I remember a friend telling me she loved her scars because it made her feel tough. My most recent scar makes me feel anything but. The morning I burned my forearm on my iron I was reminded of how clumsy I truly am. Actually, I think most of my scars showcase my gawkiness.
There are the knee and opposite elbow scars from my rollerblading fiasco. A little bit of advice for fellow bladers is to roll right over a snake on a path. Trying to avoid it only ends in a tangle of arms, legs, blades and gravel. After a stranger looks you in the eye to ensure you don't have a concussion, you get the pleasure of rollerblading to the car with blood dripping wounds. Living through the cleaning and healing process made me feel tough but the fall reminded me of my awkwardness.
While working at a flower shop I cut my knuckle with scissors. I received only three stitches but the bigger scar was the humiliation of freaking out in front of the customers as my blood dripped on to their pussy willows. I'm still confused as to how my knuckle got in the way.
The oldest scar that I can remember is the one I obtained at a girl's camp over 14 years ago. It was the worst camp ever as it rained non-stop. I think I kept my rain gear on from sunrise to sunset. The tents kept getting flooded and the weather didn't allow for much except whittling. The camp nurse felt very uncomfortable that we all had pocket knives. My 14 year old mind thought she was crazy as what could possibly happen with a measly Swiss army knife and wood? I found the answer during our first aid training. We were asked to put our knives away and I happened to put mine away on my thumb. I looked down at the deep gash and knew it wasn't something I could solve on my own. As the shock set in, my voice rose in panic. When the nurse figured out what was going on, she decided my real life wound would make a great demonstration. She set me in the middle of the circle and began to explain that deep cuts need pressure and elevation. After yelling at her to get me out of there, I was taken to a van, given butterfly stitches and a blanket to help with my shock. Several days later a chunk of skin fell off with a permanent reminder of my idiocy.
I have come to understand that many of people have scars due to unfortunate incidents, surgeries or sheer toughness. If only I could be so lucky... or careful.
Christmas in Canada
1 year ago