Scars

I use to think that Liam was the only one that came out of this journey with scars. After all, he was left with a large scar on his stomach from his repair surgery at 7 days old, A scar in the middle of his chest from his broviac. I scar from the ECMO cannula's. That's just the beginning of his scars.

I never took into account my own scars. The internal ones I suffered from being separated from my baby the moment he left my body. From being interrogated right after a emergency csection because the small town hospital didn't know what he had or what it was called. From not seeing my son until he was 7 hours old, then seeing him hooked up to so many monitors. Then having him once again ripped away from me and flown 4 hours away to UCSF. Scars from having him turn blue on my the first time I help him. Scars from watching him knock on deaths door, time and time again. Then the biggest scar of all. The scar from watching my son die without realizing I was losing him until it was too late. The scars from holding my son's cold, lifeless body. That one makes me angry. I had to say goodbye to my son.

I spent so much time worrying that Liam would one day look at his scars and be ashamed of them. I worried he would be made fun of for them. I worried so much that I took every opportunity I could to build his confidence in them. Make him proud of them. All the while, I hid mine like they were something to be ashamed about. I earned every scar. I walked through what felt like the fires of hell for my son, by his side. I shouldn't hide away from them. The ones that need to be treated, should be treated, but I should never feel ashamed of them.

I've been living with depression and PTSD because of what I went through with my son. It's changed me so deeply and left behind so much scar tissue that I can never be the same. Instead of pretending to be the same person I used to be because I'm afraid of what others will think, I need to embrace the new me, scar tissue and all.

Living with PTSD and depression is ugly. I hide behind a pretty smile all I want, but that only fools others and does more damage to me. The hardest part is the stigmatism surrounding PTSD. Most people think that everyone with PTSD has seen combat and is ready to blow every second. It doesn't work like that for everyone. My "freak outs" mean me in the fetal position either crying or starring at nothing, unable to function.

Employers don't want to hire anyone who had PTSD because of the stigmatism.  People look at you weird when they know you have PTSD. I've even had people physically distance themselves from me. It would come out and their eyes would grow bigger and they'd take a step back. It was hurtful. I was still me. The same person willing to lend a hand to anyone who'd ask. Someone they knew yet the title scared them. But these are my scars that I gained in this CDH journey. They tell a story. That I've walked in the fires of hell and I've survived. They remind me everyday that I survived and I will continue to survive.

Everyone has scars. Scars they hide away because they're ashamed. Just remember, they mean you survived something and that is something to be proud of.