A few weeks ago I introduced you to Bruiser. This is Bruiser’s friend Betty. But, Betty is not a pimple, nor is Betty a belly-button, even though she closely resembles one. She resides smack-dab in the middle of my chest and is about the size of a dime. Please ignore the sun spots, they’re trying to steal Betty’s thunder.
Betty is a scar. Just over a year ago, I found a very tiny bump. A bump so small, it was barely noticeable. Of course, to me it seemed quite large…and hideous. Bad enough to go see a dermatologist who, in 10 seconds flat, shaved that bump right off.
But, the scar that was left was far worse than the original bump, so I went back. To the same dermatologist. I’m smart like that.
I told her to cut the scar tissue out and stitch up the wound so my scar would be linear. Years ago I had plastic surgery on my face for a crater of a chicken pox scar, using that same procedure, and it worked like a charm.
Only, I’m not 21 anymore and my wounds don’t heal like they did way back then. What was supposed to be a linear scar, not only still resembles the original mark left from the shaving, but there are more, little scars from the stitches.
What once was a little bump, is now so bad that I can’t wear half the shirts in my closet. Well, I can, but people’s eyes gravitate directly to Betty. She transfixes people like a laser beam.
I think Betty resembles a cigarette burn, while my husband thinks she’s more of a newborn butthole. Either way I win, don’t you think?