Our scars

Battle scars.

War wounds.
Our scars are deep. Etched onto our souls. Most are completely invisible.  I have many visible scars after loosing Ava.  A long liver incision that snakes 14 inches across my abdomen and stretches daily with my growing Beta belly.  My C-section scar, a central line scar on my neck, drain scars on my stomach, multiple scars on my arms from tubes I do not remember but left their mark.
So many scars.
When I left the hospital I was black and blue from head to toe.  I looked like I had been thrown down a flight of stairs.  All the heparin shots left marks all over my legs and belly, I had been given so many blood thinners that each blood draw left a mark, each needle prick, every test and procedure was tangibly on my skin.  My first night home from the hospital I remember sitting in the bathroom as my Mom scrubbed my skin raw attempting to get the glue from the tape off of my skin.  It was everywhere. So much glue, ground into my skin, layered one on top of the other after weeks of testing.  Under the glue were bruises, scars, incisions and black staples.  Painful black and blue bruising all over me, I was unable to stand up straight due to my abdomen or bare weight on my legs as they were so shaky.  My arms were so weak I could barely hold a toothbrush, and raising my arms to brush my hair was so exhausting I would nap afterwards…making the hair brushing irrelevant.  When I stood in the mirror I was looking at a horror show, my insides and outsides matching. I was destroyed, shattered in each and every sense of word.  
Slowly the scars started to fade. The glue came off (with solvents) the bruises absorbed, staples removed and physio regained the muscles that atrophied in the ICU.  I was told time and time again that I looked wonderful.  30 pounds lighter, a thousand pounds heavier at heart…my scars were hidden under a pretty facade.  It was then when I missed the early days of recovery.  When my shattered body reflected my soul and it was markedly apparent the destruction I had suffered.  I wanted to wear her scars like war paint.  Smeared across my face, as a Mama Warrior screaming her suffering.  
I live with my scars. I hide them from the kids in my life so to not scare them, explain them to strangers when asked, I hate them yet cannot imagine my life without them.  They have become part of me, loathed, loved and ours; Ava and I’s.  
I went to the hospital today and a routine blood draw went painfully wrong. 
A shaky handed nurse has left me very painfully bruised.  It looks even worse in person (if that is possible) and is about as comfy as it would appear.  Looking down at my arm tonight it occurred to me, Beta and I will have some scars too.  I can only hope we will have less, but she will be forever marked on my body and soul.
And for that I am glad.