I know when I became a parent, I was mystified at my daughter’s perfect skin. Not a mark or a blemish were to be found on her. This was short lived at 2 days old, without her hand mitts she nicked her face. It seemed so much bigger when she was a baby, but now 13 I can hardly even see it.
I peruse my body for scars from a couple of deep seeded sources. I endured a less than fairy tale childhood. Dear old Dad, would send me to the hospital over the years, with burn marks, and plenty of broken bones. I don’t often think about them, as I never really think about him.
My second compilation is an amalgamation of scars, are due to sports injuries and well not long ago, a trip in my flip flops that set me a throw. Why scars you ask? Well today seems just perfect. It is the day before my second surgery in a month on my leg. The scars as we know all come with a story…some we would like to surely forget, others we are proud of and wear with eternal pride. My body for no less, is a marred tapestry of scars, and incisions. I often forget how startling some are….I had my first knee reconstruction, it ended with three scars, and over 140 stitches. It was the worst I would ever receive, the doctor hacked my leg up like an inexperienced butcher. In that operation, I lost a whole side of the outside of my knee.
One day in Boston while wearing shorts, I was self-conscious of the stares of my leg. There was this one woman squirming out of her seat. Finally, she asked, “May I ask what happened to your leg.? I looked at her squarely in the eyes with complete seriousness and continued to say, “I was snorkeling off the Great Barrier Reef and was attacked by a shark. I am very grateful to be alive.” She exploded, “I knew it had to be something like that, it is so horrific I am sorry to say.” Pissed and angry I got off at the next stop, the thought of the lady in utter shock, made me smile just for a second. No, I felt not an ounce of guilt. She was rude, she stared at me, made me uncomfortable, my tiny little made up story was all for her delight and sick glory.
So today I am thinking about all kinds of scars. Ones that mark our body and also the ones inside that we hide. For surely as a human you carry such scars? I know it is a difficult subject, one too deep too personal, I don’t care to share. However I know that inside you have at least one scar from your life. I believe they are inevitable but nonetheless painful. Perhaps, one day when I feel less raw, I will blog about our scars we harbor deep within. Some are funny although not really so; they hang out on the surface and try to wreck havoc upon our personas.
Today I speak purely of the scars of our body. I look at my leg, with too many scars to actually count, and know tomorrow more will be added. This time the scars I will receive are much different than any scars I received before. For tomorrow is the second to last surgery on my leg. The one that determines the fate of my running. I have pleaded I have cried, I have gotten mad and said ‘fuck you’ to the surgeon who told me I would never run again. Neither I nor the surgeon know at this time, how much extra life he can surgically infuse into my leg. Will it just be one last race, or five years, or praying for more, do I get 10 more years on my leg? I will not know for maybe a month. I bought my fancy I can’t pronounce them running sneakers; Mizuno sneakers. They are the only ones my daughter will wear, so I dropped 300.00 dollars on a pair knowing full well that I might only have one race left. It doesn’t matter, I will run hard and do my very best-I pray its not that; one and done. I am selfish and I crave many races with my daughter.
So tomorrow at this time I hope to be in recovery, with a new set of scars that bring with them hope. If this works out like I believe it will, with the surgery and my shear determination, I will run many races in the next years with my daughter. I will covet these new scars like none of the others. I will thank them I will praise them, I will worship them everyday. The surgeon doing the operation is one of the best, he looks at the images of my leg, he doesn’t see a leg that will run again. I am out to do what I always do, send then the naysayers packing and lace up my sneakers……
BORN THIS WAY-2016