Mirrors

Mirrors. I hate them.

I avoid them as much as possible.

When most people wash their hands in a bathroom, they can't help but glance up at the mirror on the wall. Most of the time (like about 95%) I just refuse to look up. Looking in a mirror just makes me cringe. I've never been confident about my looks so why go through the agony of looking up and criticizing myself?

Then there's the rest of me.

In 1987 I had a c-section. The incision was vertical. There was a nice big scar from that.

In 1990 I had another c-section. My doctor followed the same line to make the incision. The scar was a little bit bigger.

In 2002 I had a hysterectomy. My doctor once again followed the same line. The scar was a little bigger, but then there were some complications with my incision. I had a 3"-4" section that became infected and needed to be cut open again. That part of the scar was wider than the rest.

In 2005 I had colon cancer. My surgeon not only followed the line from my previous abdominal surgeries, but extended it up a few more inches. He also cut out a hole on my left side, a few inches over from my vertical incision. The hole was big enough for my colostomy.

In 2006 I had surgery to reverse my colostomy. The good old abdominal incision was extended a little more. There is a scar from where the hole for my colostomy was stitched together. Naturally there were a few problems with that incision as it healed, so it's a little lumpy and wider and darker in a couple of places.

When we built our home we put a big mirror up in our bathroom. WHAT THE HECK WAS I THINKING?!?!?!

When I get out of the shower I can't help but glance in the mirror. I see my scars and cringe. There's a 4" scar on my left side that looks really crummy. It's at an angle. Then I have a scar that starts about 4" above my belly button and goes all the way down, and I don't think I need to be any more specific than that. There were about 60 staples in it from my last surgery, so that gives you an idea about how long it is.

Ted is wonderful about the scars. Whenever I mention them, he says such kind things and can usually make me feel a little better. He was the one who took care of all the dressing changes and cleaning of them, so he feels that he has an investment of sorts in them.

Anyway, they're long, ugly, bumpy, uneven, purplish and they're mine. I hate them. But they're here to stay. Every once in a while when I see them, I really start to feel down about them, and need to "snap out of it" and count my blessings.

After all, they are a part of who I am and what I have been through in my life.

Oh heck, maybe I should just get a huge tattoo to disguise them and get it over with.