10 August 2006
Divot in the middle of my forehead: Chickenpox scar, from one of the three (yes, three) times I had chickenpox. Yes, I picked my pox. Didn't everyone?
Three-inch long diagonal scar just below my right collar-bone: From a semi-feral ginger cat named Tiger. He lived in the caravan site where we went for most of my childhood holidays. We bonded instantly, and he would let me pick him up and hug him. Unfortunately, he didn't like the caretaker of the site, and when said caretaker came near, struggled to jump free, catching one of his black claws in my jumper, and leaving a deep scratch on my chest.
Small hairless patch on my left arm: Site of multiple midge-bite, which I scratched, and picked at and scratched some more.
Stretch marks: Too many to count. Genetic collagen imperfection meant that stretch marks started appearing from a very early age, when my skin couldn't keep up with my growing frame. Exacerbated by prescription drug induced weight gain in late teenage years. Constant reminder, no matter what size I am, that I was once bigger. No bikini wearing for me.
Tiny circle on right wrist: Yet another insect bite that I scratched.
Six-inch scar on inside of left elbow: Scar from my ulnar nerve translocation operation. My elbow was dislocating so often it was trapping the nerve, and I was in danger of losing the use of my ring and pinky fingers, so they opened up my elbow and moved the nerve from going around the outside of my elbow to along the inside and then stitched it back up again. The scar would have been worse had I not thrown a tantrum when the surgeon wanted to take the butterfly stitches holding the wound closed off after a fortnight and a nurse helped me out by sneaking me clean stitches, dressings and sticky stuff remover to allow me to keep the dressing and stitches clean and replaced.
Back of heels: Every single shoe and boot I wear seems destined to leave its mark on me, and years of wearing stupid shoes has taken their toll. They're not broken in until they've drawn blood.
Yeepers, you win!
Although I too have a pock mark in the middle of my forehead, also from chickenpox.
I also have a chicken pox scar in the middle of my forehead, and a small round gap in one of my tattoos because of the chicken pox. This is what happens when you catch the pox at 26.
And the possibility of me catching chicken pox again has filled me with terror. Never again!
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
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