30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE
DAY 28: A SCAR YOU HAVE AND ITS STORY
When I checked the topic for today’s challenge, I couldn’t help but sing a line or two from Papa Roach’s Scars:
But the scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel
Okay, I know it’s disgustingly cheesy, so I won’t go any further on that note. I’m just annoying myself. Anyway, seriously, I’ve had minor scars—wounds I got from falling off a bicycle or from playing strenuous sports during my childhood years. Most of them can no longer be seen nor traced today. There is, however, one particular scar in my body that remains visible [at least to me] to this day. I will try to recount that day on this post the best way I can.
It was a fine, Sunday noon in June 2002 when it all began. We were having our usual Sunday lunch at home when I complained about my aching tummy. Mom thought I was just hungry or I ate something the other night that cost me an upset stomach; however, I didn’t finish my plate. It’s very unusual of me to not consume my meal, since my parents don’t approve of leftover food, so they thought there could be something else. In effect, my father ordered me to go to my room and lay down to rest.
Perhaps because of fatigue brought about by lack of food, I fell asleep in an instant. Later in the day, however, I woke up screaming to unbearable pain in my abdomen. One of my brothers who came to my aid, instructed me to lift my leg and bend it as if to try to bring my knee to my chest. I tried to do as told and failed. My mother, who saw this, came to the theory that I may be suffering from appendicitis. On this note, they tried to lift me from bed, and rushed me to the hospital.
Every single movement I made was an effort. If I were asked the intensity of pain between the scale of one to ten, I’d give it a 15. The trip to Makati Medical Center was agonizing. I had to lay down in the backseat and endure the pain induced by a moving vehicle. Not to mention that we’re having an emergency. It took us less than 30 minutes to get to the hospital, and I was immediately accommodated in the emergency room by the staff. My mother was asked to fill up a form with my personal details including medical family history. There were several nurses and resident physicians who attended to my care, all of which came to the conclusion that it was, indeed, appendicitis.
I was given oral analgesics to somehow relieve the pain, and eventually put an IV on me. A few hours later, I woke up already in my private room. A medical technologist was there, about to extract blood samples from me for monitoring. Mom was asking me how I feel when the doctor and two of his practitioners walked in. Apparently, the big guy was my surgeon. He was there to check up on me, and explain to my mother what’s about to happen next. I wasn’t hallucinating nor exaggerating when I thought he was Hagrid from the Harry Potter series.
The entire procedure took hours. I even woke up in the middle of the operation! I saw the clock, it was two in the afternoon, and they were listening to A Horse With No Name by America. Groggily, I tried to lift my fingers. I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb to the core. Oh, my God, I thought to myself. Then I got knocked out again. The next thing I know, I was already in the recovery room. It was about five o’clock. My initially reaction was to look for my Mom. For some reason, I felt emotional and I needed to find comfort in the arms of my mother.
Today, ten years later, the scar remains visible. It’s an inch and a half long, but it doesn’t really bother me. I don’t even find it ugly at all. It’s a constant reminder of something I never imagined of experiencing. It’s now a memory from a not-so-distant past. So, this is the story of my scar. I wonder what’s yours.