I'm Sassing You Because I Love You

Disclaimer:

I LOVE my heart surgery scar. That thing is freaking awesome.

I like it when people ask me questions about it and listen to what I have to say. I don't mind answering questions, and I don't mind talking about my open heart surgery experience. I know some people with scars who get tired of all the questions and give responses like, "I was attacked by a zombie/ninja/lion/ whatever" or "You should see the other guy". Personally, I cannot think of any story any cooler or any more B.A. than the truth: I had open heart surgery. My chest was opened, my heart was stopped, and a machine did the work of my heart and lungs while a hole in my heart was repaired. How sci-fi amazing is that?!

I digress...
While I'm grateful for my scar, I do get irritated when people make assumptions about it. A few examples:

• I get annoyed when people remark/ poke fun at me for "showing off my scar", or conversely, for covering it up etc etc based on the type of shirt I'm wearing. I don't care if you notice it, and I don't care if you don't (unless this is some sort of flashback photo shoot, which in that case, yes I am trying to show it off, get over it). If I do start caring, it's because I get anxious and worried that people are going to think that I'm trying to show it off, or cover it up, or make some sort of point etc etc. It's a vicious cycle, friends, and I need your help. Please don't feed into it... ain't nobody got time for that.

• I get irritated when people reach out to touch my scar without asking me as if I'm an object on display (yes, this has happened multiple times). Whoahhhh watch those hands. My scar is literally in between my chest region. Like, for your own sake, please don't make yourself look like a total creeper. 

• I get annoyed with the "oh, poor you" phrases I get when people realize that my scar is two years old but is still pink and hypertrophic, and hasn't blended in like scars should. I am not ashamed of my scar. I repeat, I am not ashamed of this mass of collagen fibers that forgot to stop growing at the right time. That's literally all it is. I'm not going to stress about some overexcited collagen. Again... ain't nobody got time for that. 

Just let my scar be my scar. 

Please keep asking me questions, please keep listening to me with an open mind and an open heart (hah. hah.)

But please don't make assumptions, please keep those hands away from my chestal region and PUHLEASE don't start listing off names of great plastic surgeons you know who could work wonders on my scar.

I love it.
I'm keeping it.