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I wish I had a better camera so I could really do this scar justice.

This is an essential part of who I am. This scar is a defining aspect of my life.

For those of you who don't know....

I learned I had scoliosis when I was 11 years old, going into the 6th grade. Hearing those words as an 11 year old, they don't really make the full impact. All I knew was that I had to go to the hospital and have some x-rays taken. About a month or so after that I had my first appointment at Shriner's Hospital For Children, in St. Louis.

I remember being slightly afraid of everything there. After all, it was a bit overwhelming. I had to have more x-rays taken, and after that, I got to go home. I came back two weeks later, and I seen my orthopedic doctor. He was the one who made my brace. The brace I was given was a Boston brace, also known as the TSLO or Thoraco-Lumbo-Sacral-Orthosis brace, wasn't exactly comfortable. It fit under the arm, extending around the rib cage, lower back and hips. To this day, I haven't hated anything as much as I hated that brace.

I went back over the next two to three years, and I had to be refitted for my brace again by the time I got halfway through the seventh grade. By the time eighth grade rolled around, I had quit wearing them by choice and because I was simply outgrowing them before they could have a chance to replace them.

Through Eighth and Ninth grade they became more concerned with my curvature. It had progressed to the forty degree range. They discussed surgery with me, but I blew it off at first, not really caring how my spine looked whenever I wore a swimsuit. To me, the surgery was nothing but cosmetic. As tenth grade went by, I began having more trouble than usual. My regular knee aches and pains became more and more difficult to deal with on cold or rainy mornings. My back pain was a bit more difficult on those days as well. While I used to be able to run up the three flights of stairs between classes, I could barely make it up half a flight without being out breath.

The end of my tenth grade year saw me talking to my doctors more and more about Surgery. They told me to come in on May 3rd, 2011 for some pre-op testing and so that they could set up a date for surgery. I went in, did all the tests and had the pictures taken of my back. We called them back about a week later to set up the date for surgery, not expecting it to be for another few months. But we were wrong on that. I was due back in on the 23rd of the same month.

I had to take all my final exams early, which caused some confusion among my classmates. But the kids who had teased me since the sixth grade about my brace and about how my back looked when I was changing in the locker room were the first to sober up and wish me luck. I could see it in their expressions that had it come down to them, they couldn't have even considered having a surgery this major on themselves.

I went in May 23rd, a bit grumpy from having to get up early and from having not eaten all night. I had my hair up in a ponytail and I sat texting ~Jplabbee93 until I had to turn off my phone and go down to the prep room. I was afraid of the IV needles, but I had my stuffed puppy dog there with me. I had had him since I was 4 and I seriously needed a friend there with me when I went under. By golly, even at 16 I wasn't going to go to sleep without my puppy. They gave me some form of liquid medicine that sorta made me a bit loopy. I don't remember what it was called, but it looking back now, it reminds me of that "Proton Z" or whatever it was called from Knight and Day.

The last thing I remember about that day is being wheeled into the operating room and having a mask put over my face. After that, I can only remember waking up what seemed like an instant later. It was a slow wake and everything felt like it was coming up from being underwater. It was strange, and they were having me do my tests to make sure I could still move my toes, feet, and legs.

I don't remember much about the rest of that day, only what I was told. Apparently, during my surgery the power went out. The last four of the six hour surgery was done on generators. There was a storm going strong outside and there was a tornado that touched down less than a mile away during it all.

Most of my hospital stay is a blur. I just remember the nurses not giving me any sort of food besides cream of chicken soup, grape popsicles, apple juice and peaches. I still, to this day, cannot eat any of these things besides the peaches, and even that's a stretch.

I got out of the hospital May 28th, 2011, a mere five days after my surgery was finished. I went in on a monday, and I left on a Saturday. The first thing I did after we drove out of the hospital parking lot. I turned to my dad and said. "Dad. Take me to Jack In The Box." My first real food in almost a week consisted of a chicken sandwich, strawberry soda, and curly fries.

The next few months passed easily, and I'm still recovering as best as I can. I still have the tiny appetite that I still have yet to recover from before surgery. I go back in 10 days. I'll keep you all posted if you want.
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© 2011 - 2024 Laemiri
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1stProfessorWho's avatar
Be proud of your scars.  They are proof you survived.