July 20th, 2012.
"This is it. This is how the world ends," I thought to myself. I mean it's 2012, didn't the Mayans predict this would happen anyway? (FYI, they didn't. The world doesn't end because one girl needs back surgery. It'll probably end with a nuclear war, but I'm getting off topic.)
For four years before this day, I was called a "humpback whale," and was told if I didn't wear a brace, there was a very real chance I could end up in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. But I took that risk and stopped wearing that plastic prison after nine weeks during 6th grade. I could deal with cruel words from ignorant people, but I could not survive wearing tight, hard, plastic on my torso for 20 hours a day.
And then the day came where I convinced my parents that it was best for me get surgery to try to straighten out my spine. That day was July 20th, 2012. I had absolutely no anxiety or fear about it. I just remember putting on the gown with my best friend and mom in the room and glancing at my best friend, and when our eyes made contact, I remember crying my eyes out because what if that was the last time she would ever see me? A curvy-spined, half-asleep, half-drugged, mess. She would never get to see me be confident with my body and be happy.
But five hours later, I came out of the ER with a spine straighter than the surgeon's predictions. And a spine made of two metal rods with 14 screws in each rod. And then I spent five days in the ICU with a collapsed lung. But, I made it out.
Scoliosis was the reason I hated my body since I was 12. It was the reason I spiraled into self-hatred and eventually self-destruction. I never thought anyone would find me beautiful, let alone perfect, for them because of scoliosis.
Five years later, scoliosis is the reason I feel like a warrior every day I face a new obstacle. It's the reason I believe in myself - though I do fall into negative thoughts about myself quite a bit still - more than I ever would. And the reason I push myself to do things out of my comfort zone, no matter how much anxiety they may cause me.
Five years later, I'm still bent but I'm certainly not broken anymore.
