scars

I do not even know where to begin or what to think right now.  Without providing too much information, I have been having some health issues related to my c-section.  I cannot believe sixteen months after my surgery, I am still having issues.  I thought it was just a quick six week recovery.  It did not feel like a quick recovery at the time.  The six weeks were incredibly painful and limited my ability to do many things.  drive, lift, be intimate, even hold and hug the kids sometimes.  My incision was messier, more painful than most because of the emergent way it occured.  I was black and blue, bruised for months.  My stomach was an ugly sight that almost looked alien.  Black, blue, purple with staples in the middle.  Eww!  Not to mention all of the emotional trauma that came along with this emergency surgery, the loss of control, of bonding, of dignity.  The inability to nurse or cuddle or even see or greet my child was devestating in itself.
 I hate my scar, I dont wear it with pride.  I cringe when I see it because of the memories it makes me recall.  The chaos and the fear of that day, the panicked rush to save us, my baby and I, was of most importance obviously.  But in the rush common courtesy and decency was denied.  My clothes were ripped and cut off of me quickly without regard for my comfort or modesty.  It was in fact frightening to me, I was not prepared to have my clothes torn quickly, my nakedness exposed to a room full of people.  My arms were tied to the table, quickly without warning or preparation, my legs as well.  I wanted to ask them to slow down, wait a minute, calm order, not chaotic mess.  The room was so loud and bright, I felt exposed, cold, scared.  The room was also full of young doctors, medical students, interns, residents: all in a panic, without composure.  How could I feel any semblance of peace or trust in what was about to happen to me.  I was placing my life and my baby's life in the hands of nervous,panicked amateurs.  I do remember one voice of calm in the craziness of those moments.  That voice screamed, "Shut up!"  He was my anestheisiologist and as he began to make his incision, I cried out because I could feel the cutting.  He realized my anesthesia had not set in and decided to put me completely under.  He acknowledged me, he looked into my eyes, he informed me of what he was going to do next.  His was the last voice I heard before I drifted off in a medicine-induced sleep.  I had been repeating the phrase, "Please Jesus'  over and over and he let me know he would be praying as he worked for me.  It was the sweetest moment of my birth.  Not the moment when I met my son because that didnt occur until the next day.  Not the moment when Jason and I shared in the joy of becoming parents once again, that also did not happen until the next morning.  A kind doctor, a voice in the calm, is the most poignant memory of my labor because all the other moments were lost due to an emergency c-section and a very sick baby. 

I didnt look at my scar for four days.  It was all taped up anyway, I could not have seen it.  But I did not purposefully look down until four days after my surgery while standing in the shower for the first time.  I was weak from blood loss and major surgery.  I could barely stand.  The shower was tiny.  Jason could not fit inside with me to help me stand.  He stood guard, in the place of the curtain, in case I fell.  I showered with my front away from him.  The first modesty I have ever felt in front of him probably.  I was ashamed and disgusted by my body, by it's "failure."  I remember looking down and seeing my abdomen purple, it stood out because I am so very pale.  I remember as I dressed in a fresh hospital gown, I braved a look in the mirror at my scar.  I made Jason turn away.  I could not tell much because of the bandages, but what I saw made me nauseous.  My nice pretty belly was now all jagged and stapled.  It looked like something out of a horror movie. 

I have since been informed that my bruising was due to the extreme force and hurry of Caleb's removal from my body.  They needed to push down and rearrange things in order to get him out.  My surgeon performed her first emergency c-section on me.  Lucky me.  It is no straight line, no thin line, no small incision.  It goes from my groin to my belly button.  I no longer care about 'innies' or 'outies.'  I have a scar that stands out much more than that.  It has not faded over time, like other scars.  My scar has turned a shade of purple, glaringly obvious against my paleness. 
My husband is gracious and calls it a badge of courage and honor.  He is thankful the scar exists because the surgery saved the lives of his wife and son.  I can echo the thankfullness, nothing is more precious than life.  But I struggle with more than vanity.  I struggle with memories, a vivid reminder of a traumatic time in my life.  I also struggle with scar tissue and pain.  I have learned over the last two weeks that my surgery has damaged my uterus severely.  My c-section surgery has created the need for another surgery, a hysterectomy.  It is something I am still processing.  Two surgeries I never thought I would need. 
The hysterectomy will alleviate my pain and make life bearable and easier.  I cannot do hormone treatments because of the risks associated with clotting disorders.  I cannot live a life on painkillers, I refuse to live fuzzy or in pain.  But the surgery seems so final and a lasting insult.  I no longer wish to bear children, I no longer wish to birth more children.  I am only 32 though, a hysterectomy seems so strange at 32.  I am also not sure I can willingly go under the knife.  My last surgery was so traumatic and stressful.  I have yet to schedule the surgery.  I cannot imagine my kids' reaction or how I will manage with recovery.  I am not ready for it to be a reality.  My poor body.

I am hesistant about posting this one.  I am trying to live my life in the open.  To conceal a huge part of my struggle and my life feels dishonest or misleading.  I feel exposed in sharing but at least I have control over the exposure.  I am still crying out, "Please Jesus."  I am not sharing for sympathy or discussion on the evils of c-sections.  I think I am writing for awareness, self awareness and to provide insight to others about the reality of birth trauma. 
I havent scheduled my surgery yet in part because of fear or a refusal to accept reality.  I also havent scheduled because I decided to take some time to pray, to specifically ask God to help me.