Don’t Judge a Belly by its Cover

And so I have scars.  They’ve faded over the years.  The first surgery was in 2002 — almost ten years ago.  The first one was certainly function over fashion, leaving me a huge gaping hole that was 9″ x 7″ x 6″ and took nearly two years to heal from the inside out, and since then, some of the surgeries have been laproscopic and some of them have required very delicate stitching, but it’s a mistake to think that the scars that are able to be seen (judged??) on the outside by another human being really doesn’t do justice to what happened to me on the inside each time I was cut wide open to try to get my health problems under control.

Don’t be fooled.  Don’t tell me, “it’s not that bad” or “leave that in your past.”  Because I still deal with it — every minute of every day.  I lost my entire large intestine, part of my small intestine, and part of my stomach.  Although my digestive tract works, for all intents and purposes, it does not work well It is not a well oiled machine.  It hurts.  A lot.  Every time I eat.

And to be honest, sometimes I wish that how my belly looked would be an accurate portrayal of how big of a deal it really really really is… because I don’t think that it is clear enough and I wish people had just a tiny bit more empathy.  Most people get in on a theoretical level after I explain it, but have a really hard time actually understanding an acute situation — why I might cancel plans or why I can’t eat that thing or why I am so thin or why I need yoga to keep my sanity or why I am not a morning person or why I might need just a hair more flexibility or leeway…  I wish they could SEE that when they look at my stomach.  But they can’t.

The above photo was taken last week.  And maybe you’re thinking, “Hey, That looks awesome!” But look again.  Do you see that square near my left hip? That is the leftover tape from the cardiac monitor I had in the ICU last week.  I’ve been there nine times since August 2nd.  There is some tape goo just above my tattoo also.  See it?  What you see isn’t what you get…

This photo is from six years ago:

In the above pic, I was so proud of how strong I felt and how good those scars looked — they were much worse to begin with.  Then six years later, I have what you see up top.  Looks a million times better…  but still hurts a lot.  And I’m still struggling a lot.  I have a incurable chronic autoimmune disorder that causes my digestive tract to attack itself as though I have the Bubonic Plague.  My immune system eats my healthy organs and tissues and destroys them.  It’s complicated and it is awful.  Chronic illness is a tough thing for healthy people to understand.

I’ve had people airbrush these scars out of photos — me, in a bikini, on a beach, with friends.  Someone will photoshop the scars out and send me the pic, along with a note saying “those scars don’t define you, so I erased them.”  Um…  Actually, that hurts my feelings.  The scars do not define me.  But I am not ashamed of them.  They are like battle wounds.  LIterally.  I effing earned them.  :)

I’ve never really had a body image issue.  I’ve never had a fantastic body.  I’ve never been on a diet.  My parents did not put any pressure on me whatsoever to be pretty or to lose weight or to be more active.  However, I have done everything within my power to make this body work for me…  to coax it into cooperation….  to be in balance with me…  and it fails me as often as it succeeds for me.  And that is a lesson in humility that I learn every single day.