The Adventure of the Scar Trek

Scars- we all have them. There's nothing metaphorical going on here, I'm literally talking about scars, i.e. a mark on the body where a wound has not healed completely and fibrous connective tissue has developed. With every scar telling a story, I thought today I would take you on a journey through time and my scars- a sort of scar trek if you will. (I am not saying I have written that post entirely because of that pun I'm very pleased with but must admit that it played a significant factor.)

Most people don't realise that I actually have quite a decent scar on my face and that's because it's hidden under my left eyebrow. It's not that difficult to find though and would be very obvious if I were to shave my eyebrow off. This occurred when I was round about three years old and was having an excellent time using my Mum and Dad's bed as a trampoline. Somewhat inevitably after a little while this went wrong and I ended up falling off the bed, catching my head on the corner of the bedside table on the way down. I am unable to remember this event but I suspect there were tears and I know there was a visit to A+E where it was determined I that the wound didn't need stiches. 

There's a small round scar on the palm of my left hand, just to the right of the life line. This was created when I was a teenager and once a month I took part in a group where we did conservation at the local country park and other sites managed by the same council. Throughout the winter months this mainly consisted of clearing vegetation of one kind or another and the easiest way to dispose of the waste was to burn it. I spent many an hour sat by a bonfire and hastily moving position when the wind direction changed and blew smoke in my eyes. On this one occasion I was standing around vaguely near the fire when a small ember somehow managed to land on my hand. It was incredibly unlikely that it happened and the pain was quite something- I struggled to remove the ember as it had literally melted my skin and was stuck there. Eventually it was removed and I was left with a small burn which is still clearly visible today. 

On the wrist of my right arm is scar which is around 2 centimetres long. I sometimes worry that people think it's evidence of an attempt to slash my wrists though it is runs directly along my arm, not across it. Until fairly recently we had a cat called Minstrel. Some cats are very intelligent creatures but Minstrel was given the brain of a particularly stupid amoeba. Cats are also renowned for their balance but Minstrel was the least elegant cat I had ever seen. She was very affectionate and so it was common to find her sat on the arm of the sofa wanting to be stroked and would wander between everyone in the room to make sure everyone had a share of her affection. On one such occasion she was maneuvering on the arm of the sofa next to me and despite the sofa having especially wide arms, she lost her balance. Her natural instinct was to stick her claws out in the hope of not falling but unfortunately the only thing she managed to get a grasp of was my arm, causing a nasty cut and some swearing. 

Then just above my stomach is a strange scar which is the one piece of evidence that I had chicken pox when I was about seven. I have an image of my brother and I stood in vests and pants covered in chicken pox as my Dad opened presents for his birthday, which I suspect wasn't quite the celebration he might have liked. I remember chicken pox being deeply unpleasant- it made me vomit quite a bit, as everything seems to, and the itching was awful. I was told of course not to scratch at the pox but when you're seven it's quite tricky and I must have scratched a little, resulting in that one permanent piece of evidence. 

It's weird how minor incidents can leave a mark and more serious ones can heal completely, only kept as memories. There's no scar from the incident when my housemate accidentally burnt my arm with an iron, nor one from when a fire extinguisher fell on my bare foot, both of which are amusing stories. I've had a good long stare at my legs to see if they reveal any more tales but they are scar-free and for the first time in a while aren't dotted with bruises from falling over or walking into things. 

That's enough nonsense for today and I've done all I can with the pun title. I also thought of Scar Tours but the plural meant it didn't quite work. A Scar is Born? If I ever have kids there's a potential for Scar Trek: The Next Generation one day. OK, I've definitely run out now.