I think this is the first time I will ever try to talk, in all the gory details, about my back surgery. I don’t know if I would be able to say this in person, nor do I think I will ever want to.
You know, I guess it’s true what they say about friends… how “Unless you have the deepest, most intimate bond with someone, none of your friends will ever really understand you when you explain your joys and difficulties to them. Either they’re so wrapped up in their own lives, or they just prescribe certain stereotypes to who you are and your problems…so that they can give you the expected answer with very little thought.”
Coming to a new town, you know, it’s so easy to leave the past behind and create a new image for yourself. I guess I’ve done that, you know? Since my older brother has left for college, I no longer live in his shadow. In my old town, when I met older people, they always knew my brother… Like, “oh, you’re his sister?” It was all right — he didn’t really set any standards, but he had a reputation, I guess. He was big, buff, and kind of intimidating… But still. It was a shadow. And now I no longer live in that.
And when I was in 6th grade, I had back surgery (scoliosis - curvature of the spine. If it’s untreated, I’d turn out like my mom with an uneven back/ribcage and it causes a lot of pain later on). It was a big thing, and I mean, I was scared… But I had the support of my church and youth group. So I got through it okay. They implanted a titanium rod on my spine in order to fix the curvature (it was about 50-60 degrees, I think). I can bend now - the rod grows with the muscles of my back.
But man.. The hardest parts were before the surgery and after it. Going in for blood tests… They take this knife mechanism and cut you to test how long it takes for you to stop bleeding (39 seconds). I still have the scar from it — it’s a staple like scar, very prominent especially since the rest of my skin is smooth.
I hate needles… Seeing them changing the IVs every day, taking the needles out and putting in new ones… It’s horrible. And my wrists and hands - I hate looking at them, because there’s still the scars of the holes from the needles. There’s 3 of them - one on each side of my wrists and a largely faded one on the back of my left hand. The holes… are just disturbing to look at.
Physical therapy … it was terrible. It wasn’t that the nurses were unkind, but just having to get up at all, to walk when it’s so hard to be lifted out of your bed because the pain in your back is tremendous… It brought me to tears many times. Yup, I’m a wuss. But I was 12. I remember going home from the hospital, and climbing into the car… I had to climb in sideways, careful not to let my back touch and explode in pain. I had to sleep on the couch for a while on my side… Taking showers, I couldn’t let the shower nozzle and the hot water pound on my developing scar.
I remember the cards that my class sent me (they’re lost, now.. We’ve moved twice since I was in 6th grade). I remember the visits, the prayers, the gossip… I remember - I had long hair before the surgery, and I had to have it cut short because it would be a long term stay and taking care of long hair would have been bothersome. To this day, I still keep my hair neck-length. I still look back on the whole ordeal with nostalgia, and I don’t know if I’ve moved on.
But now, living in this new town where people haven’t heard any of the gossip about me… Where my friends really don’t know my background at all, is strange… I’m glad they hadn’t heard things about my middle school years. I’m most thankful for that. All the same, though… Is the realization that, when I tell people I cannot do certain physical activities, I’m met with cynicism and confusion as to why. It used to stand that if I said I could not do this, the person would back off. (”The surgery girl,” I suppose, may have been a nickname they used in their minds.) But now… I guess, I’m angry that my friends don’t understand why my spine isn’t in as good a condition as theirs. Why I’m not athletic. I had always been a sickly child, too. And it’s strange then, to explain to them that I had surgery as a child. And then they have a certain look in their eyes, and say, “oh.” Sometimes it’s hard to read; I can’t tell if they are shutting themselves away from me, or if they just don’t want to hear any more…
Worst of all, though, is changing during P.E. I always change with my back facing the wall, instead of facing the wall myself. I do this in hopes that my back will not be as obvious. There is a long white scar, red around the edges where the skin has not fully healed, where you can see the incision. The skin along it is bumpy, where you can feel the scar. There is nothing else on my entire body that I am most self conscious about. When people slap me or touch me on the back, I freeze up. My muscles just automatically contract and I cannot stand to be touched there. I have not dared to wear a swimsuit in years, because I dreaded the exposure my back would get from the low cut that seeps down to the base of the spine on something like that. And yet, sometimes people still see it. Sometimes people ask to see it, with a sick curiosity that penetrates into my fear. There are scars on me that I am ashamed of. But unlike most people, my biggest scar is also physical and every morning I glance at it, with a mixture of sadness and disgust.
I think this is the first time I will ever try to talk, in all the gory details, about my back surgery. I don’t know if I would be able to say this in person, nor do I think I will ever want to.
cinderellie