It’s funny how you think back on all of your years of childhood and only a handful of memories seem to make their mark on your mind. At least for me. I find myself always wondering why I can’t seem to remember things vividly, as so many an autobiographer seems to do. I do have the usual memories of sibling love and rivalry, dance lessons, high school romance, and oh, one big one: my scoliosis.
I remember my scoliosis experience probably better than anything else in my life in terms of detail and sense memory. I suppose having something being a constant and physical aspect of your life helps with the emotional and mental stamp last in permanent ink.
I even remember the day I was checked for scoliosis.
5th grade gym class at Mark Twain Elementary in Bettendorf, IA. I was already struggling with the identity of the awkward new girl who was more rotund in the center than ideal; gym class was the worst part of the day for someone like me. My only true sense of confidence came from being in plays at night and at that time I was in rehearsals for the musical Gypsy.
The seemingly haggard and smoked out school nurse that day had all of the students take a break from being accosted with dodge balls to enter what I remember to be a storage closet to do a “routine check”. Check for what? Who knows, they never tell us kids anything. Nurse says enter a storage closet with mesh bags of volleyballs and basketballs, you do it.
And so on that day began the ever repeating process of standing in front of an adult with your back to them, having your shirt off (scolding yourself if you forgot a sports bra that day) and bending forward towards your toes, while cold hands trace your spine and hold your hips. Later in life I would begin to learn that my shoulder blades on the right would stick up more than the left and my left hip would cock to the left. But that was a long time in the later.
The school nurse didn’t say a word to me and it took no more than 2 minutes, so thinking nothing of it, I ran (Ok I sorta jogged) back to the wall of my team’s side, where I would wait until I was one of the few left and would have to face getting hit with a ball.
The check with the school nurse would have become on of the thousands of memories I have lost over the past 20 years of my life, if it hadn’t been for what happened at Gypsy rehearsal that night.
My father, who you could consider my first and true artistic manager, took my sister and I to every rehearsal of every play we ever did. Thinking back on that as an adult, I can’t be more appreciative of the time and energy that he put into our dreams of being broadway stars. He would sit and wait in the audience every night while we rehearsed, as he did that same night as my school nurse check in 5th grade.
I was sitting in the audience with my daddy, waiting for my solo part to come up, when out of nowhere he said, “Stand up and turn towards the stage. Let me see your back.” Um..... huh? Being a little confused but always putting my trust in my daddy, I did. He lifted my shirt and sorta traced my spine with his finger he said, “Your school nurse called me today. She said that your back needed to be checked by a doctor.”
The memory after that gets blurry. I don’t remember being particularly sad or worried. I mean.... at the age of 10, what on earth could I possibly fathom to be wrong with my back? There were no marks, no bumps. And I’m not even sure at that point I had even heard the S word.
Fast forward to my first official doctor’s visit. A Davenport orthopaedic office of crotchety old women ordering me around and a tall and cold old man as a doctor. Rough grandma grips of the arms to move me from one room to another. Not the place to make a child feel like they were there to get well, only to get punished. They had me wear this massive robe and walk through the office with strangers staring at me to take x-rays. Always the same 3: back, right side, and left side.
“Chance of pregnancy?”.... Um I’m 10
“Ok hold your breath. Don’t move!”
“Ok just wait here while I get your films”. Ok... I’ll stand with this ridiculous robe in this very cold room while you take your sweet time. I don’t mind at all.
Once in the exam room, the old man doctor came in and had me bend forward in the normal fashion, only this time (and this time only) he used this long shoe-string device with a pointy weight at the end that creeped into my underwear upon him hanging it along my spine. No sudden movements would be worth it! Could it get any more miserable?
The time with the doctor didn’t take long and I was relieved to no longer be at the will of Grandma Whiplash and I was finally allowed to put my clothes back on.
Words between my parents and the doctor were exchanged in the lobby after the exam, but what I distinctly remember was this:
Daddy-- “Well we will be wanting to get a second opinion.”
Must live in a basement doctor-- “Go to Dr. Weinstein in Iowa City. He’s the top for scolosis”.
So there it was. I had something called scoliosis and I was going to see yet another doctor in Iowa City. But this would be a man that I would be honored to have as my spinal care-giver for the next 20+ years of my life.
Next chapter: Up To 30 Degrees
jacobvanloon