I wrote a post over a year ago now about learning to wear my scar across my throat with pride. That my scar is a positive reminder that I’m a survivor of all the health issues. That I’m 100% healthy. That in the grand scheme of things it could have been a lot worse and the fact that I have a scar that’s a couple of inches long to show for it, is actually a blessing in itself. Especially as it was operated on twice to get it to look as it does now.
I’ve grown so used to my scar that I barely register it, apart from the odd occasion I get hot and it starts to itch or I drink something really fizzy and the feeling of the bubbles moving down my throat pauses briefly while moving over all the nerve damage.
My scar is a reminder of a beautiful success story. My success story. It reminds me how strong I can be when faced with uncertainty, constant hospital appointments, procedures and poking and prodding.
I was one of the lucky ones. My tumour was benign and whipped right off my thyroid, leaving me with half a thyroid to play with.
If anyone asks, I’ll happily tell my story. I can still vividly recall the highs and lows of the process. The mass growing rapidly and pushing on my wind pipe, meaning that my mum and I spent one New Year’s Eve in hospital with the consultants thinking it was just a cyst that could be drained. One panic attack, negative test and an even more swollen throat later, I remember being as high as kite on painkillers while we waited on instructions for the next step.
I can also remember the feeling of dread when we went to hear those all important test results about the tumour. My mum was my rock through that time and sat patiently with me in the hospital cafe, waiting for my appointment. Luckily we bumped into our consultant early. Upon seeing our faces, she smiled and told us we had nothing to worry about. After our official appointment, we jumped in the car and drove to Portsmouth for a shopping trip to celebrate, crying tears of relief on the way with only a couple of steroid injections left to help speed up the healing process.
One of my favourite memories though was some advice my consultant gave me when we finally parted ways. She told me that as I’m a hypertrophic healer, meaning my scars will always heal with lumps and bumps, that I should never get a face lift. Ever.
I am way past caring how it looks and applying special scar creams. I treat it exactly the same as the rest of my face, moisturising and applying serum as I would normally. If that helps great, if it doesn’t, so what.
I’ve come an incredibly long way both with my health, body confidence and general attitude. I no longer care what people think or what people say. I’m happy just the way I am. And if you have a scar, something that sets you apart from someone else, something that makes your story all the more interesting, then I’d encourage you to bravely share it. Trust me when I say you’ll feel better about it. I know I do.
“…Sporting these scars is something of an honour. To try to rub them out is like trying to erase my history.”
Got a story to share? Write it with pride below. I salute you.