10 Cents to See My Chest: Building Pride and Confidence in Children with Surgical Scars

As a parent, it can be a courageous challenge to be present for your child when they are born with medical challenges. I cannot imagine what this was like for my family when their first child was born with ten toes, a big smile and a blue skin tone. Right after I was born, I was whisked off and my family was broadsided with the news of my congenital heart deformities. I was blessed to have a strong family and a mother and grandmother that knew how much a child needed closeness and presence. They knew this before the surge of attachment research and held me tight through my fears, pain and joys of being a child with a congenital heart condition.

A favourite story I share often encapsulates the unique experience of being a parent of a child with medical challenges. I love this story because it shows the fierceness in my. mother who knew how important pride is in healing.

A little over a year after my open heart surgery, my six year old thinking hatched an idea. I didn't have any money on hand for the lunch hour sale of ice cream, but I could get some money from my classmates. I don't remember thinking of the idea or how I advertised, but I do remember going to the far end of the little grass field and lifting up my shirt to show some children my scar. I charged them each 10 cents, which was a fair amount back in the day. I felt so brave and didn't even mind their comments and laughter, for deep inside I knew that my y shaped scar that was still bright red was something to be proud of. My mother had taught me how beautiful my scar was. It was my survival, my story.

I knew the pain involved in getting the scar and I truly loved that it was in the shape of a Y or birds wings. A tattoo when I was still too young to get one.

Whenever we would walk on the beach, my mother would find sticks shaped like Ys and tell me they were special to me.

My mom bought me bathing suits that would show off my scar and I wore them thinking they were made special for me.

My mother was called into the office. The vice principal was concerned that I was showing my chest for money and my mother was strongly encouraged to have a chat with me and cover me up. My mother told the vice principal that she wasn't going to stop me from showing my scar as

it was my sign of survival and something to be proud of.

I didn't know that the phone call and discussion happened until years later. Thank goodness. My mother jokes now that she did try to find pant suits that weren't easily zipped down, but the truth of the matter was she was so damn proud of my bravery she didn't care.

I had a very challenging entry into school after my surgery. It was the most painful part of my journey feeling different that every other kid, in pain still and behind in math. The feeling of this social disconnection is easy for me to still find in my heart today. I remember a teacher talking about me within my ear shot telling another adult that I just sat in the corner and wasn't making friends easily. My whole body stung with her words. When my young clients share their similar stories, my heart still does a double beat for them. I remember this feeling of alone, misunderstood and unseen.

Me showing my scar was so very brave. I was probably shaking in my little body! My mother's stories of how the scar was a symbol of how beautiful and brave my body was gave me the courage to share. In that moment and this moment, I didn't care what others thought. I was just showing my scar to feel the pride in my own journey.

That was the beginning of me becoming a counsellor who works with families and children with pediatric medical trauma. My own story is my strongest tool in holding space for them in their own healing. I aspire to hold stories of pride like my mother did for me in my practice as a clinician so that my young clients can feel and embody their own pain, courage and experience through their visible and invisible scars.