Loving my scar

My very best friend is marrying a wonderful man in September, and I am maid of honour.

So far, it's been a ton of fun. I'm close with the other bridesmaids and with the bride's family, and it's been a great excuse to spend time with people I love who live in different cities. There have been sleepovers and dinners, dress-shopping days and many, many phone calls.

Yesterday, we chose the bridesmaids' dresses, and they are (drumroll)...

                       (This is the dress, but it's going to be black.)

STRAPLESS.

Strapless was my number one no-no when we set out to find a dress, and everybody was very understanding. I am still not totally cool with the new placement of my defibrillator, or with my new, significantly longer, scar. Before we tried it on, the bride and her Mom told me over and over that we would not get the dress if I felt in any way uncomfortable; that I didn't even have to put it on if I didn't want to.

But I did, and I surprised myself. I thought the scar looked beautiful. It skimmed elegantly along the line of the dress, a gentle pink against pale winter skin. It made me different, and it told a story. I liked it. I even thought it looked kind of sexy.

I thought more about the scar later, and everything it represents. Fear, certainly. Pain, uncertainty, a little crying and a few obscenities in a Swiss Chalet. But it also represents the choice I made to have a more difficult, but safer in the long term, surgery than I needed to. It represents the amazing care taken by my doctors and nurses, and by my surgeon to make sure his incision was as tidy as it could be. It represents the love I felt from my friends, family and even coworkers when I went through that difficult month.

I think it deserves showing off.