The wonky spine club
From the outside, I look like your average human being. But this is what’s happening on the inside…
Ever heard of scoliosis? No? Well I’m not surprised. I’d never heard about it when I was diagnosed at 14. And 7 years on, no one seems to know anything about it either. Scoliosis is a curvature of the spine. What causes it, nobody knows. No one’s spine is completely straight, but mine is just a bit wonkier than everyone else’s.
I will never forget the day that I was fitted for my back brace. This would prevent my spine from becoming any worse, but on the condition that I wear it for at least 22 hours per day. It was a no brainer. The idea of having an eight-hour operation, where metal rods are inserted either side of my spine to straighten it out, was terrifying. I knew that wearing the brace would be worth it.
I just presumed that they would do another x-ray, take some measurements, feed them into a computer and hey presto, some clever machine would make me a back brace. But no. My entire torso was covered in plaster. I laid there for a bit, levitating above a massive hole in the table that enabled the man to coat every inch of skin in cold, wet sludge, and just before I turned to stone, I was cut out of the mould that would be used to create my back brace. As I got up off the table, I noticed a row of the finished products, in all shapes, colours and sizes. Imagine a plastic corset, with a sweetheart neckline, straps to do it up at the front and little holes all over it for ventilation. It was at this point that the man asked me what colour I would like. I could have anything I wanted. I wish I had gone for something more daring, like the polka-dot ladybird pattern I saw on the tiniest one in the room, or the leopard print that another girl with scoliosis in my school had chosen. But I went for plain white, as I didn’t want draw attention to myself.
Once my brace was made, I was shown the basics of how to wear it correctly. You lay down, put it on and fasten the straps, locking your body into the right place. I felt like an upside-down tortoise, stuck in its shell, limbs flailing all over the place. I couldn’t get up. Things I used to do without thinking had become a challenge. You don’t realise how bendy you are until you can’t bend at all. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but I soon got used it. And it had its perks. I no longer had to sit on the floor in school assemblies.
I couldn’t have wished for more supportive friends. When a teacher tried to sign my uniform card for not having my shirt tucked in (my skirt wouldn’t fit over the top of the brace), my class rallied to my defence. “Well what do you mean she can’t tuck her shirt in?” the agitated teacher exclaimed. So I just lifted my shirt up and showed him the plastic that lined my body. In this moment of triumph, my confidence soared. I no longer felt like I had to hide my difference.
Fast forward a year and it was time to say goodbye to my back brace. My curvature had remained the same, and my consultant was satisfied that it would not get any worse. Part of me wishes that I’d kept the brace as a reminder of what I’d achieved, but this isn’t an experience I am likely to forget.
