SCARS

Someday, I think, we’ll be able to compare scars.

Scars - the marks of injury, the remembrance of wounds, the very etching on our skin of something that was not as it should be.

My boys and I are forming scars at this very minute. Mine a small line across the front side of my neck, a surgeon’s access point to the repair of a failing spine. On my oldest son a large ‘V’ is cementing itself on his left shin, a bone-exposing training injury that tested his mom’s stomach as an ER doctor worked his stitching magic. And on my youngest, a thin line extending down from his knee, a rare tibial fracture played out in a crowd-silencing fall on the basketball court. Three screws now lie encased within his bone.

Scars, I think, in such a short period of time, we all now bear scars.

But to what end do we view these marks on our bodies and skin? To what end do we view the metaphorical ones that lie far deeper within?

In truth a scar is a beautiful act of the human body, a coordination of multiple systems and processes to heal and prevent further access from the outside world. 

Upon injury, platelets converge releasing chemical messengers to begin swelling and the immune cascade. Neutrophils and macrophages spring into action to decontaminate while T cells amplify the host defense and stimulate keratinocyte proliferation. The concerted efforts sterilize, resolve inflammation and ultimately begin wound closure. And with time, remodeling completes, the layers of tissue and dermis are rebuilt, and the innate defense of the system is restored.

The process is mind-boggling, beautiful even. A symphony of immune cells and factors and messengers all carefully orchestrated and directed into ultimate healing. 

And I think that’s the part we’ve missed about scars. 

In truth a scar is a mark of a place that we have been healed, a lasting testament to an injury that was overcome, repaired, made whole once again.

I think we’ve confused wounds for scars.

We talk about the internal scars we all bear, the places where people, times, events in our lives pierced deep in a way they should not have. In the quiet of late night hours we wonder at life without these scars, without these wounds. Who would we be? What battle would we no longer have to fight?

But these are not scars, these are open wounds. Arrested in the healing process they have become chronic in nature, failing to progress past the inflammatory stage, falling painfully short of final closure. Ulcered and ignored they continue to disrupt our innate defenses - the body, the soul, is not functioning as it should be.

Scars are not the problem, wounds are.

Scars are to be celebrated, wounds to be treated. Because in the end, it’s healing that we’re after. 

Now I wonder at the scars, why have I been so afraid of showing them, afraid of seeing them? I wonder at the wounds, why have I failed to care for them, why have I judged them unworthy of present day time and attention?

Because scars really are the goal. Life can be cruel and wounds inevitable, but a host of cells and factors and messengers are waiting to be released. Remodeling and restoration are possible, scars probable, when we’ll allow healing to come.

Today I wonder at the scars. 

When my boys and I emerge fully healed, when we stand side-by-side and point at the marks forever written on our skin, will we realize what it means to rise up whole, will we realize what it means to stand once again with our bodies functioning as they should be?

Will we realize we have overcome?

Will we realize the beauty of the scar?