Tag Archives: scar

Three responses to infant surgery

Infant surgery does different things to different people.

This post introduces readers to three men whose infant surgery recently prompted them to go public, each in his own way.

yay1Dave Outred went online to express his joy and gratitude for his full and satisfying life, apparently unaffected by the rather messy start to life he had.  After developing pyloric stenosis (“PS”), he was operated on twice in a London hospital in 1955 to remedy this rather common condition when he was about 6 weeks old: when it became clear that the first “procedure” had not dealt with his stomach blockage, it was repeated a day or two later, leaving him with two rather large and untidy scars.

But, he wrote on Facebook (to a “closed” Group) –

I say, be proud of your scars because you are a survivor!  I have had a great life: played sports for my town as a school boy, enjoyed camping and an outdoor life with the scouts, been married twice [currently 31 years], followed my football [soccer] team through good years and bad, semi-retired at 48 after many years of working 6 and 7 day weeks.  Lots of friends and a full life.  Recovery from P.S. is the start of a life you may never have had.

ButchBee02aJay Jacobs’ infant surgery was to deal with volvulus, a twisting of the bowels that like PS blocks the passage of food but can also quickly cut off the blood supply, causing gangrene and death of the affected intestines.  Perhaps because he was not expected to live, perhaps because cosmetic concerns rated rather lowly in 1957, perhaps because of his earlier weight problem, he has also been left with a very large and sunken scar.

Jay Jacobs found it harder than Dave Outred to feel accepting and confident about his disfiguring scar and count his blessings… until he found his niche.  Jay Jacobs always had a weight problem but in his later adult years he succeeded in beating this: he found diets and fitness programs that worked for him, participated in the Biggest Loser program on TV, and developed and promoted his discoveries, weight-loss and new-found wellness to become a successful entrepreneur!

Quite likely because of his accomplishments, he was also persuaded to rise above his negativity about his abdominal scar.  He appeared “topless” on TV and online, and wrote about his former “shame” and new-found confidence about his torso and story.

Henry Fox like Dave Outred also had PS and early surgery to remedy it.

Genes baby1It left him with a lifelong passion for the importance of medical research.  Many PSers realise that up to about a century ago, the diagnosis of infant PS was almost always a death sentence: the surgical remedies then on offer were so crude and horrific and so rarely successful that most parents preferred to see their little one simply expire.

Henry Fox knew this and also that there are still many conditions of infancy that although less common than PS need research funds and workers.  He wrote –

Owing to the type of research now carried out by Action Medical Research, I was able to undergo a small operation to rectify this and am now able to make the most of my ability to digest properly…!
Since then, Action Medical Research together with its most famous sponsor, Paddington Bear, have stayed very close to my heart.  I spent several days as a young child attending Action Medical Research’s Paddington Bear tea parties, over-indulging in a fair few marmalade sandwiches to help raise funds for their life-saving research!!  This association has stayed with me and it is rumoured that (aged 27) I may still possess a Paddington Bear duvet cover.

 Henry is seeking sponsorship for his running in the 2016 London Marathon (24 miles or 40 km on 24 April) to raise funds for medical research.

Nerdy MD2For many years now I have been reading and writing about the many issues around infant PS, and seeking greater recognition of the turbulence that affects a fair number of those affected by this rather common ailment.

I have been intrigued by the unity among parents affected by PS: those who write report as one that it was their most traumatic experience ever – and that all too often it left them feeling cheated in one way or another.

On the other hand, those who themselves have had PS respond and reflect on it in many different ways, and the reports above are typical but only samples of many very different responses.

Who do you think you are?

Recently I watched the 100th program of the popular TV series, Who do you think you are?

ponderAppropriately, it was a review of some of the most notable of the 100 stories to date.  Two utterly poignant segments joined “survivors” ardent about unearthing the fate of their ancestors and family members.  An Anglo-African woman hoped to find some mention of her ancestors who had laboured as African slaves in Antigua.  Another woman’s relatives were among the Jews trapped in Belorussia during the Holocaust: it was known that 2 girls in her family had been killed horrifically, literally by the hands of German soldiers.

I recalled the absolute apprehension and determination of the children of adoptive parents wanting to find their birth parents.

Some of the Who do you think you are? programs I have found to be rather “ho-hum” – interesting but somewhat lacking in power and passion.  But not so the heart-rending search for what exactly had happened in utter blackness long ago and faraway in Antigua and Belorussia.  Sometimes despite deep sadness or horror we just need to discover what we can find out.  We feel a deeply personal and profound bond with imprecise stories about our kith and kin, with the general facts about certain people in other times and places.

My own search has certainly been nothing as emotional as that of the two women with links to Antigua and Belorussia, but it’s been passionate just the same.

People02But it has also reminded me that my early PS, surgery, hospitalization and parenting have affected me more than many other infant PS survivors.  Most seem never to even think about their PS episode, some can’t identify or even care or want to know about “that scar”.  And others recoil at the mention of what their first weeks were like for them and their parents – like the Facebooker who asked me to delete a photo depicting the starvation that some babies suffer before they are properly diagnosed and treated.  We each manage our life stories in our own way.

My parents were people of bygone times who kept from me the details of the infant surgery I had when just 10 days old.  Before I was 6 years old, I became desperate to know what had created what I later learnt was a surgical scar, running down the middle of my young body, and how I should answer the inevitable questions of the curious.

During my growing years I picked up enough from conversations and books to understand the essence and effects of surgical work, and what pyloric stenosis was.  It didn’t take that long to learn how to avoid the inquisitive queries: I avoided most by covering up and lied away the rest.  Meanwhile I learnt what I could do to remove what I believed was a length of white string caught under my skin… the answer was of course: nothing.  Sure signs of inadequate parenting, an insecure child, an introspective nature, and (I discovered later) signs of PTSD and OCD.

A busy working and family life, plus the now understandable reticence of the then available information sources meant that between the ages of 20 and 60 I learnt little more.  But “the need to know” was kept alive by my continuing episodes of feeling embarrassed, obsessed, and self-harming because of my scar and story.

Q mark2The advent of the internet with its free, rich and growing flow of information and its potential for community-building was a major breakthrough and gift for me.  It gave me many details which I had never heard or fully understood, and which I quickly recognized as some of the missing pieces of my puzzle.

Amongst much else I learnt –

  • most of what I now know about infant PS – and that there is an adult form of this condition;
  • how infant surgery was usually done before 1987 (and still is in the case of many circumcisions);
  • that the danger of infection before the 1960s had a major impact on hospital protocols and procedures – with great effects on all concerned;
  • that trauma (another “hush-hush” subject at the time) affected many of the babies and adults of those times;
  • that PS and its surgical repair leave many with life-long problems, for some minor but for others very disruptive;
  • that many medical workers were and remain ill-equipped to understand and fully help those who seek their assistance;
  • that healing occurs in many ways and that we each seek or find our individual path; and
  • that many of my approximate contemporaries who have had early surgery and are willing to network report psychological and related difficulties very similar to mine.
  • that although my parents both died in the early 1990s without ever engaging with me about what were some obvious “issues”, I have discovered that the very little they did tell me and the main import of what I have learnt since are a perfect match!
  • that I am part of a large number of infant surgery survivors who share my passion to connect our past and present: I receive a steady stream or comments from readers who value my sharing, explaining and honesty about what I have learnt.

woman at PCI have enjoyed years of interaction with countless others who had older-times infant surgery and were able and willing to share their stories.  This blog has triggered many of these passing contacts – and a few deep and revealing friendships.  Forum and social networking sites such as Facebook, Experience Project, MedHelp, Patient, and Topix have been valuable also.  Facebook alone has more than a dozen PS Support Groups (although only a few see significant traffic) with over 700 members!

Something deeply personal which I still don’t quite understand but sense I should is a powerful motivator.  Whilst appreciating and respecting those whose problems are much larger than mine, I too remain both passionate and thankful about what I have learnt about “my story” which my parents kept from me.

I am now much better to join the dots between my past and present!

Reflecting on my 70th

Birthdays and anniversaries are times for celebration, and reaching “three-score years and ten” years is certainly worth a big three cheers! But they are important for reflection as well.

150926-25 sml

Renmark Reunion September 2015

Gratitude to God and to the most important people in my life over these 70 years are features I’d like to be emblematic of me.  I am still surrounded with so many loving and kind people, I have enjoyed wonderful peace and excellent health, and my contribution in several circles is still wanted and apparently appreciated.

Ten days ago Helen and I gathered to celebrate my 70th birthday with our 4 children, their spouses and our 11 beautiful grandchildren.  A wonderful 5 days . . .

October 6th is ten days after my birth-day and  marks the 70th anniversary of the life-saving surgery I had in the Netherlands.  I would not be writing this but for that day in my life!

Together with the country of my birth and background, my weary and expecting parents were struggling to emerge from the ordeal of World War 2.  And then I arrived, their long-awaited first child, but soon clearly defective: scary, uncontrollable and life-endangering vomiting (infant pyloric stenosis – “PS”).  And these were times when medical science was pretty rough and ready by today’s standards and when people didn’t dwell on what they’d rather forget.

Pic 12

Mother with me – October 1945

So October 6th marks what I now realise was the gift of a new and wonderful second start in life, but also the beginning of a life-shaping journey of exploration and discovery – outside of me and within.

Outside, my parents were unwilling or unable to answer my reasonable questions about the 10 cm scar on my belly, and this drove me to look for information elsewhere.  But until the advent of the web, this search yielded only cold textbook medical data about PS and the then 33 year old surgical fix for the condition.  And explanations of my deeper issues were nowhere to be found: there were no pointers to where these might be unearthed and no ways of identifying people who could help me to realise (as I do now) that my pain was by no means wacky.

Book coverWithin, I was tormented with private pain from the dawn of my self-consciousness until recent years.  Even now I am still working to piece my private pain-puzzle together, although the web has given me access to much information, clarification and to networking with fellow-survivors, all of which has enabled me to receive and share much healing.  Since 2012 I have blogged about my journey, and in 2014 a pediatric surgeon friend and I published a small book, in which he explained what many still regard as the elusive cause of PS and I outlined my personal experience of this condition. It so happens (in Australia at least) that October 6 falls in “Mental Health Week” – and my own story has certainly helped me to feel a sense of identity with people challenged by mental health issues.

Time changes things!  The past 70 years have taught us the value of openness in the home, the importance of both listening and speaking for healing, of collaboration in achieving goals, and (by no means least) we have learnt much about trauma.

70 years have also brought huge changes to surgical technique and to holistic care in the hospital and home.  Time seems to have done less to change the unhelpful attitudes of some in the medical profession – but that’s due to human nature being far from perfect.

What do these changes (and their lack in some respects) mean?

120327-07-WgHcThe kind of trauma symptoms I struggled with is rare among more recent PS survivors.  Their surgical scars are sometimes almost indiscernible, usually tidy and very rarely as gnarly.  Affected children’s and their parents’ questions are typically answered much more fully and sympathetically, and the children are helped to understand, “own” and even feel pride about their story.

As I see it, I have discerned this is the growth in myself.  I am indeed a survivor from a bygone era of medical practice and parenting, and my scar is an exhibit of mid-20th century surgery.  I know it’s not socially correct for a cultured older gentleman like me to proudly show off his scar as an 8 year old lad might… but I’m catching up on lost joys and enjoying it!

Coming out – about our scars after infant surgery

Many of us feel most comfortable conforming, not drawing attention to ourselves.  Many others pride themselves in being different, “standing out from the pack”.  I envy them!

I very much belong to the first lot: I totally hated my 9 cm (3½”) scar from a pyloric stenosis operation back in 1945 when I was just 10 days old.  My scar shame was quite apart from the symptoms of post-traumatic stress which (as far as I can discover) resulted from the story of my first illness.

This deeply felt sensitivity about my scar was probably not unconnected with the psychological effects on me of the surgery, but it mushroomed when I became conscious of wearing a scar that is “front and centre” and very obvious in the bath and at the beach.  Asking my parents about it clearly unsettled them, further intensifying my own discomfort.

The internet has shown me that my obsessive sense of shame is far from universal among those who have needed infant surgery, and that many flaunt their scar with pride and think up fantastic stories about having been stabbed, or attacked by a shark.

But I have also been greatly comforted to learn that many have felt as I did:  my emotions and inner pain are hardly freakish or unique.

yay1One of the things that has helped me to find peace with myself is the number of people who have used the web to share their own struggle towards the self-acceptance of their disability or disfigurement.  Often their life was much more difficult and their blemish more severe than mine

I have also joined the many who have also gone online to “objectify” their scar: to post a photo of it or of them wearing it in public, empowering us to break through what is very much a self-imposed complex and to see ourselves as others do.

Again and again the posts and comments on social networking sites like Facebook express gratitude at the opportunity to network and share something that in the past was all too often a lonely and endless ache.

For those interested, here are some links to blogs that others and I have found liberating –

Angella Dykstra – Scarred for life

David Fetterman’s story about Father and son

Maggie Van Buskirk’s story

Nathan Long – Forced to fast for peace

Enjoy!  Grow!  Share!

Dealing with scar shame

One of the common results of infant surgery is scar shame.

Self-Confidence2 smlIt doesn’t affect everybody, of course.  Some of us are extroverted, self-confident, ready to take on the world.  I well remember my youngest granddaughter showed these wonderful traits from the day she was born!  And 3½ amazing years later she still does… much to her parents’ delight (and occasional frustration)!

But we’re not all like that: two of her siblings are introverted and hyper-sensitive like I tend to be.  Their struggles and hurts are painful reminders of how hard I have often found it to think of myself and my issues in more realistic and objective terms than I tend to.

Recently one of my correspondents in the UK went online with a holiday photo of herself in a bikini and the caption, “this is the first photo I’ve ever posted of my scar.”  Her photo showed a deeply indented scar across her middle; her life had been saved at a very early age by surgery to remedy pyloric stenosis (“PS”).  Now, many years later, she went on to write how glad she was she had taken this step of “going public”: “I’ve no idea how many photos I have with my arm placed strategically across my scar.”  Others have written lines like, “Have been embarrassed by my scar all my life and never wore a bikini.”

Many others have gone online to say that their scar has never been an issue, never give it any thought, or that they’re proud of it.

My UK correspondent went on to publish images of a recent Cosmopolitan UK article (April 2015) by Natasha Devon.  Ms Devon is also an infant PS survivor and two years ago she suffered a ruptured spleen which resulted in her having a large laparotomy (the opening of the abdomen from top to bottom).  I had read one of Ms Devon’s blogs some years ago and want to recommend her work and writing to my readers who might be helped by them.

Art Body trolls-2 150517 FbMs Devon does excellent education and advocacy work in the UK via the spoken word, print and electronic media.  Her gifts and life Art Body trolls-1 150517 Fbexperiences have equipped her well for this work: her struggle with her PS scar resulted in a childhood obsession which seems to have been very like what I went through in my younger years.  In her teenage years this obsession became fixated on her scar becoming deeply indented giving her what look like two spare tyres around her waist.  Her concern over her body image then developed into anorexia nervosa.

Now well and truly recovered and adult, Natasha Devon has devoted herself to helping particularly girls and young women who battle with their own body image, with society’s worship of the “body beautiful”, or the predatory behaviour of insensitive and repulsive people in our various home and societal circles and via the media.

Here are some links to read more if you are at all interested –

Loving your Tum (2012, The Real Beauty Debate) – Why do many women struggle so hard to have or get a flat tummy?  Accept and love your body!

My Body is Freaking Awesome. Fact. (2013, The Real Beauty Debate) – Natasha launched a series of 4 tee-shirts with this message or alternatively: BeYou-tiful!  She also tells the story of how she recently survived the belated diagnosis of a ruptured spleen: My body is strong, resilient, clever for healing itself.

Why we should all feel sexy (2013, Cosmopolitan UK) – this article responds to a UK survey that found that many women lack self-confidence, and addresses the causes.

Cellulite, scars, tattoos, hair, bingo wings and bellies: It’s summer – so feel free to get it all out (2013, The Independent) – Natasha celebrates the start of another chancey UK summer with a call to get out into the sun, shed some of that British reserve and enjoy the freedom to dress down a little.

I beat sick internet trolls who said my body was disgusting… and now YOU can too (2014, The Sun – UK ) in addition to ‘They said my body made them puke’ Baring scar in bra left woman troll target (2014, Daily Star) and also Body Image Campaigner Shuts Down Bullies With Bravery (2014, Girl Talk HQ) – After being abused on the internet for showing and telling about her scarred body, Ms Devon takes on the trolls, defending her advocacy and giving some tips on dealing with internet bullying.

Dear Jamelia & Protein World….. (2015, The Real Beauty Debate) – Natasha takes on the fashions and food industries and how they play on the insecurities of many women to market their products, referring to her own struggle with her body image.

I found it interesting and refreshing to read some of the story and writing of someone who has worked through some of the most difficult issues I have had to deal with myself, but from a woman’s viewpoint.  Some of women’s struggles are of course not mine, although I am sensitive to them.  But in other ways men have their own distinctive struggles.

Most of us, whether female or male, feel vulnerable and insecure in certain situations.  Some of us have few of these challenges, others have them as part of their daily life, perhaps even habitually.  If you can identify with this, Natasha Devon is well worth a visit!

Pyloric stenosis then and now

Medical science has made huge progress in the past century.

  • If I had been born 30 years earlier my infant pyloric stenosis (“PS”) would have given my parents a horrible choice: Submit your long-awaited 10 day old firstborn son for major and horrific surgery (probably without an anesthetic) that killed around 75% of babies, many of shock, blood loss or infection – or see your little one die of thirst and starvation.
  • Modern medicine01My father suffered from mild diphtheria and tuberculosis – diseases that are now virtually unheard of in developed countries.  My family is thankful that Dad does not seem to have been seriously affected.
  • One of my grandmothers was almost blind for the last decade of her life and although my father was able to have his cataracts removed, it meant several days in hospital and wearing thick and heavy glasses for the rest of his life.  My eye problems were solved with three day-surgery procedures: a retinal detachment restored 95% of sight in that eye and my 2 cataracts were replaced by lens implants that make life much easier than having to wear glasses.
  • My mother-in-law had 4 children, then suffered post-natal depression and never recovered, dying at age 90; in this sad and dark condition she had another 5 children.  My wife and I have been able to manage our fertility and enjoy life as well as loving the family we planned.

The several PS Groups’ Pages on Facebook and other internet forum sites (e.g., BabyCenter, MedHelp, PatientUK, and Topix) make it clear that even today, the distress of having a baby with PS does not always end after the scabs from the surgery fall off.  Even in adult life, the long-term effects, although not universal, can be inescapable and extremely troublesome. But just think of the changes from what PS and its surgery were like when the older readers of this post (and their parents, most now passed on) experienced it…

  • General anesthesia, especially for a baby and even today, will always carry a small risk and may still be found to have long-term effects, but it is nevertheless always used and widely regarded as very safe.
  • breastfeeding1PS babies undergoing surgery no longer suffer maternal deprivation: the danger of infection is usually well-managed and hospital rules and staff are no longer as severe as they were.  Mother and baby only need to separate for only an hour or two.  In my case in 1945 it seems to have been some 2 weeks – and both Mum and I continued to feel it.  Today almost all babies can be held and nursed almost immediately after they recover from the operation, and most are cleared to return home within 2 – 3 days.
  • Single port pyloromyotomy scar

    Single port pyloromyotomy scar

    Surgical techniques have improved vastly.  PS surgery once involved an incision which left a scar that grew to an average of 10 cm (4 inches) and usually became quite indented and puckered.  The wound was closed with sutures that left significant additional dimple scars.  No wonder many of the generations who were disfigured by their life-saving surgery took years to come to accept their scar – if ever.  Single port laparoscopic surgery for PS has now become “best practice”: all the work is done through one port (or tube) which is inserted through the navel, and if it is well done and under the right conditions this leaves no visible scarring.

  • Parents and PSers now have access to information, networks and therapies that can help them to understand the physical long-term damage and the psychological and emotional effects that are possible after infant surgery.  When fully effective treatment healing is not possible, the availability of the above help and support will still give many benefits.

This blog, like many of the parents and adult PSers who subscribe to the online forums, wants to see PS becoming more quickly recognised more often, its immediate and long-term after-effects better understood, acknowledged and managed, and not a small number of the medical profession having a much better (more respectful, informative and honest) attitude to PS parents and patients. But I also want to take note of and celebrate the progress that has occurred in important aspects of this condition… in my next post.

A pyloric stenosis baby

These are the very first photos of my mother with me, and 69 years later they keep touching me deeply.

Pic 12194510-1 FLVClick on the images to enlarge them. Yes, they are very grainy: they were taken just a few months after the end of World War 2: my Dad was never much of a photographer, but more to the point, my parents and their country (the Netherlands) had just been liberated from five terrible years of occupation and oppression.  But despite the obvious poverty of the photography these images capture enough.

My composed mother

Photos of a yummy mummy with her first baby are usually drenched with glowing pride, obvious health and radiant happiness.  Sadly, both these photos are somewhat different.

Despite being a devout Christian committed to a life of serving others as a Jesus-follower, Mum’s life of 28 years to this point had not been easy.

  • As a child she had sustained a head injury which left her with frequent and severe migraine headaches and later, early onset Alzheimers.
  • During the early Depression years she had left home in an idyllic small town and moved 200 km north to Amsterdam, hoping to study medicine. But her frequent headaches forced her to abandon her studies.
  • The student with whom she fell in love was a good man but also a compulsive networker and more interested in following lectures and making new friends than in finding work so that he could marry his fiancée. In later years she would still remember the nightmares she had in those years.
  • During World War 2 the Dutch witnessed ruthless Nazi destruction and atrocities, the programmed dehumanisation and then menacing removal of Jews, and the brutal suppression of Dutch dissent. In 1943 my father at last obtained a church appointment which enabled my parents to marry.  But this also meant that my Dad as a public figure in town was sought as a hostage whenever the Germans carried out reprisals for some act of the Dutch Resistance.  He survived this time but did develop TB (which we are grateful was treated without apparent damage).
  • As was normal at the time, my mother was never very open about her inner life and its stories. Not only did she not speak easily about herself; she batted away questions she found uncomfortable.
  • Early in 1945 she became pregnant with me, her first child. The joy and glow of pregnancy must have been somewhat clouded by living over 300 km from her parents and sisters, a relatively small distance today, but not in the ravaged Netherlands of 1945.
  • The day after I was born Dad wrote to his parents: “he loves sleeping and eating, in this he is like both his parents, not to mention one of his grandparents… we don’t need to tell you how much we have enjoyed and been thankful for so much good fortune and wonder, for answered prayer and dreams fulfilled!”
  • Less than a week later my parents’ firstborn was vomiting himself to death and was diagnosed as suffering from infant pyloric stenosis. On day 10 my lanky little form lay on an operating table, bundled up for warmth and strapped to a small cross to keep me still, as general anesthetic was usually regarded as too hazardous for infants under 2 years old.
  • Infection was still a huge hazard in 1940s hospitals and particularly after surgery on tiny people in an emaciated condition. This meant a standard of two weeks of post-op care in hospital, and for much of that time, isolation from family including even a nursing mother.  Mum had to express milk daily and deliver it herself to the hospital 15 km away by steam train.

These two photos were clearly taken after my return home.  As is fairly usual after pyloric stenosis is corrected, my weight and condition quickly returned to normal, and this is confirmed by the weight chart my parents sometimes showed me (but sadly, later tossed out).

On one photo my mother is uncomfortable with the bright sunshine.  Both show her as young, well and caring, but also as formal, unsmiling and preoccupied with her damaged child.  All this is how her children remember her.

The sleeping baby

On both these photos I look well but am not just asleep: this baby looks exhausted!  I can only wonder whether this was the truth or whether it just showed my parents’ lack of (or disinterest in) photographic skill!

To me these photos reflect sadness.  Under all those warm clothes was a scarred little body which reminded them every time my parents bathed or changed me of what they and I had just endured.  Scar belly01cBy the time I was allowed home, the incision wound would have healed to the point that the scabs were crispy crusty and starting to fall off.  But the wound had been sewn up with heavy and deep stitches to prevent it rupturing as I cried and strained, and in case there was more vomiting (as there often is after this operation).  These sutures would have been only recently removed, leaving longish wounds with dried blood where the threads had cut through the tender young skin.  Although the photo I have posted here is of an adult male it accurately conveys what my dear Mum had to confront many times each day.

But this violence and ugliness had also given me life – in fact one that would enjoy great length and blessing!  We can also be grateful that all wounds soon get past their unsightly worst, and most people’s scars soon fade: after a year or two the damaged tissue has changed into white or pale-pink kanji markings.  Despite this, the unevenness and lumps often remain and the incision line, especially in babies, can become disfiguringly sunken.  My scar is sometimes hardly noticeable but it can also look like hollowed pockmarks left by a shotgun blast.

As I have mentioned elsewhere, my mother seems to have struggled with how best to help her damaged son but did this in ways I have always regretted.  She stonewalled and procrastinated, promising to explain “sometime” but talking to friends within my hearing, she made a variety of clothes that sometimes framed and sometimes hid my scar, and she embroidered words based on the word “pylorus”… Clearly, she had been deeply affected by the pyloric stenosis of her first child, the hospital stay that followed, and the 1940s scar that became a kind of sacrament (or is it a “scar-ament”?).

Strangely for some, unsurprisingly to me, my gnarled midriff was something I hated and hid from public sight for many years.  Although I now feel pride in being a survivor and belong to a community of people who share my experience and understand my emotions, every time I see my body I am still flooded with mixed emotions.

Sharing some of these feelings and reflecting on my parents’ and my experiences with one of the maladies of infancy, with infant surgery and with being “damaged goods” all help me and have helped countless others among the many readers of this blog.