Scars

I don’t tell many people this—not because I am embarrassed, but if people don’t ask, I don’t feel like I need to tell them. I was born with a cleft nose. From what I understand, it’s a cleft lip or palette that didn’t form all the way. So, when I was born, I was born with part of my nose missing. Luckily for me, the scar from the surgeries is on my nostril, and it’s not noticeable, unless you’re looking at it. My mom always says that I was a beautiful baby, but I feel like I looked like an alien (see baby picture…).

About a week ago, I was talking to the kids at work about something, and I showed them my baby picture. One of them said, “ew.” And for some reason, even though she’s a kid, it really bothered me. As I said, it’s not super visible, but I am still somewhat aware that people may be looking at the scar when they are talking to me. It’s in the center of my face. And here’s the other thing, I see it. I see it every day. Although there is nothing wrong with my nose, it is slightly uneven—the side with the scar is slightly higher than the other. And there is a small bump on the scar that I feel is big. I do have nose bleeds, but I have learned to deal with them.

I am lucky. I had a mom who fought for me. She fought to get me the surgeries necessary for me to breathe normally. When I was a baby, one of the doctors who founded Operation Smile performed the initial surgeries. I wasn’t able to touch my face the first six months of my life, and I had to wear casts to prevent that from happening. Because of this, I was slow at developing motor skills. I was in the special needs class in elementary school but only for gym.

My last surgery was when I was in nine. I remember it quite vividly. I was in fourth grade, and the surgery happened right before Christmas break. My classmates sent me get well wishes and cards. It was really quite sweet. The surgery was delayed, and I was a scared nine-year-old. When the surgery began, I remember the anesthesiologist asking what flavor of sleeping medicine I wanted. I said watermelon, and then I heard the doctor tell her that watermelon was a summer flavor, and it was winter. I got the watermelon. Hours later, I woke up, hungry and cranky. I yelled at the nurse that I wanted food, and I tried to rip out my IV. (I was a really good patient). When I got home, I remember looking in the mirror—the stitches were blue, and they itched. I rubbed my nose A LOT, and my face turned blue. Three days later, on Christmas Eve, my Grandpa Jack, took me to the doctor to get the stitches out. My doctor was young, and Grandpa said he would take the stitches out. I was so nervous that he would. If you know Grandpa Jack, you can understand. He performs his own surgeries all the time.

In sixth grade, a classmate asked me if my mom was drunk when she was pregnant with me, and if that was why my face was messed up. That hurt. In that moment, I felt uglier than I ever have before, and I had to defend my mom’s honor. My mom and I don’t agree on much, but I will defend her to my grave. She’s my mom. She’s done everything for me. And she didn’t do anything wrong. I just happened to be born with a birth defect. No eleven-year-old should be put in that situation. I am glad I was born when I was, though, because kids today are crueler than they were when I was a kid. God protected me that way. As much as I won’t admit it, I put up a shell, but I am a sensitive and tender-hearted person. And words mean a lot to me, so that’s the worst way I can be hurt.

I needed to have one more surgery, after I was done growing. By that time, the insurance company told my mom it was cosmetic, so they wouldn’t pay for it, even though I have excess scar tissue on the inside of my scar line, which is why the nose bleeds occur. And my parents have 5 kids, they couldn’t afford the surgery. So, I’ve dealt with it. Lately, though, my mom has made a few comments about it (nothing negative, just general comments), and I’ve become self-conscious about it. It’s also been somewhat painful randomly. I looked into having plastic surgery on it. It’s expensive, and although I do have the money in savings, I don’t really want to have surgery. Surgery scares me. And it’s not necessary. If I am going to use that money, I’d rather pay for another child with a cleft to have surgery. My mom says I can find someone to pay for the surgery, but again, there are others that need it more.

I wrote in the book that Knox’s scar was beautiful because it was a visual representation of what he and Gemi had been through. I believe my scar is a visual representation of what I’ve been through. It’s part of what makes me who I am. It’s part of my story. It reminds me of courage, perseverance, and hope. I hope it’s as beautiful to others as it is to me, and I hope people can learn from my story.