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Scar Tissue
Jul. 23rd, 2008 06:15 pmEddy, the other chef where I work, is always trying to get me to cut properly. You can go much faster, he says, and you're much less likely to cut yourself. I cut pretty quickly using my own methods, but the other day I decided to give his way another try -- and cut myself for the first time ever. The cut isn't deep, but as it's on the joint of my thumb, it keeps reopening. I've been wondering if it will scar, since Harry obtained a similar cut putting up the marquee at the Summer Gathering and was certain it would scar him forever, since it disrupted the natural folds of the knuckle.
I don't think it's so easy to tell what will or won't scar us forever. Last summer, my aunt's boyfriend was certain that a recently obtained burn -- a garish slash across my inner wrist, from the 350o oily metal of the deep-fat fryer scoop -- would leave a permanent scar. A year later, it's barely visible. Meanwhile, a shallow, incidental strip of a cut from an exposed bolt, obtained when I was maybe 12, still glares thick and pale and puffy on my upper arm. It didn't even hurt much at the time, yet there it is. So I guess it's hard to say what will scar us.
Like how, with all my years of combat sports in high school, I couldn't tell you which blow it was that caused apparently permanent damage to the left side of my ribcage; I only know that if you press it in a certain spot, the bones shift painfully. Or how, recently, I found myself crying over old hurts I hadn't even thought about in years. The situation that caused them gave me so much grief and anger, generally, that I'd never thought to dwell on these seemingly minor aspects -- and so was shocked to find that all this time they'd been there, festering under the surface.
Harry ventured the theory that perhaps human beings are just walking masses of scar tissue, and maybe he is right. But what confuses me is not that we all have these ancient hurts we carry with us, but that it's so hard to pinpoint what they actually are, until someone presses on exactly the right spot. It's obvious that if you pick at something, it will hurt you for longer. This cut on my thumb probably will scar, at least for a year or two, simply because it keeps tearing open. But what of the things we leave alone? We do exactly the right things to heal them, and let them heal, but -- like the puffy gash on my upper arm -- they simply stay and stay. What then? Well, at least of that: it has gotten smaller with time. It's turned from red to white, thinned, and shrunk from 2" to just 1 ½". Perhaps one day it will vanish completely.
I don't think it's so easy to tell what will or won't scar us forever. Last summer, my aunt's boyfriend was certain that a recently obtained burn -- a garish slash across my inner wrist, from the 350o oily metal of the deep-fat fryer scoop -- would leave a permanent scar. A year later, it's barely visible. Meanwhile, a shallow, incidental strip of a cut from an exposed bolt, obtained when I was maybe 12, still glares thick and pale and puffy on my upper arm. It didn't even hurt much at the time, yet there it is. So I guess it's hard to say what will scar us.
Like how, with all my years of combat sports in high school, I couldn't tell you which blow it was that caused apparently permanent damage to the left side of my ribcage; I only know that if you press it in a certain spot, the bones shift painfully. Or how, recently, I found myself crying over old hurts I hadn't even thought about in years. The situation that caused them gave me so much grief and anger, generally, that I'd never thought to dwell on these seemingly minor aspects -- and so was shocked to find that all this time they'd been there, festering under the surface.
Harry ventured the theory that perhaps human beings are just walking masses of scar tissue, and maybe he is right. But what confuses me is not that we all have these ancient hurts we carry with us, but that it's so hard to pinpoint what they actually are, until someone presses on exactly the right spot. It's obvious that if you pick at something, it will hurt you for longer. This cut on my thumb probably will scar, at least for a year or two, simply because it keeps tearing open. But what of the things we leave alone? We do exactly the right things to heal them, and let them heal, but -- like the puffy gash on my upper arm -- they simply stay and stay. What then? Well, at least of that: it has gotten smaller with time. It's turned from red to white, thinned, and shrunk from 2" to just 1 ½". Perhaps one day it will vanish completely.
