Scarred

There is a scar on my hip and another on my thigh. One tells the beginning of the story and the other the story, thus far.

The scar on my hip has been part of my physicality for as long as I can remember. It is a thick and ugly seam that snakes from the coccyx, around my hip, to the front of my groin. Even today 50 years after the op, it protrudes well above skin level. Exposed to the sun, the scar burns strangely, bright pink or purple, never brown or in my case light honey.

The second scar runs down my hip and thigh, in a straight and precise line.

I have never seen this scar.

I have never seen this scar, though I’ve massaged and manipulated the glutinous tissue many times as I was instructed. The space around it never feels like part of me. Even now, 1 year after it was made, the flesh around and under it is numb in places and like jelly in others. Mine, but not mine.

I have never seen this scar. And this is the key to all of this, my inability to look at it. I am not blind. I do not have a visual impairment, and yet. And yet I am unable to look at it. Of course I could create excuses - I haven’t the time: I’m wearing long trousers: it’s too cold look at my legs. But there is more to it than time, trousers or cold. It is my subconscious. it reels from it, the scar, and without it’s permission I seem unable to face the sight of the wound, neither in the shower, nor in the mirror or even while sitting on the toilet. It is a part of me that I’m not allowed to meet, know or accept, And for fear of being Freudian and dark, for me I find this fascinating on an academic level. For with a history such as mine, how much of my life has been blanked by the might of my sub- conscious?

I was born with a congenital hip dysplasia on the left size. This is normally, easily corrected in a new-born, but in my case went unnoticed and undiagnosed until I was 20 months. The displacement was bad and unattended had caused acute malformation. This was the late 60’s and in those days, little could be done. I would be disabled. I would require many ops in my life to alleviate the pain, which would get progressively worse. Non of them would be corrective. If I walked it would be with a serious limp and the knock on affects were expected.

And that was all there was to it.

We were living in Barranquilla, Colombia at the time. My father, a merchant banker, had just received the devastating news, when he needed to fly to the States on business. It was March 1969.

That flight would be my most extraordinary life changer. Seated next to him on the plane was a Canadian in his late 40’s by the name of Robert Salter. Somewhere on the trip, he revealed that he was an orthopaedic surgeon whose speciality was paediatric anomalies. He was very interested in my predicament and if my father was happy to send all the info to his office in Toronto, he would review my case.

On my 2nd birthday, i was wheeled into surgery for an op that would change the future of my life. i had spent the 2 preceding weeks in traction and a further 3 months afterwards plastered from chest to toe. But I would walk normally, run and even birth my children naturally and with no intervention.

Years late I discovered that Robert Salter was somewhat of a pioneering hero in the medical world, particularly with children, so much so that my son, a vet, knew his work through lectures at university.

And so to the scar.

The one I am unable to look at.

The remodelled Salter hip, grafted from the bone on my back, shaped and reshaped …. eventually wore out.

Arthritis kicked in and it was aggressive. In less than a year I was in terrific pain and I was unable to walk unaided. My gait was profound and I realised, probably, for the first time in my life, really, how my life thus far had been shaped thanks to a flight to the US and a chance meeting of one Robert salter. I would never have played the sports I loved, the gymnastics, the swimming, the lacrosse, nor gone dancing with my friends. I would likely or not, gone to a special school. And as such never met my husband or for that matter been able to be a mother.

It was a shocking revelation. I had a short and painful idea of what life would have been. one of the worst things was the affect I had on people and consequently my place in the world. Some would look away, afraid to meet my eye, some talked around me, as if i was mentally deficient and would speak to my husband instead. “Will she need a disabled toilet?” he was asked more than once. Or there were those who deliberately pushed in front of me on the bus so they could sit down, clearly understanding that I could hardly walk.

That was a dark and wretched year. I had to forgo my most favourite things, travelling, walking, sculpting. I learnt who my real friends were and I met some beautiful souls who liked me for who i was now, despite my mood being at one of its lowest.

My op was on 27th November 2019, strangely, my brothers birthday. And once again my life has been turned around thanks to another orthopaedic surgeon. I am fully mobile and have returned to a full and active life. The pain has left me, thank goodness.

My husband tells me that my scar is disappearing and will be hard to trace next year.

But i know it is there, despite having never seen it.

It tells it’s story

My story.

Why I can’t look at it, is in that story.

Maybe it’s the fear of that other life.

The life that could have been mine, but for a flight to the US and a chance meeting of a man named Robert Salter.

---

PS

I've had some fascinating responses to this story and I've been grateful for the interest it has generated. I was particularly interested in this email which I will share here

Dear Dawn

I really want to say how touched I was by your writing and your sharing something so personal and difficult. I find writing is a route inward to our true emotions, battles and triumphs! With a psychology background, work and a life-long interest in human nature I just love being able to listen to and/or read people's stories. 

I slipped and fell on a rock on an idyllic Greek island in July 2019 and am only just starting to walk without my Trendelenburg gait being so obvious!! I have had lots of physiotherapy and now swim 3 times a week to strengthen the thigh muscles so I'm doing well.

Obviously, the trip back to Athens on the ferry and emergency surgery in a Greek state hospital are things best not remembered! We have a house here in Athens so my husband looked after me and I had visitors too, so I was not alone, thank goodness.

It took me probably a good two months before I dared to look at the scar and of course I had to massage it (which I was very hesitant about!) and actually, being objective about things, it is a decent scar...a thin line which is now less red and raised and is a part of me. I use 50 factor suncream on it in the sun but all in all it's fine. It is hardly noticeable.

I'm sure your scar is at least like mine and perhaps even nicer, because it was done in the UK! 

I was wondering, if I may be so bold as to put this forward, and of course you may have already considered it, but perhaps the not wanting to look at your new scar is linked to your old scar issues... the pain and trauma you must have gone through as a two-year old child and perhaps body image issues as a young girl/teenager....perhaps a type of journal entry or poems with you writing as a teenager might help you deal with those issues from the past...I can promise you that your new scar is nothing compared to what I envisaged from your description of your old scar. That is the scar that has to be dealt with, in order for you to accept the new one and to feel comfortable with it.

I really hope I am not overstepping the mark but all is said in good faith and trust and understanding.

There is a writer called Katie Piper. You may have heard of her...she was badly scarred by her boyfriend in an acid attack...I have not read anything of hers but my daughter read something of hers to help my 15 year-old grand-daughter who has a badly scarred ankle since she was 6 years old from a bicycle accident and just had revision surgery last November and will have another operation this December to try to improve it. Hence, my thoughts of you as a teenage girl. 

As for gaining our confidence in writing, our group is really great and I so look forward to our meetings and analysing stories and trying to use the techniques in our own writing. Step by step we all gain confidence...you are not alone in hesitating to share something you wrote. I also feel like that, believe me! But then I think that is what we have come together for, so go for it!!

Christos the Orthodox monk is growing in character thank you....in my head at the moment...not on paper! 

When my story is finished (it's called 'The Fall') I would like you, Dawn, to be the first to edit/proof-read it (or whatever one does when one has finished writing a piece!)...it has to do with my fall and scar and his life as a monk.....

Well, I hope I haven't tired you with my long email...take care and see you next Wednesday and/or Saturday!

Warm regards

Vanessa