Finally, with the support of a lactation specialist, I was able to do what many mothers dream of doing for their newborn baby, breastfeed. The human body is incredible. My right breast took up the challenge and produced enough milk for a full feed and made up for what Lefty could not do. My babies grew and thrived and benefited from being nursed for over 13 months. Incredible if you ask me.
Because I still have both breasts, my physical scars are smooth and blend in well with the surrounding tissues,
Lefty is not misshapen and I was able to breastfeed both of my boys, I really did not consider that I had any real struggles to mention, especially not after spending time and working with incredible women who have undergone mastectomies, chemotherapy or radiation therapy. Women who live with skin contracture, pain, radiation burns and reconstructive surgery. Women who have had their husbands or partners leave them after their surgery because they couldn't handle looking at the physical changes that took place.
I know there is no scale of loss or a competition to see who had it worse, but I felt that I had no reason to even mention Lefty and what we went through because we were actually okay.
It wasn't until I started to do the interviews for " Every Scar Has a Story to Tell" and I listened to the incredible stories of struggle, perseverance and growth that I considered the questions through my own experience. I realised the misconceptions and stigma surrounding my scars were the ones I was carrying.
I am not a bad mother because I didn't have two fully functioning breasts to nurse my babies. My body adjusted and my babies thrived on what I was able to offer them.
I started to think about the implications of losing Lefty for good and I realised that my breast is a part of me. It is not the whole of me. I am still a mother to my boys not because I have breasts to breastfeed, but because I AM a MOTHER. I love, I nurture, I care for. I am there when they are sick, I listen to them when they are happy, sad, disappointed, or excited. I have cooked and cleaned and cared for them and been there to support them through their good times and their bad times, pushing and shoving them and sometimes smothering them with all the love I can give.
So, looking back now on my experience with Lefty I can say that I have come a long way from those times when there was so much fear and betrayal.
The physical scars were absorbed into the matrix of skin and wrinkles and the emotional scars were given time and space to unfold, I allowed the wind to blow through and sweep away the misconceptions and see that I am whole and complete just as I am.
If you would like to tell your story or find out about receiving Scar tissue treatment to help with your physical scars, please contact me
kara@synergy-wellness.me
The images below show my now well healed scars that I have had treated with ScarWork (TM) and Restore Scar Therapy since 2015
my tiny forehead scar
One of the stripes on Lefty (no treatments)
My c-section zip
