Back Brace {Part Two}

I am and could be very sarcastic about this whole experience.  Read on.

After going through the process of getting fitted for the Milwalkee Brace, I finally got it.

Another trip to the Doctor's office where he and his staff smiled so encouragingly.  Where my mother smiled and nodded in approval and checked everything over twice.  She seemed so validated.  I was paraded, twirled, checked, poked.

They all looked at me like I should be grateful.

I was and I wasn't.

I really didn't want to be deformed.  Who would be?  I knew I was a long way from really, truly being deformed, but the possibility was there.  Lurking.  All of the adults in my life said, 'You have to wear it or else...'

I also was a good kid.  I could tell this was really important to my mother and I knew she was set on this therapy.  I really didn't have a choice.

Still, I knew this could crush me.  Kids can be brutally cruel.  I'd been down that road plenty of times and I had some decisions to make about how I would handle myself.

I resolved that I would obey the rules and wear it for as long as I needed to.

And not a moment longer.

The brace had a plastic girdle.  It had 2 metal bars that went up the back and one up the front.  These attached to a collar.  They also had pads on them.  Words can not describe the depths of uncomfortable-ness.  I'd slip the brace on through the opening in the back. Then I'd screw the collar together at the back of my neck and tighten the strap at my waist.  The girdle came pretty low in the front, but I could sit comfortably.  In the back, however, it completely deformed my butt - for lack of a better way to say it. Since a major pressure point was in my tail bone region, it effectively split my rear in two top to bottom.

So much for wearing cute jeans.

I wore it home and stared out the window for the long 2 hour drive in the silence.  I'm sure my mom said things like, 'This is for your own good'  'It really won't be that bad, no one will even notice.' 'You're so blessed, you should be grateful we can do this for you.' 'I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to help you.' She may have even said she was sorry. I really can't remember.  I try not to be bitter, but let's be honest, there's still a little there.

I had to wear it for 23 hours a day, meaning I had to sleep in it too.  I could take it off to shower.

School started and I was Joan Cusak in 16 Candles.



I should add that I also had braces on my teeth.  My clothes covered everything up except for the collar.
Most people said they thought the collar was some kind of head gear for my mouth.

The back pads didn't really bother me too much.  They were just constant pressure.  What really hurt was the chest pad.  It was placed at the top of the sternum and I'm a little lop-sided today because of the way it sat. It burned. Oh, the burning.  It was like when you tie your shoes too tight and your feet ache. I couldn't get away from it.  I would sit in class and try to exhale all of the air from my lungs so I could get the pad away from my chest.

Thankfully it was the mid 80's and the shirts were long and loose.  My close friends got over the newness pretty quickly.  I tried really really hard to just be normal.  I would sit in church on the pews and tears would stream down my face.  Not because I was touched, but because sitting at the angle of the benches was killer on my back.

I had resolved in myself to proceed forward, get through each day and do the best I could.  I had fun with my friends.  I went to class and did my best. I got into art and started to blossom.  My art teacher that I talked about here, started calling me 'Stiff'.  It wasn't funny at all to my mother, but I could laugh about it.  I found this determination that I wasn't going to let it get me down and beat me.  It was an empowering feeling.

When I felt a little picked on I would think about everyone else who had real stuff to complain about in the world and I'd quit my pity-party.

Slowly it became less of a blinking light on my forehead and more just a part of me.

I had a boyfriend (if you can call it that...) One night at a dance I had had enough of the brace.  I took it off, shoved it in my locker and went on my way.  No one said a word.  We danced, and laughed, and had a good time.  Later in the evening I asked him if he noticed anything different.  He said no (and then kind of chastised me for not wearing it.  Rude.)

I realized it wasn't as huge to everyone else as it was to me.  After that, I just wore it and didn't care sooo much.  I was still me, and the brace was never ever going to change that.

I wore the brace for 9 months.

Then I was done.

I was actually supposed to wear it for a year.  My main doctor that made the initial diagnosis was no more. He had been having an affair with his receptionist and his wife divorced him, taking him to the cleaners in the process.  He filed for bankruptcy and closed his office doors.

My mother found another doctor, who I liked much better.  He said I probably would have grown out of it. Some good exercises and physical therapy would have really helped and I probably wouldn't have had to wear the brace at all.

Seriously.

She stands behind her decision that she did what she thought was best.

I get that.  I honor her for it.

It's a waste of time for me to wish I'd never worn it.  I did.  I chose not to shrink, but to grow from it.

It brought me out of my shell.  I'd walk down the scary Senior Halls and people would look at me I would just try to smile, walk quickly and have some confidence. Once in a while someone would be 'brave' and ask me about it.  I learned to explain myself and get over being so nervous I couldn't get the words out.

It also gave me a tad bit of empathy for people who are and feel different from what society tells us is normal.  Physical, mental, emotional, whatever.  We all have scars.  We all have insecurities.

I learned that things we all feel so awkward about sometimes are way over done in our heads.  Many times people just don't care...in a good way.  What is huge to one, isn't so much to another.

It ended up in a dusty old storage shed.  We went through it a few years ago and I found joy in throwing it away.

Would I choose to put my children though it?

Yes and heck no.  It was grueling and hard and painful so it would be a last resort to put my child through it. No - I wouldn't jump all over it with big smiles and think my child should be so grateful to wear the 'freak brace'.  No - I wouldn't take one doctor's diagnosis.  I would do a physical therapy program and I'd document progress and results.  Then, and only then, if I had exhausted every other resource and felt like that was the only best last option then I would.  And we would work through it together.  I would like to think I have some depths of understanding.

Would I go through it again?

Not on purpose, but I know I could if I had to. The reality is that I did go through it.  I did the hard thing, and I chose to be as positive as I could about it. Even though the memory still bites, the experience did shape me. Nothing can ever take that away.