SCARRED UP GENERATION: 2 SIDES TO EVERY STORY. | Salma's Scarbook

Chloe: My Side Of The story

Being as young as I were when I was given the gift of my scar, it took me a few years to realise that it wasn’t ‘normal’. I would like to ask you, what is the definition of normal exactly? But when I did realise that it wasn’t ‘normal’ as it were to have a gash down the middle of your chest, I was proud to be different in Primary School, telling my friends that I had “a poorly heart”. Then, as I grew older, I caused me great distress that it were so different. 

I was given a fairly good roll in my P7 Christmas play, but then the teacher took it away “I don’t want to cause you any unneeded stress” were her words. I hated the thought of this, but who was I to tell a teacher?

I used to sit in the Children’s hospital waiting for my consultation. Never feeling the need to overly hide my scar, I would have it on show. Parents of younger children would look at me, then my scar, then to my mum and dad, giving them a sympathetic look. Mum would smile back. I couldn’t quite understand why other parents were sympathetic towards my family and me, as I knew exactly what their children were going to go through. I have been through it and survived, no need for sympathy there, mu, dad and I knew what they were in for and the distress what O.H.S (Open Heart Surgery) had in store. What really got to me was the amount of young babies that were there. And this was Just in the cardiology outpatients department. There are tons of babies, from just a few weeks old going through the same procedure of an E.C.G, Echo and consultation. All that I could think was these poor babies have no idea whats going on. I just wanted to hug them. It seemed so unfair.

After my second O.H.S I became very aware of  the implications of what my scar had to offer. I was unable to go shopping without people looking. I could tell by facial expressions alone, no one had to say anything. Most never even made eye contact with me, they seemed unable to look me in the eye, this made it worse. I never wanted sympathy but I never wanted anyone to avoid looking at me as if I had a disease and if they looked into my eyes they would catch it.

My sister once said “Chloe, I’m gunna crack up. Everyone keeps looking at your boobs and down your top. Like F**k sake!” It was then that I told her “Don’t be silly. Its my scar they’re looking at, sure my top isn’t low.” “Well they should mind their own business.” Was her reply.

It really hit home that day because although I always knew that my scar caused attraction, but saying it out loud, and having someone else pointing it out was daunting. I started covering it up. I tried a lot of oils from the chemists and various make up products specialized for scar tissue although nothing worked for helping the appearance of my scar other than the make up. I used this for special occasions, but as u can imagine, so far through the day it wore off. Nothing seemed to work and so I considered a skin graph through the NHS as I knew this was a possibility. After some thought I realised there would be no point going through surgery for a skin graph and what not as I have to have my scar re opened and it would cause more bother than anything else.

As I matured, I thought f**k it, I’m not hiding nothing for no one. If its warm, I’ll wear whatever top I like to wear, if people don’t like it then they shouldn’t look at it, I have nothing to be ashamed off, I have something to be proud of! If not for my scar I wouldn’t have the opportunity to explain all of this in my blogs and feel this pride for how I have lived through more than most people can deal with. Therefore, I learned to live with my scar with confidence. I grew to realise that it is a part of me. I wouldn’t remove a finger or my arm so why would I remove my scar?? I have grown to love my scar as I have matured, the same as you would love a member of family or a new friend. I wouldn’t change it for the world. It is who I am. I have no birth marks that distinguish me to other people but I have my own mark, one that has a whole story behind it.  My family always told me to be proud of my scar, but I think it takes an  “outsider” to tell me this for me to think “You know what, you’re right!” I now wear my scar with more pride than ever, also, thanks so much to our angel Donna and the Amazing Salma who have also shown me that although my scar can be shocking to most people, it will never be shocking to the important people  . I have received a little hate mail considering my scar and it hurt to read it to begin with but when I opened up and told a dear friend, The lovely Salma*, she told me that she had also received awful comments due to living with both a Heart Condition and her scar, that’s when I decided to add a little more to a previous blog of mine and I have to say, the support was amazing, I would like to thank every one for their support in this way.

Today, Living with my scar is me. I am proud of myself for going through and dealing with what I was able to deal with because there are few people who would have been able to. 

Salma’s side of the the story:

The most common thought associated with having any form of life saving and changing surgery is ‘the Scarring/Scars’ that r left behind. People don’t want to be blunt in words about how horrifying it must have be to live with ‘it’. Well that would just be suicidal (to them) whether you’ve had an operation as I have had or the gorgeous *Chloe* has had. When I say anything about having the procedure most of the responses have been ok because I have felt comfortable talking about it but in the past this wasn’t so. Most people that I would talk to about ‘the scarring’ would not dare say anything but in my opinion they didn’t have to, there look just gave it all away of screwed faced repulsion. I’ve grown up since then and now it’s their own insecurities and ignorance against CHD and transplantation that makes them react in such a way. The frustrating thing then though would be they’d never tried to hide their disgust from me, just because words weren’t giving them away it was fine and dandy.

Wasn’t it?

But I could see there facial expression.

It spoke louder than any words strung together to make a sentence.

All I could think is that I know exactly what you’re thinking because I’ve thought the same.

For the initial first weeks after the transplant me and my family had all been on eggshells hoping that everything would go smoothly. You see our family has a habit of being hit with a lot of bad luck. So sitting in clinic (at the hospital) to check all was ok I started to look at all the people walking by, a sea of people and me amongst them feeling quite inadequate in this position that I’d been placed in. I noticed that a lot of the people (women especially) wore tops that showed what looked like to me at the time a pink candle wax effect like pigment poking out of their chests. And to be honest it horrified me. My first reaction of thought to this as a month old tranny (a name I refused to associate with myself) was ‘How can they walk like that? Showing ‘it’ to the world?’ I’d tightened my coat over the top half of my body. I think a lot of my insecurities started at this point about my body image and this revelation had just taken me over the edge. I think about this scenario and now think that I was jealous, jealous that these people had the confidence at just accepting and embracing there scars.

But the truth is these thoughts have cursed me ever since.

I’d become increasingly panicked by the scar and the mark that it had left on my skin. I began to find ways of eliminating this ghastly scarring on my chest. It didn’t help matters that I scar very easily. And so began my journey into trying different methods to try and get rid of ‘it’. Out of sight and mind I guess. At first I tried being ignorant toward the scar, not acknowledging it or anything to myself anyway. When I’s explain all the scaring to my mom my brain would switch off and id have no feeling towards the scar, I’d just explain what it all was in medical terms because that’s all it was, explaining it that way was me separating ‘me’ from the scar and I think now to what had happened surrounding ‘it’ because that’s what the scar represented at the time, all the bad things that happened in a space of 1 ½ years. I treated ‘it’ like it was something outside me and that was my way of dealing with it. And then it was not looking at ‘it’ avoiding eye contact was vital because then thoughts would conjure up and this would upset me to the point of no return. When looking in the mirror, my eyes would stay on my face and go no further. But me still not being satisfied with just being ignorance I decided to take matters into my own hands. Looking at others forms of treatment to cure ‘this thing’ that was taking over my life.  I sort comfort from ads promising that scarring would vanish with the use of their oils creams etc. until I found just the cure! The answer to all my insecurities to be diminished, a certain oil which I won’t write down because of copyright and such like! So I promised myself every night without fail (well some nights mind!) I’d get the potion as it were. I’d get the bottle, pour it on my hand as if it was liquidised gold and smother it onto the scar. Two months on and to my disappointment it didn’t work, my thoughts were what a waste! Thinking that all my hopes had been dashed, I had cursed myself and now I had to live with it. I don’t think all the talk in the whole world would have changed my mind, I was stuck looking as I thought as a freak forever. So then one day chatting to a friend, she’d make a comment as frivolously said

“If I had a scar I just wouldn’t feel comfortable with it”.

This made me feel a little hurt and then angry after the conversation, I looked at my scar stroked it and noticed how soft it was. It was hot in the house and the internal stitches where the scarring is on my chest started to sting (this is actually a little but painful I have to say). Putting my hand over my chest trying to soothe the scar of the pain as a mother would to a baby the pain subsided. Looking over the dresser at the ‘potion’ picked it up almost feeling guilty of the hope that I put into this little bottle. Staring at it I thought

“I’d rather have a scar that symbolises everything I went through than there be no scaring at all.”