Meet Lloyd

Lloyd first came into my life three years ago. I was not thrilled. I didn’t like him at first. In fact, I think I may have hated him. I thought he was ugly and I thought he would get in the way of the real me. I feared that when people looked at me, they weren’t really looking at me. They were looking at Lloyd. They wouldn’t bother to get to know who I really was because Lloyd would always be in the way, staring them in the face, inescapable. I wished and hoped that Lloyd would eventually go away. It was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend he wasn’t there. People kept making comments about him, asking questions about him. Which I honestly didn’t mind, I was happy to answer any questions, but at the same time, I again couldn’t help but think that they were only curious about Lloyd, and once their curiosity was fed, they were done with me. I even heard that some people flat out didn’t even like Lloyd and wanted me to somehow get rid of him. Well, getting rid of Lloyd is virtually impossible. Lloyd has become a part of who I am as much as the color of my hair or my shoe size. It took me some time, but I eventually learned to accept the fact. Lloyd will never go away. Lloyd and I are one. So in order to learn to love and embrace Lloyd, I had to name him. Thus, I named him Lloyd. Because after naming him, he no longer was a nuisance. He became a character, a real being with feelings. He became mine.

Who is Lloyd you ask? He is my keloid. What the hell is a keloid? Well, simply put, it’s an “aggressive scar.” Lloyd is the product of my open heart surgery three years ago. He now rests in the center of my chest, a long red line going down my sternum. I’ll be the first to admit that he is very jarring to look at. For the first few months, I could barely look at him myself. When I looked in the mirror I was transported back to middle school when I would try so tenaciously to cover up my scar.

See, before Lloyd came along, I had only a faint scar from my first open heart surgery, many, many years ago. That faint scar was hardly noticeable, but of course, when you’re a 13 year old girl trying to be cool, every little flaw is maximized. So I never wore shirts that were low cut for fear that people would see my barely there scar. Eventually, when I got to my senior year of high school, I got over covering it. I thought, “All my friends know about my surgery, and they still love me. What’s the point of covering the scar up?” From that moment on, I wore it loud and proud. I went to college exposing it with no shame and I was still able to make friends. Sure people asked about it, but no one made a huge deal about it. I had finally made peace with my scar.

Then, three years ago, I had a near death experience and had to stay in the hospital for two weeks while doctors did (I was told) revolutionary things to save my life. It was an experience to say the least. Turned out, my heart had kind of worn down over the years and I had to have another open heart surgery. It was to be expected. If you Google “Tricuspid Atresia,” which is the heart condition I have, it’ll actually tell you that after the patient gets the initial Fontan procedure (which is the name of the operation I had) she will be fine until she reaches her 20’s, where she will most likely have arrhythmias (irregular heart beats) or other complications, and will have to have another open heart surgery. So there you go.

In November of 2007, I had my second open heart surgery. Everything went swell and I spent nine days recovering in the hospital, and about three months recovering at home. After it was all said and done, I was left with a souvenir. I was left with Lloyd. I didn’t know Lloyd was a keloid yet. In fact, I didn’t even know what a keloid was. I just thought my scar hadn’t healed completely. After the first six months, when Lloyd still wouldn’t heal, I started to become weary. I asked my doctor what the hell was up. He explained to me that Lloyd was a keloid and he was never going away. Oh sure I could get extremely expensive cosmetic surgery that my insurance wouldn’t pay for to get him removed, but unless I win the lottery, it looks like I was shit out of luck.

That’s when I started to hate Lloyd. I wanted him gone. Unlike the faint scar of my adolescent, Lloyd was VERY noticeable. He was loud, dramatic, and in your face. But I never tried to cover him up. Mostly because it was extremely difficult to find clothes that were accommodating. Besides, what was I going to do? Wear turtlenecks all year round in LA? I didn’t think so. So I dressed like I would normally dress and said, “Screw it.” It is what it is. But I still wished it would go away.

Then there was an incident at work. My company sells office space. We rent an entire floor of a high rise building and then sublease the individual offices to other companies. We have about sixty tenants on the floor, who for the most part, are really cool people. One day, my boss told me that one of our tenants had actually asked her to ask me to cover up Lloyd. Apparently, Lloyd had made one of his clients “uncomfortable.” I was livid. My boss was livid. She pretty much told him to eat shit and die, and if he didn’t like my scar, he could move out. Well, not in those words, but almost. My boss told me that she would never tell me to cover up my scar, not just because it was discrimination and illegal, but because my scar was a part of who I am. She said she never wanted me to feel ashamed of it, or ever wanted me to feel like I had to cover it up. I was very touched that she stood up for me, but I was more touched that she accepted Lloyd even more than I did.

That’s when I realized that my boss was right. Lloyd is a part of who I am. Some people get tattoos to remind themselves of who they are. I get open heart surgeries. Granted, my tattoos aren’t voluntary, but in a way, it’s the same idea. Lloyd isn’t my only scar by any means, but he is the most noticeable. And like tattoos, each scar on my body tells a story of who I am, what I've done, and what I’ve been through. Lloyd is a part of my legacy. I am no longer upset about him. In fact, I kind of love him now. And if anyone has a problem with me because they have a problem with Lloyd, well they can just eat shit and die.