I am sometimes slow to understand the big picture. I was focusing on a 4 inch scar on my lower abdomen. It has distorted the shape of my belly. Actually it has distorted the way the fat in my belly lies. The fat is my fault. I did not choose the scar. It was chosen for me. It was the best choice.
I had seizured in my eighth month of pregnancy from toxemia and was transported to the hospital by ambulance. It was a frightful time for my family but I have only a tiny memory of it. I was administered a dose of Valium to help calm my body, but I had an adverse reaction to it. Thankfully a young, on-call physician knew how to medicinally counteract the affects. Yet, it was several hours before I was stabilized enough to handle an emergency caesarean delivery of our fifth child.
I have not worn a bikini since I was a teenager. No one ever sees my belly. The scar still bothered me.
I have other scars on my body. In fact, I have a scar on my face. No one notices it now. When I was 19, I broke a glass window, which I was cleaning. I bent the metal frame and the glass shattered, falling on my face. My glasses protected my eyes, but the underside of my lower lip and chin were sliced. It was ketchup red for at least a year and continued to fade until it is barely visible now.
I bravely endured the face scar. I said it added character and gave me a great story to tell. This is true of most scars. Almost everyone has a scar or two and a story to go along with the scar. I can tell lots of stories of my children’s scars. They are stories filled with adrenalin rushes, fear and sometimes adventure or just foolishness.
Many women have scars from caesarean deliveries. They are very common. Some of those scars are larger than mine. It is my scar on my body, but the story is one I was told about me. I have only two tiny memories from my son’s birth. I remember being told I was going to have a spinal so that a c-section could be done, and I remember being told I had a son with red hair. I awoke three days later.
All of this was very scary for my family. It was happening to me, but I was unaware and I was not scared. Yet I bear the scar.
My son will soon by twenty one years old. It was just a few years ago that I began to embrace and appreciate my belly scar. That scar gave me life, my own and my son’s. The only cure for toxemia is delivery. My blood pressure was too high. I was not able to endure labor, not even induced labor. A c-section was my only hope and I was not even conscience to say “yes, I want to live and want my baby to live.”
I am still not showing my belly scar to anyone, but my attitude has changed. I am thankful for that scar. It is my trophy. In addition to the scar, my belly is covered in faded stretch marks that came with my previous children. There is no shame in these things, just a beautiful story of life.