Scoliosis; A Memoir.
My posture is terrible. If I'm standing, I'm slouching; if I'm sitting, I'm leaning. I have ultimately accepted that I will at some point in my life become one of those hunchback grandmothers you see crossing the street.
It started when I was a kid. The nurses would separate the boys and the girls whenever it was time to examine the spinal cord of every child within Concord's grasp. Scoliosis. A condition in which one's spine looks more like an upside down question mark than an exclamation point. More importantly, it is a condition that leaves an already awkward adolescent feeling even more awkward than ever. I was that boy.
No, I wasn't. I mean, I was, but I wasn't. I was never officially diagnosed with Scoliosis, but I was more than qualified for it. For one, I was the most awkward kid in my class. Okay, maybe that one bitch, Paula, who glued her lips together in 2nd grade was a little off her rocker, but by 6th grade I had already been called out and questioned for not keeping pictures of naked women in my locker. As far as I was concerned the doctor's could have diagnosed me with Scoliosis without even looking at my spine. I prepared myself for the worst.
My sister used to help me. I would lay on the ground face down until my mother's mop was completely fastened to my back via duct tape. To this day I'm still not completely sure what the cure for Scoliosis is, but at the time, in my adolescent mind, I pictured a metal bar somehow being attached to my back. This is where the mop comes in. My sister could never find a metal bar, and the vaccuum was too heavy, but she sure as hell knew where the mop was, not that she ever used it for anything. Most days she stayed away from it, but when the occasion finally arose, she fastened it to my back faster than Macgyver ever dreamed of. She was, and still is, my hero.
So the day finally came. Scoliosis testing. Here we are, a group of 6th grade boys standing shirtless in an old janitor's closet. Some of us had already developed armpit hair, while the rest of us were developing man titties. I didn't necessarily have a set of tits, and I had only begun to develop armpit hair under my left arm. To be completely honest I still have more armpit hair under my left arm than my right arm. Humuliating. Before sprouting a single chest hair, before any muscles began to form in my chest, before all of that, my insecurities developed on a very deep and sincere level. I remember feeling so vulnerable and exposed at the time, that even now, as a grown man, I find it hard to be shirtless around other people.
I looked around the room at the other boys. Most of them laughing, some of them hiding. It was my turn. I stepped up to the tape, bent over, and felt the fingers of 1000 different doctors and nurses molesting my back. It felt like I was bent over for roughly 22 years when I decided to look up. Leaning against an exposed brick wall, an old worn out mop made eye-contact with me, a sullen gaze that reminded me of all the days my sister used to save my life. I laughed, but only to myself. I knew that when I got home that evening my sister would be waiting in the doorway, a mop in one hand, and duct tape in the other. For the first time in my life, as I was bent over, waiting to hear the worst, I knew that everything was going to be alright. And it was.
My sister saved my life, and to this very day, if I ever need a mop securely fastened to my back, I know who to call.
More than anything though, I just want to know why Paula glued her lips together.
It started when I was a kid. The nurses would separate the boys and the girls whenever it was time to examine the spinal cord of every child within Concord's grasp. Scoliosis. A condition in which one's spine looks more like an upside down question mark than an exclamation point. More importantly, it is a condition that leaves an already awkward adolescent feeling even more awkward than ever. I was that boy.
No, I wasn't. I mean, I was, but I wasn't. I was never officially diagnosed with Scoliosis, but I was more than qualified for it. For one, I was the most awkward kid in my class. Okay, maybe that one bitch, Paula, who glued her lips together in 2nd grade was a little off her rocker, but by 6th grade I had already been called out and questioned for not keeping pictures of naked women in my locker. As far as I was concerned the doctor's could have diagnosed me with Scoliosis without even looking at my spine. I prepared myself for the worst.
My sister used to help me. I would lay on the ground face down until my mother's mop was completely fastened to my back via duct tape. To this day I'm still not completely sure what the cure for Scoliosis is, but at the time, in my adolescent mind, I pictured a metal bar somehow being attached to my back. This is where the mop comes in. My sister could never find a metal bar, and the vaccuum was too heavy, but she sure as hell knew where the mop was, not that she ever used it for anything. Most days she stayed away from it, but when the occasion finally arose, she fastened it to my back faster than Macgyver ever dreamed of. She was, and still is, my hero.
So the day finally came. Scoliosis testing. Here we are, a group of 6th grade boys standing shirtless in an old janitor's closet. Some of us had already developed armpit hair, while the rest of us were developing man titties. I didn't necessarily have a set of tits, and I had only begun to develop armpit hair under my left arm. To be completely honest I still have more armpit hair under my left arm than my right arm. Humuliating. Before sprouting a single chest hair, before any muscles began to form in my chest, before all of that, my insecurities developed on a very deep and sincere level. I remember feeling so vulnerable and exposed at the time, that even now, as a grown man, I find it hard to be shirtless around other people.
I looked around the room at the other boys. Most of them laughing, some of them hiding. It was my turn. I stepped up to the tape, bent over, and felt the fingers of 1000 different doctors and nurses molesting my back. It felt like I was bent over for roughly 22 years when I decided to look up. Leaning against an exposed brick wall, an old worn out mop made eye-contact with me, a sullen gaze that reminded me of all the days my sister used to save my life. I laughed, but only to myself. I knew that when I got home that evening my sister would be waiting in the doorway, a mop in one hand, and duct tape in the other. For the first time in my life, as I was bent over, waiting to hear the worst, I knew that everything was going to be alright. And it was.
My sister saved my life, and to this very day, if I ever need a mop securely fastened to my back, I know who to call.
More than anything though, I just want to know why Paula glued her lips together.
posted by adampheonix at 10:23 AM
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