Scars

The scars. They get to me. Each scar represents a battle, maybe more than one. Each scar represents pain. Each scar represents the unfairness. Most people will never see most of them. But I see them all. On a constant basis, I am reminded of her battles. I can't imagine the silent reminders that they are to her daily.

Ninety-nine percent of the time I can look at them and keep on with life. And then that one time comes when I look and the scars knock the wind right out of me.  Last night was one of those nights. I was changing the bandage on Kennedy's back as it was falling off. This time, the bottom layer of the bandage (that was protecting the actual incision) was loose and I got a good look at the incision. I lost my breath and tears forms immediately. Thankfully Kennedy was lying on her stomach and couldn't see my face, and thankfully I was able to pull it together till she got in the shower and I could let the tears flow.

Kennedy lost a good amount of skin during the last surgery, due to the infection. I honestly have no idea how they were able to sew her back up. She is pulled so tight, I have no idea how she moves without being in constant pain. Maybe she is, and just not admitting it. Or maybe she is and doesn't know it because she has lived most of her life in pain.

This scar ends one inch before her brain surgery scar begins. It is surrounded by other scars all over her back. One thing I realized last night was that almost every scar on her on her backside represents a life-saving surgery. Surgeries where there was no question. Surgeries that were urgent. Surgeries that were necessary. Surgeries that saved my baby's life. Inserting a titanium rod to stretch her rib cage, so her heart and her lung weren't being squeezed. Numerous rib cage stretching surgeries. Brain decompression to prevent paralysis and possibly worse. Spinal fusion to save her lungs. And although there is no scar, her T&A was considered life-saving as well.

And every scar not on her backside represents a surgery that improved my girl's quality of life. Her BAHA, which is her lifeline to the world. Chest scars in an effort to create an ear from her rib, twice. Scar tissue only remains from what should have been her own ear. Titanium bars to hold on a prosthetic ear. A mole that she hated removed. A nerve planted in her face to some day help with facial paralysis, completing her beautiful smile. And then there are the leg scars, where the facial nerve was removed (although on the back of her leg, this was quality, not life-saving).

Twenty-two times she has been scarred. Twenty-two different battles that she has fought, and won. Twenty-two reminders that life can be so unfair. Twenty-two scars that shape who she is.

They do not define her. They tell a story. They are a survivor's tale. They remind her of where she has been, but they do not dictate where she is going. They are beautiful. They are her.