I Look Like A Science Experiment
As I looked in the mirror today, it reflected the reality of my time under the bright lights and sharp instruments. I now have two incisions on the sides of my torso that go horizontally about 4” in length. Then another 3” cut above the left incision under my left arm pit to help my surgeon guide my latissimus dorsi muscle from my back, under my arm and spread over my left breast to be attached near the sternum. Also picture this: just below my left shoulder blade, a drawing of an eye – a 5” oblong shape with an iris in the middle. This was a template used to guide the surgeon’s cut of the circular iris in order to use it as a skin graft to be placed on the left breast where the previous site had failed. The rest of the inner eye was removed to create a clean site to close the 5” wound. Each breast has 4” vertical scars, with the left breast being interrupted by a 2” circular skin graft. In addition, I have four small scars, created by exit drainage tubes placed within my body to drain fluids created by trauma to the body from such surgical intrusions. Each tube is pulled as the fluid levels lessen and, currently, I have one that drains the excess from the back.
I saw my surgeon today for the first time since I left the hospital a week ago. She was able to remove the frontal tube that wrapped a good 12” to 18” of tubing through my chest area. Just a quick pull, “Ouch!”and it was done. It was interesting to see the look on my mother-in-law’s face when the dressings were removed to reveal my scarred body. I couldn’t quite discern whether the look on her face was one of shock or that she was simply stunned by the unexpected. You know…the expression you might have if you happened to be the first to arrive upon the site of a wreck. It was good that she was only able to see the scars on the breast areas and nothing really of the sides or the back wounds.
I actually think I look pretty good considering all that has taken place over time with my challenging closures. Doctor Z. has more work to do before they are considered beautiful (it’s all a work in progress) but, I know I’m one of the lucky ones. If nothing more could be done and I was left with these scars for the rest of my mortal life my Steve would still love me and always see me as beautiful. My heart aches for those women who are, or will be where I am now and not have such unconditional love from those who matter. On one of my previous visits, my doctor had mentioned that some of her patients had to deal with spouses/boyfriends/or significant others who couldn’t see beauty in their women’s bodies anymore (even after the complete reconstructions). To those individuals I just want to say here and now—-“You are the broken people, and my sadness goes deep for you because our scars are superficial while yours are seared into your hearts.”
I know in my future journeys I’ll comfort some who will be dealing with rejection and feelings of ugliness. My prayer is that I might be able to help even if it be but one of you. Hoping you will see the deeper beauty your soul carries as the armor that protected it reflects the scars from a battle that you courageously fought.
*** *** ***
A few years back I had placed an entry in my journal that speaks so metaphorically about this matter that I hope you choose to read on for just a few brief words more to walk this journey with me:
October 19, 2006
STEP LIGHTLY
Today I walked the cobblestone streets of Old Salem. This North Carolina town’s charm of years gone-by was silhouetted in the ambers and brilliant crimsons adorning the abundant Maple and Oak trees. Their leaves crowded the walkways with a full brilliance that took me back to my childhood; a more carefree time. I loved the sound of the leaves rustling beneath my feet.
Because I’m a transplant to Southern California, I don’t have many opportunities to experience the performance of Fall as she readies the earth for Winter. What an elation it is to be here in the Southeast as the first act plays through. I searched for the perfect leaf to place within these pages and found much more. So many. . . all different. . ..all unique. Some tattered and torn, yet others appeared to be untouched by nature’s wrath. As I kicked the tread of my shoes through the cornucopia of color, the leaves took flight with their entire wonderful array, only to float back to earth and find new ground. Now, before me, lay a whole new palette to gaze upon in my search for the perfect leaf. Two, three, ten, twelve. . . . I discovered, in a short period of time, that none had escaped the hardships of their environment. The perfect leaf was definitely not easily found. Well, at least none within my grasp. As I stepped back and peered upon the tree from which they fell, I saw a brilliant bouquet. Oh sure, there must be one that isn’t cut or broken! One that hasn’t been exposed to hardships. But, is that really perfection?
I know it is through our own challenges that we can find the true self. How we as individuals handle our own harsh environment is what brings us closer to or further away from perfection. This, in most cases, won’t be visible to the human eye. Yet, those sensitive to the human heart can see much deeper that which is real. And honestly, what is most important is the inner beauty. The measure of a man (or in this case, a woman) should never be judged by “his/her” worn-torn face, his unkempt self, or the scars that he bears. We don’t know where the wind has tossed him, or, for that matter, under whose feet he has been trod. So, step lightly my friends, when you walk your path.