I’ve had my share of hospital visits, ambulance rides, ER visits. I’ve had my sternum cracked, vocal cords paralyzed, blood pumped in tubes and out through a machine… I have scars.
I’ll be strolling around Micheals or Marshall’s and catch roaming eyes wandering at my chest. People stare a lot. My scars teach me that my story/testimony is on display for the world to see. You can literally look and tell I’ve been through some shit. Although I do not use a cane, I struggle to walk sometimes. I wear glasses but still can’t see clearly most days. I don’t look like a heart patient or person with an autoimmune disease. But hey! I am and I don’t mind the looks now. I’m actually hoping you’ll ask what “this scar” is all about. I’m happy about sharing my story.
Every mark on my body has a story that comes along with it.
On my neck, I have this circular mark. It’s where my first vascular catheter was placed.
On my arm, I have bruises where the steroids caused my skin to tear and thin.
The same thing is on my thighs and hips.
Look at my arms and you’ll find marks where I’ve had nurses miss or blow my veins.
And down the center of my chest, I have my “lifeline”. The thymectomy scar.
…you guys get the point.
My scars tell my story and motivate me every morning to make my life matter.
For My Fellow Chronic Illness Bloggers:
What lessons have your scars taught you? What’s your story? I’m listening… Make sure to hashtag #MyScarsandAll #AshleysAnatomy