Did you ever think of the unique map that life leaves on your body in the form of scars?
There’s the mark on my knee from the cut inflicted by a savage grey metal file cabinet in 4th grade.
There’s a scar on the inside of my right elbow made by a protruding screw under an open staircase when I was playing at my Aunt Edie’s house.
Thee’s another scar under my chin from the time my friend and I were riding double on my bike. The bike had streamers on the tall handlebars and a banana seat and a big basket on front festooned with hideously lovely plastic flowers. We were doing just fine on it until we both decided to go ‘No hands!” at the same time.
Most spectacular is the scar from the surgery after falling off a horse in at the age of 33, and breaking my upper arm. Just in case you ever wondered, yes, it takes a 7 inch long incision to insert a 7 inch long plate (and 5 screws). And no, I don’t set off the alarms at the airport. But the back of the arm scars something fierce.
How about you? How have you been marked by life? Tell me an interesting story about a scar you have, and you will be my Very Interesting Person this week. Just so you know, I’ll be judging by the story telling ability, NOT by the size of your scar. You have until Tuesday evening to share your story, and as always, it’s fine to post your story on your blog as long as you leave me a link in comments.
So come on. Don’t be shy. Tell me your best scar story.
If you decide to write on your blog and share the link below, I’ll post the links here.
1. Christy’s story
2. Emily’s story
3. Edge’s story
4. Nichole’s story
5. Cheri’s story
6. Martina’s story
I have a six inch scar on my ankle from surgery seven years ago. I have always loved this scar, I am really proud of it! And that’s a cool scar you have there on your arm!
There’s a half-inch scar on my right knee. I came across it on the day I first considered my now-husband an interesting dating prospect. We were working together at a summer camp, and one Saturday a group of us drove to a large river nearby to do some rock climbing on the cliff banks. At one point during the climbing I bashed my knee against a rock, leaving a gash that bled profusely. My husband, being the camp nurse, had a first-aid kit with him and sat me down on a boulder so he could fix me up with a butterfly bandage. You know the story . . . wounded damsel in distress, brave and helpful knight . . . sparks started flying.
One month later we had our first date (delayed because of our camp commitments), six months after that we were engaged, eight months after that we were married. Ten years and three children later, I still have the scar in the center of my knee cap.
17 and invincible. Going to try body surfing in Galveston on vacation with my cousins. Not smart enough to realize the ocean carries you. Not smart enough to start way away from the piled rock divider that comes out into the ocean from the beach. Into the rocks I go, try to stand up and through the rocks my leg goes. Lots of little scars down the right leg, not so noticable now. It was awful trying to climb out of those rocks. Walking back to the hotel trying to not look like a horror movie reject with blood running down my legs (not deep enough for stitches but just enough to scar and bleed a lot). But now instead of saying I was trying body surfing and was a goofy teenager I think I will leave off the body part say I was surfing at Galveston got thrown into a pile of rocks. That sounds much cooler.
I posted the above and then started thinking that those werent my most aching, heart wrenching scars. The scar that I look in the mirror at and brings all kinds of feelings is my csection scar. The scar that shows 3 children being lifted from me. The scar that shows the loss of my darling Lyndsey because she was so small and early that God’s will was to have her with him after 3 short days with us. The scar where my Brittney was lifted out and even though I was on lots of drugs I can remember the doctor yelling “look mommy look” and holding her up over the sheet. The scar where Braden was taken again very early and my fears that ran ramput at the thought that Gods will might not be to have him with me, yet it turned out it was his will for me to have Braden with me. The scar that because of test results had to be cut open again this time not for the life of a child that I so wanted to have again but this time for a hysterectomy. This is the scar that I look at when getting out of the shower and sometimes touch to remember my Lyndsey, or the joy of having a baby, the scar I touch because I cant have any more removed from my body.
Mary,
I couldn’t resist posting about my scar story on my blog. Thanks for the opportunity!
Have a great day!
I like to think of myself as being an intelligent person, but given this story, this has not always been the case. When I was 13 or 14 years old I decided to convert a pair of jeans into shorts. The problem with this idea is that I decided to do this while still wearing the pants and by using one of those single-edged razor blades of old. Needless to say, one of the cuts I made went a little too deep – to specific, it went into my right leg and for about an inch.
Though I bled profusely, the cut must have awakened some part of my sleeping brain since I still remember looking down at my leg and saying loudly to myself “you stupid *&^((*&(*.” My brain then promptly went back to sleep, however, and I became so embarrased over my stupidity that I refused to tell anyone what I had done (until today, some 30 years later).
The scar is small, but it is very visible (at least to me). It serves as a constant reminder that I am not as smart as I might think I am.
I have a few scars on my boddy here and there but nothing like the Badge of Courage scar that my son wears on his chest everyday. You see, he was born with complex congenital heart defects and at just 26 hours old, he faced his first open heart surgery. he survivied but stuggled with life for the next month of his life until the doctor’s decided they needed to operate again. Then only one month old, he faced his 2nd open heart surgery. This helped him greatly but he still struggled with life but finally went home for the first time when he was 3 1/2 months old. At 6 months old we had to hand him over at the operating doors once again to get the 2nd stage of his repair work done. This was his 3rd open heart surgery but he breezed through it with ease this time and came home just days before Christmas. At age 4 he faced the 3rd and final stage of his repair work and his 4th but hopefully last open heart surgery. Now at 5 1/2 he wears his scar on his chest proudly like it is a Badge of Courage. I know this little guy has more courage than his mom and dad!!!
I was 19 years old and living on my own in New Orleans. I had a quarter-sized bump on my upper back about midway between my neck and shoulder, right at the top. That bump had been there for years. I had pointed it out to doctors, but they always said not to worry about it unless it caused me problems.
When I was 19, it did. It became mushy instead of firm and my right arm and hand started experiencing bouts of numbing and tingliness. I went to the doctor and was referred to a surgeon. The surgeon diagnosed it as a sebaceous cyst. Basically, it was a cyst that formed in a hair follicle. It was now causing me problems because it was infected. I went on a course of antibiotics, and we started talking surgery.
I had never needed any serious medical attention. I’d never had stitches, broken a bone, or been in a hospital since I was born. The worst things I had experienced was a bout of measles at 12 and chicken pox at 17. I was terrified. Though the doctor wanted to do outpatient surgery, I asked for general anesthesia. I didn’t think I could handle being awake during the process.
I had moved away from home when I was 18, but my mom came into town on the day of my surgery. I checked myself into the hospital the day before. The plan was to have surgery first thing in the morning and, maybe, spend one more night in the hospital before being released. I had never been so scared.
When they woke me up in the recovery room, all I could think of was how badly I needed to go to the bathroom. They got a bedpan for me, but I couldn’t go. The anesthesia was still affecting me. They finally catharized me, and it was such a relief.
My next memory is waking up in my room and realizing that I had tubes coming out. I pulled away the oxygen tube from my nose and asked what the other stuff was for. Apparently my quarter-sized lump had been growing for all those years. It had just been growing in rather than out. When the doctor made the incision, he realized that the lump was actually the size of an orange. Because it was so large, the infection wasn’t really cleared out. It was still infected at the base. They had to leave drainage tubes coming out of my incision to clear the rest of the infection. My blood pressure had also dropped to 50/20 during the surgery, so the nurses were taking my blood pressure approximately every 30 minutes–around the clock. I ended up in the hospital for 5 days. The doctor said it was a good thing I had been under anesthesia as they would have had to stop the procedure and admit me if they had used a local. That would have been much scarier. We also discovered during this process that I normally have low blood pressure and anesthesia can make it drop dangerously low. I had no other ill effects.
My scar? There is still an indentation in that part of my back where the cyst lay. It has levelled out some over the years, but it is still visible. The incisions itself is true trophy. I was very self-conscious in my 20′s because it could easily be seen. The first reaction most people have when they see it is to ask if I’ve been stabbed. It’s not neat like a normal surgical incision. I’ve always suspected that the medical student the doctor asked to be allowed to observe may have done more.
I’ve long grown past being concerned with how it looks. To me it is now just the outward badge of one more story in my life.
My c-section scar is only six weeks old, the same age as our new baby. I am still getting to know my baby and her quirks. I am still getting to know my newest scar.
The red arc on my belly will settle into the lore of my body’s other scars, someday. For now it is too fresh to be regarded as a familiar friend and I haven’t completely welcomed it’s prescence. I am still coming to terms with the way it careened into my life so totally unexpected…
But aren’t most scars unexpected? The rock that lodged in my knee at age five when a boy named Chris chased me down the greenbelt path left an unexpected gash. I was still young enough to be carried home by my mama for a dose of spray antiseptic, the biggest bandaid from the box, and lots of kisses. Now I look at my knee and the scar and realize I wouldn’t change it for all the Mederma in the world.
It marks me as a girl who once ran down a tree-lined path on a summer night.
I have had, so far, 6 surgeries on each foot in my life time. I’ll be having another one this spring/summer. To go with those surgeries I have a total of 10 scars (5 on each foot). I dislike the way my feet look- but I still wear sandals proudly!! I guet comments form time to time, mostly when I’ve got my legs crossed and wearing open shoes- or none at all. Most recently in my pilates class when she was trying to get my feet in the right position.
Other than those surgery scars from: gallbladder & just “looking.” Plus the cut on my head from my best friend’s tooth, cuts on knees from playing in rocks as kids, a huge (shaped like a hand print) burn on my thigh from when I dumped a pot of boiling water on it, and one on my right hand where my thumb connects- from a slip of a knife.
This was actually kind of fun– minus teh burn- that was HORRIBLE. I’ve never been in such pain- and it took over a month to heal.
I have a neat looking Y shaped scar on the inside of my right wrist. When I met my future husband, I was 42 and he was 47. I was thrilled to learn that he had just built a neat sailboat with a cabin. He was just finishing it and we both dreamed about our first sailing adventure. Of course, neither of us had any experience with sailing except as passengers.
Finally we launched the cute little boat into Biscayne Bay on a lovely sunny day. We managed to sail out pretty far with few mishaps, though we did have trouble keeping on the right path, because we did not understand the flag markings so we almost got rammed by other boats too many times.
Thankfully new boyfriend decided it was time to head back to the dock. It was a rather windy day which is great for sailing, if one knows how. At one point, my future hubby handed me some ropes that were connected to the sails and said something about tacking. All I know is I was supposed to keep my head down and hang on to the ropes at all cost.
I tried my darndest as the sails swung around the boat at lightning speed, barely missing the top of my head. I had my head down and my eyes shut tight but I felt the whoosh. Suddenly the ropes made deep gashes in my wrist as they were wrenched from my tight fists. I watched in horror while my blood realized there was an new opening in which to ooze from. I remember my future hubby saying, I told you to hang on to those ropes. Truly I believe we had both just barely escaped death by instant head removal. Guess he realized it too.
Obviously I married him anyway.
I was in town at my grama’s house and I wanted to learn to ride a bike cause my training wheels kept getting stuck in cracks on the road. My Aut Becky said she would help. So I put on my brand new white shoes. She started to push me as I pedaled. She got tired and went insde. So I started to ride by myself and thought I was good enough for gravel. I flew off my bike and got a huge gauge of skin torn off but it was still hanging by a little. I never cried! I went in and I told my mom and she saw my leg and went wacko. it was kinda scary watching mom. I have a huge scar on my knee from that. I know my story is kinda cheesy but it is all i got I am a vey protected child.
Is it possible to add a vote for somebody who has already submitted? Because, Kelli’s is beautiful. I have had 4 babes lifted from this belly but each has been huge, healthy and whole so my scar is one of the fondest of memories. But Kelli’s rememberances reminded me of the otherside of babies, rather the losing of babies and that is often the deepest of unseen scars. So I vote for Kelli, if I can.
So, you wanted a story. I grew up in a family of seven children who always played with our cousins Matthew and Jill. There was one day (when I was thirteen years old) that was an absolutely beautiful summer day and Matthew was over at our house playing with us. My brothers, sister, and I, along with Matt asked my mother if we could play tag inside and outside the gate. (We have a six foot chain link fence around the main part of our yard. We also have another yard on the other side of the house and the old church below our house, and the yard behind the church. Our fence had openings at the top of the yard, and at the bottom of the yard. The bottom opened into the yard behind the church.) With that explanation, we asked Mom if we could open both parts of the gate so that we would be able to run in a complete circle around the house and church. Mom told us no, and that we were not allowed behind the church anyway. So, at one point during our game, my older brother Nathanael was IT and Matt and I were running away from him down into the bottom of our yard. I saw one way out of getting it….climb over the chain link fence and run through the yard behind the church. I did it. As I started down the other side of the gate, my right wrist caught on the barb at the top of the fence, and I was suddenly hanging on the gate from my wrist. Talk about Pain!!! Of course, I hid the bloody wrist from my mother, but I also learned that disobedience has major consequences. Now, every time I look at the small scar on my wrist, exactly where my palm meets my wrist, I remember the pain and stop my disobedience immediately!
The sonogram technician looked intently at the screen. I lay quietly waiting for the results. After what felt like an eternity, he said, “Well, it’s twins.” Not funny. You see, I was not married. I also was not pregnant. I had a cyst in my uterus. Make that two cysts. The size of golf balls. My doctor said that they had to come out.
Surgery was scheduled. My doctor discussed the options with me. I could either be completely knocked out, or have an epidural with morphine for pain relief. He told me that my recovery would be quicker if I opted for the epidural. “I believe I’ll go for door number 2.” My doctor would soon regret his recommendation. It seems that under the influence of morphine, I become a musical theatre star. And not a very good one. I serenaded the operating room staff with snippets from “Hello Dolly” and “Hair.” This is heresay, as my recollection was fuzzy. I do recall my doctor saying to the anesthesiologist, “turn it up.” That was the last thing I remembered.
My cysts were removed. I was diagnosed with severe endometriosis and was told it would be unlikely I would be able to have children. So, I bear a c-section scar. Nine years after my surgery, at the age of 39, I did indeed have a baby. And I went on to have two more after that. So, I had three more epidurals. But each time I told the doctor that he should hold the morphine.
i put my story up on my blog!
When I was 11 my parents left on a trip and I stayed with my best friend for a week. She had what was considered the coolest house around because it had an unfinished basement–complete with concrete floors. We borrowed her sister’s rollerskates and each of us used one skate to zoom around the floor between the bare studs. My skate hit a chip in the concrete and I flew forward, falling face forward onto the upper edge of a metal snow shovel standing against the wall. I’d show a picture, but after being nearly impaled through the chest I’m left with a three-inch scar over my heart where the metal corner bit me.
My scar story comes from naivity rather than stupidity and it definitely isn’t anything touching like Kelli’s or Carol’s, but I thought I would share it anyway. When I was 8 years old, we were living in West Virginia and my dad who was in the military was overseas. I had (and probably still do) a great love for animals. At the time we had a couple cats and our friends that lived down the street had a little dog. One day they decided to walk the dog up to our house and planned on leaving him outside in the yard, but when they opened the door the dog bolted into the house. Well, the dog decided, as all dogs do, that it would be fun to chase after the cats. Our cats had never been around dogs so they were obviously scared. I, of course, being 8 years old, thought I was a little mother to these cats and found one of my cats in the kitchen. He was crouched in the corner and his tail was so puffy (didn’t know at the time that was not a good thing. ) I carefully leaned down to him, opened my arms, and sweetly said “Come here, its ok.” Just then the dog ran in the kitchen barking, scared the cat and the cat jumped, not into my arms, but attaching to my face. All I remember after that is my mom coming in, trying not to freak out, and “calmy” calling our Pastor who lived down the road and asking him if he could come up and drive us to the hospital. (As a side note, when my oldest daughter was 17 months old, she fell and cut her forehead — there wasn’t a lot of blood, no stitches or even a drs visit were need, but I totally freaked out, called my mom in tears, and now I realize how amazing my mom was to keep it together with what I looked like!) I also remember that the one cut above my lip was so bad that my mom kept telling me to try not to cry, because when I did it opened up more and bled more. Then I remember as the doctors/nurses were giving me stitches, they were asking me questions like “where do you live, what grade are you in,…” and thinking “Wow, they are so interested in me” (Not realizing they were trying to preoccupy an 8 year old) And then I told everyone that the getting stitches didn’t hurt but the shots did (Duh! Those were numbing me.) I ended up with 11 stitches — 6 above my lip, 1 on my left side of my forehead, 2 on the right side, and 2 in my ear. Plus I had a huge scratch that went from the inner corner of my right eye, down past my nose and down my cheek. Obviously, this could have gone in my eye so I was very fortunate. Then after a few days of missed school I went back and I had told one of my friends not to tell anyone – you know, maybe the other kids won’t notice all the funky black string that was sticking out of my face or the other scratches – but when I got to school, at the end of the hall was my whole class and that friend shouting “There she is!” Does wonders for an 8 year olds self esteem – of course I was too young to realize that 8 year old boys actually think war wounds are cool! Oh and too bad that they didn’t have the stitches that dissolve into your skin back then, because getting them removed was so painful, and I thought that nurse obviously didn’t like children! So I now have a scar above my lip – pretty much from my nose down to my lip, my 2 forehead scars just look like little freckles (or are those actually freckles, hmmm?), and my ear scar — well who ever really looks at their ears that closely?! We don’t have any pictures of me – I’m sure I asked my mom not to take any, but now I wish she would have, I could shown them and told my own personal “war” story to my children some day. Oh, and if anyone wonders, no I don’t hate cats and no we didn’t get rid of that one. When I got home from the hospital, I laid on the couch and that cat pretty much did its best to “make up” to me. And I now currently have 2 cats in the house (declawed though, I’m not taking a chance with my 2 little girls!) I did learn though to never go near a cat that has his hair standing up on his back with a puffy tail!
There is a scar on my forehead that most people probably don’t notice, but it has “marked me for life” in more ways than one.
The scar itself is not that impressive. When I was 15 years old, we were driving home on ice covered Minnesota roads and another car slipped coming over a hill, sliding right into our path. My head went partly through the windshield. (This was before airbags!) My seatbelt did keep me inside the car, thank God.
No one died, though two of the four people involved needed surgery.
For me the most significant part came after the accident, as my head was healing. I was a sophmore in high school, a time of life when the right jeans, the right hair, the right *look* was critical. And there I was, my face puffy and my eyes black. My head was partly shaved. For a while I had a big bandage on my head and then my forehead was pink and nasty looking. There was nothing really *wrong* with me, and I still had to go to school.
It might not sound like that big of a deal. However, I remember the day (almost the moment) when I decided to let go of my vanity and my anxiety about walking the halls looking like freak.
I remember thinking, “Well, I guess all my beauty is going to have to be “from a gentle and peaceful spirit,” ’cause I don’t have any other kind of beauty going for me right now!” That verse (1 Peter 3:4) came to mind many times over the next weeks, and I stopped worrying about my appearance (mostly!).
It’s been many years now since I got the scar, and it has faded to the point that it rarely gets noticed. But God used that particular injury at that particular stage of my super-self-centered adolescence to teach me a lasting lesson about vanity and the source of true beauty.
When I was around four and visiting my grandparents, I spent the night on the couch in my grandpa’s office. In the middle of the night, for no apparent reason, the shade on the window I was sleeping under fell and hit me smack on the head- I now have a small scar on my forehead. Okay, not a very interesting story- but it stands out in my mind because it hurt like crazy. Luckily it doesn’t detract at all from the many positive memories I have of visiting my relatives.
I like the ugly scar on my elbow I got from slipping ond falling on coral in Hawaii right after I warned a friend to becareful because it was slippery
Proof that I don’t listen to mine own advice and a souvenir from my days in the south pacific.
My story is up on my site. So many!
My story’s up at my site.
Remarkably I have made it through life with only one scar. A tiny little one that if I want others to see I have to point it out to them (and take off my shoe). When I was at that all independent-I-can-do-it-myself stage of a typical 2 year old I had a brand new baby brother. He was crying a hungry and I decided that I needed to bring the bottle to Mom. No one else could because they would drop it. My tiny little two year old hands did drop the bottle though and the glass bottle promptly shattered all over leaving one nice slice in my big toe. It ended up being an emergency room visit because of the glass in the cut, and I think my mom bought plastic bottles shortly there after.
I have enjoyed reading so many of these so I thought I’d share too. Having been a tomboy for much of my life, and a dancer and as much as I hate to say it a klutz I have my fair share of scars so I’m going to leave some out but you’ll hear about the good ones.
When I was 8 my sister and I were playing in Mom’s tupperware cabinet and decided it would be fun to put our bent knees into the iced tea pitchers and use them kinda like stilts and “walk” around the kitchen. Well one got stuck (suctioned) onto my knee and when I was pulling and tugging it finally gave and bashed into my left eyebrow leaving a large enough gash for my parents to take me to the ER. I can remember the Dr holding up 3 fingers and asking me how many I saw and I was frozen for some reason and couldn’t answer. (Besides he was holding the palm of his hand toward me and I could see all five of his fingers!)
When I was in 6th grade I remember my best friend was allowed to shave her legs and I wasn’t so I used my Mom’s razor once. I sliced up my right knee pretty bad but I still don’t think I’ve ever told her.
There is another scar on my left knee from when I was a freshman in high school. I was riding my bike to a friends house and while I was going up a pretty steep hill and the chain fell off and I totally ate it. When I got to my friends house and stood in her bathroom picking gravel and pieces of my jeans out of the road rash she reminded me that our winter formal was in two days and my dress was right to my knees.
My largest and most noticible scar (if I were ever to wear a bikini!LOL!) is from my emergency appendectemy in January of 1994. I was a freshman in college After finals were over I was suddenly sick with the flu. It cleared up and I went home for Christmas break feeling better. I was fine through Christmas and New Year’s and then the weekend before we were supposed to be back I was out with a friend and I just thought I was having bad “cramps” but when I went home I couldn’t sleep and when I woke up my Mom she said does it hurt right here – as she stabs her pointy finger into my lower abdomin. (Supposedly, she lightly pressed) I think my scream woke the house and just writing about it now makes me cringe. By 7 am I was in surgery and the surgeon said I was lucky it hadn’t burst.
Mary
I posted my story on my blog. Thanks for letting me share!
[...] Your scar stories were interesting, heart-touching, gasp-provoking… Thanks, everyone, for sharing a part of yourself. There were a bunch of strong contenders, but the one I am picking as my Very Interesting Person is Deanna at Doubly Blessed’s story of the cat attack. Definitely a cautionary tail! (Go read it if you haven’t already and you’ll understand why I am now resorting to puns.) Anyway, congrats, Deanna! Go say hi to her, everyone. She has some amazingly adorable babies… [...]
My story is up on my site
Ok I think my scar story may be a bit just a bit more weirder (dont worry I am not trying to steal your prize Deanna!)
I have a very small perfect circle scar on my right cheek. You almost cant even see it (it doesn’t really show up in pictures) anyway, when I was about 10 I dont know what I was thinking but I got a hold of one of those small perfume sample vials and I was calling myself playing scientist. I put the vial on lightbulb and for some weird reason that I dont even know of 20 years later, I stuck the vial on my cheek and it burned me! To this day my mom asks me why I did it and I have no idea why!
I have a very strange scar story. I have a very small perfect circle scar on my right cheek. You almost cant even see it (it doesn’t really show up in pictures) anyway, when I was about 10 I dont know what I was thinking but I got a hold of one of those small perfume sample vials and I was calling myself playing scientist. I put the vial on lightbulb and for some weird reason that I dont even know of 20 years later, I stuck the vial on my cheek and it burned me! To this day my mom asks me why I did it and I have no idea why!
I have two lovely scars on the palms of my hands from carpal tunnel release surgery that I had about 2 yrs ago. They are fine and white now and have 3 barely visible mini horizontal lines along each from the stitches. The surgery improved one wrist, and made no difference in the other, which has worsened over time. These are the scars that I am free from having to hide, or hide from.
The other scars are more emotional in essence. They are mostly on my arms, but pretty much run from my neck to my knees. Cuts and burns in an assortment of patterns and random etchings. These are the scars that are hidden away and not talked about. I put these scars there when I was in emotional pain and incapable of feeling any physical pain at all. I haven’t self-mutilated in a couple of years now, even though the temptation surfaces when I feel like I am beginning to come-apart-at-the-seams. My scars are reassuring, in a way, proof of my pain, silent witness to my experience. I cannot ultimately hide from myself.
i got kiked by a horse it really hurt and i have a big scar on my left leg i had to get 6 stitchs and needles and i was only 12 years old. i was on holiday when this happened in the lakes. I’m not 13 and i have had nearly everything done to my scar. i have a problem with needles and sewing now lolums. Everytime i see something like that i faint :S But you can overcome these and i have got a fear of horses now buh im trying to overcome them .
I have a lot of scars, but a few stand out more than others.
As a young kid, i was abused and as a result I have 10 or so large scars that lace across my stomach. They stretch all the way around and onto my back, and they vary in width. I am incredibly self-conscious about them, and it makes bathing-suits and locker rooms my worst nightmare now… but i’ll get over it eventually im sure:)
I also sleep walk terribly, and one night i went sleepwalking off my deck…that didn’t end well at all. Roughly 100 stitches later, my feet are sewn back together, ad the scars are almost gone. Yay!
Finally, last but certainly not least, I have a scar on my arm from when i got attacked with a knife(childhood again). It’s pretty massive, and it’s raised and a bright red color. I have a matching one on my right calf from being stabbed in the leg, it went down an inch and a half and some glass slivers got embedded down in it so it healed funny:P Also on my right leg i have a scar stretching from my ankle to my knee that is pretty crazy…
I have two small scars on my knee from an arthroscopic meniscus operation. I hate them and often wish I were dead when I see them. I had them over 4 years now and I can’t get used to them. Why can’t my crappy body heal two short incisions? Why can’t stupid medicine devise a way not to mark me for life? After these scars I really hate my body.
I have a scar on my chin from jumping onto the back of a pickup truck the first day of third grade and then jumping off. The truck was going about 20 miles an hour and the ground swept out from under my feet and I landed on my chin.
More scar stories on my blog: http://prattman.com/?tag=scars
i am 14 years old and i get called scar face alot when i am at school.I have a scar on my face from where i got attacked by a staffordshire bull terrier but now i have a problem with getting my picture taken or if people stare at me i get really upset.
i know how you feel. i have a very bad looking scar on my face above my right eye. i feel disgusted by it and i have a lot of problems with myself and showing my face to anyone i constatnly cover it and cut my hair to cover it;. when i was in school , elementry school i got made fun of every day and i would go home crying almost every single day.
Hi, I’m doing a project for art school on scar stories. If anyone would like to be a part of this project please e-mail me at scarproject293@yahoo.com
I would love to hear your stories, and if you have a picture of the scar that would help me out too!
Thanks!