Someone recently asked me if I had any stretch marks and I said no, not really. She said, "Lucky!"
It struck me as a very strange (though not offensive) comment to offer me. No, I don't have stretch marks, but I have other weird brown marks all over my back that look like I leaned against something wrinkled, which appeared after my chemo treatments when I was 15. The doctor said they would go away in a few months, but they never did. They were the bane of my later teenage years, and they embarrassed me so much that I looked high and low for a prom dress with a closed back (not an easy task, I'll tell you!) so that they wouldn't be seen on that night I was supposed to look and feel beautiful. But I guess I'm "lucky."
No, I don't have stretch marks, but I have five large, visible scars on my chest and neck - one lymph node biopsy, one port-a-cath, one lumpectomy (the other is no longer visible), and of course two large mastectomy scars, about four inches each, still redish-brown in color, plus a couple other small scars dotting my sides where once drain tubes protruded following surgery. But I guess I'm "lucky" that at least I don't have stretch marks.
On the other hand, I do feel lucky - and not just because back in 8th grade, when the school had some high school girls who had gotten pregnant come talk to the middle school girls about safe sex, one of them showed us her stretch marks and I thought it was horrifying and something definitely to avoid. (Like having a baby in high school wasn't enough to avoid? Funny what makes a lasting impact.)
I do feel lucky because all in all, this has been a very easy pregnancy for me, with hardly any impact on my body's functioning. At 38 weeks, I'm still pretty compact (but baby is growing normally, don't worry!), none of my organs have been all that disrupted in their functioning, I'm not in a lot of pain, I sleep well, I'm not swelling, and I've hardly gained any weight. I've gotten off very easy during this pregnancy, and I do feel lucky for that.
But the comment did spur some reflection on the story of my body. When we first started trying to get pregnant, I confessed to Michael that as much as I wanted to have children, and as ready as I was, there was also some sadness and fear about what it would do to my body. (I know, probably most women have that concern.) I had spent most of my earlier years knowing that while I wasn't fat, I also wasn't skinny. I had an "athletic" build (that's what I told myself), and had a list of parts of my body I wished I could change. It was only really when I met Michael that I started to feel really comfortable in my body. I finally felt, not "too much" this and "not enough" that, but just right. And that comfort was so refreshing!
And then I got cancer, a cancer that required cutting off the part of me that society tells me makes me look feminine, and, incidentally, one part of me that was never on my wish-to-change list. It was traumatic, as you know if you were reading this blog. It required learning again how to love this body I was given, this body that had grown cancer three times, that is covered in scars and medical tattoos, that caused me embarrassment and disappointment, that I had only just learned to love and appreciate. And I was afraid that, after having to learn to love my body twice before, getting pregnant was going to wreck havoc on it yet again, and even though the cause of the havoc was something about which I was so joyful, I would be left with something I'd once again have to learn how to love.
I haven't yet seen my postpartum body, of course. I know that, because I have been so "lucky," it likely won't be as difficult to love as I feared. But more importantly, I just don't care. I can feel life moving around in there. I grew a person for goodness' sake! This body that caused me embarrassment and tried my self esteem and then grew a whole bunch of cancer... it grew a life. And I find I don't care anymore how it looks after. Sure, I'd like to be able to wear my cute, fitted dresses again. I'd like to stay as fit and healthy as possible. But when it all comes down to it, my body has totally rocked this. My body totally beat cancer - three times - and now it is growing a person, and if I can't love a body that has done all that, well, then I need a serious reality check.
So yeah, I guess I am lucky. I am lucky that I have a strong body that has been able to endure a lot of challenges from the game of life. I am lucky that I have the scars to prove that I have won each time. I am lucky that I have people in my life who love me so much for reasons that have nothing to do with my scarred, imperfect body. I am lucky that I realize that my worth does not come from how my body looks or behaves, anyway, but from the love it receives and shares and the love of the God who created it.
And yeah, I guess I am also lucky that I haven't gotten any stretch marks.
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