George

C came home from school today, bounced into the study and said, “Mom, I think I’m over hiding my scar. Know why?”

I was totally taken aback. “Um, why?”

“Today on the bus we started talking about scars. G started talking about some guy he saw on the news who was bitten by a shark. And I said I bet he’s gonna have a huge scar. And G said he has a scar on his head and some other kids said they had scars and I said I had a scar and…I just showed it to them.”

I was stunned. I tried not to let my mouth gape open. I tried not to cry.

“Yeah, and they all said things like, ‘Whoa!’ and, ‘Gross!’ and, ‘Cool!’ And I’m okay with it.”

Then he bounced away.

And I just sat there for a few moments.

This is huge.

For the last four years, the scar has been an issue all its own.

The scar is from the emergency surgery about a week into his hospital stay that removed a good portion of the lower left lobe of his lung. That part of his lung was dead from the severe infection and decaying in his body. Had it not been removed, the decay would have taken over more and more tissue in his chest cavity, and he likely would have died. The scar is about eight inches long, curving from just under his shoulder bone in the back around the side of his torso to the front. There are also four scars from chest tubes and one from where some tape was left on his delicate skin too long.

Shortly after his illness, C became very conscious of his scar. He didn’t want anyone to see it. It was big and long and red and tender and thick from how his body stretched. We tried to reassure him that the scar would become less noticeable and remain the same size. That he would grow around the scar. That even though it was pretty big on a seven year old body, it would be much smaller, relatively speaking, on a 15 year old body or an adult body.

Still, he refused to take off his shirt at the beach or the pool, and refused to change in front of anyone.

When C talked about having been ill, he didn’t want to talk obviously about his scar. We gave it a name: George. Anytime the scar would be mentioned, we’d use that name. So we would talk about George and how it would slowly become less and less noticeable. Still, the scar – George – was a source of upset for him.

Every time C would see an ad about scar reduction medicines on television, he asked us to get him some. Finally, we took him to a dermatologist to talk about a possible scar revision and to ask about anything that could help him. The dermatologist was wonderful. She was patient and kind and gave him honest answers – mostly that it was just going to take time, like his parent had said. That he would grow and change, but the scar would be the same. We could talk about a scar revision when you are all grown, she said, but until then, we just needed to give it time.

As recently as February, he didn’t want anyone else to see it. After swimming with his closest friend (wearing a rash guard, as always), M happened to see the scar in the changing room. M, it turns out, had completely forgotten about C ever having been sick, even though M lived across the street at the time and visited the PICU doors when C was still there. So M said, “Wow, C, what’s that?” C didn’t say a word. M’s father shushed M and apologized to me later. C said later he still didn’t want people to see it or to talk about it.

So today, when C said he was fine about people seeing his scar and actually showed it – I just can’t tell you what that means.

He’s really and truly going to be okay.

I’d long thought that C would one day use the scar to impress a romantic interest, but I’d thought less about the impressing other pre-adolescent boys side of it. Of course that would come sooner.

It really doesn’t matter how or when it happened. I’m just glad it did.

Excuse me, I need some tissue for my tears now.