I saw an interesting thread on Twitter last night.
Not only was this an interesting question, it was also a fun way to avoid the State of the Union, “The Political Thing” she was referring to, and an event I had vowed to skip this year for my own mental health (and perhaps Husband’s, too).
This response caught my eye, and prompted my reply:
And that’s totally true. It just so happens that I had been counting my scars recently. The total is an impressive (if I do say so myself) eight cancer-related scars. And that doesn’t count my insides.
In chronological order:
- Exploratory laparotomy scar (surprise! You have a cancerous grapefruit hiding behind your uterus!)
- Hysterectomy scar (Let’s get rid of all those problematic lady parts!)
- Temporary ileostomy scar (While we’re at it, let’s get rid of a stretch of equally problematic rectum!)
- Lumpectomy scar (Just a little pre-cancerous tissue, but let’s take it out to be safe!)
- Sentinel node biopsy scar (To be extra safe, let’s be sure the pre-cancerous tissue didn’t spread!)
- Power port insertion scar (ok, so it’s now full-on breast cancer and it spread to your liver. But let’s at least save your poor veins!)
- Power port venous catheter insertion scar (Gotta get that chemo in there somehow!)
- Bonus! strange bump on back of knee resection scar (Probably nothing, but we need to check out all your weird bumps “because of your history”)
BTW, that last one was nothing, thankfully, but I’m counting it, anyway. For someone who never had any serious scars to speak of before 2011, I think it’s a pretty neat list. And they sure tell one hell of a story.
The other tweeter’s final response was my favorite, and the real inspiration for today’s post.
She nailed it. Our bodies are a physical mash-up of Turner Classic Movies meets the zombie apocalypse.
Lucky for me, I like Casablanca and World War Z.