When I was 18 I had a fall from quite a height. I shattered 3 vertebrae, fractured my pelvis, wrist and had collapsed lungs.
I had 3 operations on my wrist to try to fix it. A plate was put into in it, plus a bone graft from my hip to my wrist. I had surgery for my collapsed lungs; the surgeons used that same entry to put 3 metal plates where my shattered vertebrae were. So I have 3 big scars plus a small one from a chest drain.
I don’t hate my scars but I don’t really like them either. They are a cross that I am happy to bear and to hate them would be to be ungrateful to every single person that helped me recover. I gained so much at the time, not least my life. But they are a reminder of what I lost at that time also.
The fireman that stood under me to break my fall and all the firemen that came to see me in hospital, the paramedics who I never really met, the amazing surgeons and wonderful nurses, if I don’t remember their names I will always remember their faces and the things they did for me. My beautiful, wonderful, amazing family and friends who were with me along the horrible journey and showed me love and laughter and helped me be build a life again and supported me. One of my uncles who said something so sweet about the scar on my wrist when he said when I find the right person who loves me they will also love my scar and it won’t matter.
I really carry these memories with me all of the time but when I see my scars I am reminded of all of the wonderful people that tried to protect me, save me and rebuild me and allow me to rebuild my life. No matter how much pain I am in, no matter how long ago it was, my scars are there to remind me of my journey and the people that helped me on the way.
If it means I will always hold those people in my heart and memories then the scars can stay :-)