I caught myself covering my neck with my hand. It’s a habit I thought I left behind long ago, but here I am to the day, 33 years later and there it is, too, casually masking the scars on my neck that most people do not even notice. Scars from a doctor who endangered my life, and more scars from the ones who saved it: Twice.

The other scars from that night are hidden between ribs where trauma physicians hastily secured tubes to reinflate my lungs. Those tubes would help my damaged lungs deliver oxygen on their own, protecting my brain and hopefully preserving the essence of me. If I survived.

Marking this day, this year, is not about rehashing the story, though it deserves retelling because of my family and friends. They were told I would likely not survive, but believed more in my strong-willed determination than the combined education of every doctor who said, “Don’t leave the hospital.”   It deserves retelling because of the fiercely devoted young husband who rarely left my side and aggressively advocated for answers and commitment from every professional connected to my case.

This year, marking the day is about no longer hiding the scars. It is about seeing them in a different light. They do still bother me.  They’re not pretty. In my younger years, they faded with time, but as I age they’ve grown more prominent again.

Today, on the 33^rd anniversary of the first time everything changed for Chris and me, I want to see them through more loving eyes. They represent the greatest trial we’d faced in our young marriage. They represent a husband advocating for his wife, buying time while she tore through veil after veil in the confused recesses of her comatose mind to get back to him. They are signs of strength, of overcoming fear, of healing, and of a future we would have missed if not for all of those factors.

I wish God’s answer had been “yes” when it was my turn to beg, “Please, please don’t take him.”  The years we were given after my eyes opened all those years ago helped us grow in faith and courage. It gave us the opportunity to be parents. It helped us become more grateful spouses to each other. It deepened our connection and made us appreciate why we fell in love in the first place. It made me strong enough to continue on in a world without him, no matter how hard.

So as I look in the mirror and see the scars of a life lived so far, I don’t want to see a girl hiding them from a judgmental world. I want to see a bad-ass woman who knows that what she’s been through has made her who she is; a woman unafraid to be curious and embrace new adventures; a woman looking for the next opportunity to stand on a ledge, scared to take a leap of faith but doing it anyway.

I want to see what CAN be. And then I want to do THAT.