Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Scar tales

I got a new beauty product catalog in the mail today and, of course, found a whole bunch of lovely things that I would just die to have. (I know, I know, Christmas just ended....)
But one of the things made me think. It was an item that said it would reduce scars, with the product description saying things like "No one likes to see scars", etc.
Well, let me tell you, I've got quite a few. There's the surgery scars (which no one can really see, unless I'm naked, because even a bikini covers them), the big burn scar on my right arm, the PICC scars all over the inside of my upper arms, and then the ones I just got through life experiences (non-medical). They've never really bugged me. Seriously. Even the scar on my arm, which, while healing, is very visible, and I still get questions about it. But I figure, it's not going away. I'm not going to go all bonkers trying to cover it up, especially when it's 90 some degrees out. I'm going to wear a tank top and if people have a problem, too bad!
I was reading a fashion column in the Plain Dealer awhile back, and a woman wrote in with a problem similar to mine. She wanted to cover it up. And I'm thinking, "honey, there's no way you can cover it up all the time. Just go with it. It's part of you, and do you really want to be uncomfortable?" I've found that when it was covered with gauze or bandages or whatever, people noticed it more as opposed to when it was just there.
Now, if I ever got married, I may want a wedding dress with lace sleeves or something. But really, who knows? It doesn't bother me. I'd rather have the scars than be dead,I'll tell you that. :)

1 comment:

Scott said...

You know, maybe it's because I grew up with three older brothers, and we all had a fair amount of scarring, both from sports and from stupiditity (as well as from each other), but I always thought scars were kind of a permanent visible record of an interesting life. And proof that you'd survived those interesting times.

Top Management has a few tiny scars on her face, so small that the chillens and I are the only ones who ever get close enough to notice—and being kids, they don't notice—little scratches left by the trio of aggressively affectionate cats she grew up with. I find the scars tremendously endearing, and one of the few proofs that she is, in fact, human.

[Which doesn't stop me from getting mad at the cats for hurting my beloved, of course, even if they were created years before I met her.]

And my oldest, Max, has quite a few scars from the various surgeries she had related to the leukemia she had as a toddler. Every time I see those scars I feel a small surge of gratitude.

All of which is a long-winded way of saying there are worse things than scars: the alternative, for instance. Besides, being a guy, I always just thought scars were sorta plain ol' cool.