Scars

A week ago today I had a hysterectomy. After years of gynecological problems and many unsuccessful treatments, it was time. I have 4 new scars on my lower abdomen, where the laparoscopic equipment went in, with dissolveable stitches all along my insides. I am feeling surprisingly fine for such major surgery.
As I was getting into the shower, I looked down at my scars, my new ones and those from years past. I was startled to realize how many there were. I have 6 scars from my 2 laparoscopic surgeries prior, 2 fully healed breast biopsy scars, and a chest biopsy scar skill blaring red from it's recent healing.
What does this say about the seemingly healthy woman who wears these scars?
As I sit here recovering from my recent surgery, feeling a little sad and full of angst, I must ask myself what these new set of scars are trying to tell me.
And I know: It is the end.
It is the removal of the part of me that brought me my son..my intense, loving, easily frustrated and handsome son who drives me crazy and brings me such joy. It is the end of chapters having to do with having a family and wanting a family and doing everything in my power to get it. It is about losing my first pregnancy and gaining something greater. Yet, somehow I still feel a loss, a profound loss at the glory that such an important body part gave me: my son.
But why a loss when I am done with children?
Why sadness when I am so happy that the surgery is finally over?
It is the scars.
I don't want my painful journey to motherhood, and the miracle of my child's birth and life to have ended with scars, that everyone can see. Seems so indifferent, so cold, so callous. My new scars are so close to my recent chest biopsy scar-the one which removed pre-cancerous cells once and for all. I want them to be different somehow.
Silly, I imagine the surgeon as she delivered my uterus like a child, grasping it, and holding it up to heaven, with the gratitude I feel for this organ holding my child and keeping him safe until he was ready to come into the world. I imagine her chanting, praying "thank you god for her beautiful uterus, which did it's job before it had to go."
In my imagination I like to give it the appreciation it deserves.
Maybe that is it. The scars are an outward sign of such an important journey. An outward sign of what I have been through and what has made me who I am as a mother, and as a person. Perhaps as these new scars heal, lighten, and become harder to see, I should appreciate what each one has done to mark the journey to making me the person I am today.