Scars

I tried something new this morning.

As I was waking up and starting to feel the morning tinges of pain, I decided to hold off for a sec on the meds. Not out of some weird need to feel the pain, mind you, but simply because I wanted a minute to be WITH my new lungs. I wanted to really feel them for just a second.

So I felt, for the first time, my scars and my staples.

It wasn't much, really. For starters I've learned my lesson about staying ahead of pain, and for seconds I didn't need long to accomplish my mission. I simply touched my staples and those lines across my chest that so delicately encase my new gift. I said a quick prayer of thanksgiving and then I moved my fingers away to get on with the business of healing and breathing. It wasn't overly dramatic or sentimental. It wasn't a flurry of excitement.

It was perfect.

What I feel right now is peace. Peace in my chest, peace in my mind, peace with my healing. And even during the bad moments of pain and cramps and,yes, even fear, that peace seems to hold steady, waiting patiently for me to come home to the reality that my lungs are not dying. My spirit is not lost. My soul is at home with this kindred spirit now alive in my chest.

And I can feel my scars.

The crazy thing is that I can't really see my scars because they don't span my whole chest. They run on either side from under my armpit to the bottom of my breast - probably about 4 inches each. From my perspective, they are nearly invisible, but I know others would see them clearly. And somehow I like that metaphor - scars on display but, to their owner, felt rather than seen. Like my new lungs I know they are there, and yet they appear to me as seamless parts of myself. I can feel them and that is enough.

I am blessed beyond measure.


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