by Natasha L. Kohlhoff Polak

Created on: November 13, 2008

All scars tell a story. They also draw attention. I learned that at an early age. I was born 2 months early with a dislocated hip. I wore corrective leg braces, then numerous casts, and when the last one came off, it was discovered that my left knee cap had been pushed to the left where it should be, and grown there. At the age of 2, I had reconstructive knee surgery to put it where it needed to go, leaving me with a vertical scar that goes all the way up my knee and ends midway up my thigh. The doctors told my parents it would eventually fade. Alas, it is still there, plain as day.

I can't remember how old I was when I first realized I had a scar, but when I did, I asked about it. At that time, I couldn't comprehend what it meant for me to have had a major surgery like that. I didn't even know the complications of my birth until some years later. But I didn't dwell on my scar until I wore shorts or dresses, and immediately everyone was drawn to my legs. Often, I would get asked "What happened?" and "Were you in a car accident?" My peers would sometimes make fun of me, mainly because of my flat feet and noticeable leg length differences which caused a slight limp. I also came to realize much later that I had scoliosis, which had most likely was genetic or because of my early birth. The funny thing was, I still didn't think of myself as anything other than normal, all throughout my childhood. I ran, played, climbed trees, skinned my knees...did everything like normal, much to my parents' nervousness. It was only as a teenager I felt out of place, and my parents were the ones who had come to the conclusion that I was perfectly alright. They tried persuading me of this to no avail. Gym class was a humiliating experience for me, since unlike elementary school I was required to wear shorts while participating. I was treated well by my teachers but my peers were another story. Having extra hair also didn't help matters, as I was labeled as a "freak." When I broke my right ankle in 7th grade, it magnified my problems, and I started having hip pains. From then on out, I was painfully aware of what was wrong with me. No one around me would help me forget it.

Yet when I met my future husband, my concerns drifted away. He didn't care about how I looked, so why should I continue to? That attitude stuck with me to the point where when I would wear shorts or dresses and get questioning looks, I actually have forgotten I had my scar! Now that I'm older, it doesn't bother me as much, and I've been seeing a chiropractor for close to a decade. I feel so good about myself that I truly do have moments when I don't see anything but my leg, and disregard my scar. If my daughter ever has anything happen and gets a highly visible scar or knows others who have scars, I hope that I will be able to share my thoughts on this, and assure her that she is just as beautiful and normal as everyone else, that judging a book by its cover (or a person by appearance) is a mistake.

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