Alive and Scarred

Scars – by definition, are “marks left on the skin or within body tissue where a wound, burn or sore has not healed completely and fibrous connective tissue has developed. A lasting effect of grief, fear, or other emotion left on a person’s character by a traumatic experience. A mark left on something following damage of some kind.” 

Eleven. Eleven physical scars are marked across my body in between my neck and hips. Each one forever imprinted on my skin, as a sort of tattoo, permanently altering my body. Two for the port-a-cath under my left collar bone. Two under each implant. Two across the skin over each said implant. One above my right armpit where three of my lymph nodes were removed. And four small dots, two above each set of my ribs. These show where the drains were put during my double mastectomy. They also show exactly where they were removed, but this didn’t happen during surgery. This occurred while I was awake at home, with the assistance of a nurse and a more than worried mom, holding my shaky hand. The physical scars left behind are a daily reminder that I had breast cancer. Replacing cancer infested body parts with implants. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. There are still times before hopping in a shower that I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There have been months where I’ve refused to look in the reflection. I’m still working on that.

Emotional scars, or invisible scars, on the other hand, are different but just as real and much more immense. These are what I like to refer to as “mental scars”. Defined as “long-lasting psychological impacts that stem from traumatic experiences, disappointments or profound life changes”. It comes as no surprise that these undoubtedly follow a cancer diagnosis. These scars are a little bit more complex to explain but I’ll do my best.

A mental scar is a sign of trauma. When it comes to cancer, for me anyways, each step has been traumatic. The procedures I was awake for including a core biopsy, a port placement, a clip insertion on the tumor, may all be blurry to me still, but after 8 months with my therapist, it’s evident that they have most definitely left mental scars. Having a sick brain, as well as a sick body, is not a walk in the park. As someone who has passed out from needles since I was a kid, you can bet that each injection, blood work, IV transfusion, MRI, CT, bone scan, all came with panic attacks, fainting spells, more trauma. The long-term side effects of chemotherapy, immunotherapy, and no longer being able to naturally produce cortisol in my body, along with monthly hospital visits to make sure the Olaparib is working, and that the cancer hasn’t come back yet. Come to think of it, I don’t think I would necessarily classify these as scars as they are what I face on a daily basis. They are more like open wounds and I’m just waiting for them to close and heal into scars of their own.

During all of this, there was some advice given to me that sticks out in a big way. Partly because the advice came from two people I love dearly and partly because they were highlighted in one of the journals I wrote in during my treatments. In times of doubt, when it felt as though I wasn’t making the right choice with life altering consequences or that I wasn’t doing enough to kill the cancer, my dad’s voice echoed in my head. “Every decision is the right decision at the time, just do your best”. Another came from an exceptional woman, another breast cancer survivor. She told me to “feel all your feelings and you don’t have to protect everyone else’s”. This one was great advice but very hard to take at times. You see, sometimes the mental scars get reopened without warning. The events that result in these scars get revisited in my mind, unexpectedly at times, knocking the wind out of me. To have people you love around you, who want you to survive, who do all they can with what little to no control they have, to ground you…they are a huge reason why I was able to push through these events and in turn, they became part of the story of each scar.

One thing I try to remind myself of is that scars fade. They heal. Although I don’t think the eleven on my body will ever go away completely, or the countless invisible ones, they continue to be a reminder of what my body has been capable of, what it’s survived through. I can confidently say that I will never be thankful that cancer showed up and gave me no other choice but to face it head on, but just like the scars, it has unquestionably altered who I am as a human being. Although there are days where looking at the white marks across my body results in very big emotions, I find that as the months go by, I am trying to hide them less and less. They’re part of me now. These days, it’s much easier to not sweat the small things. To take more pictures. To hug my friends more. To sing more karaoke. To laugh more. To love more. To be excited about getting married. To have more time. To still exist. To share my story – scars and all.