Embracing the Brace
I crossed my arms defiantly and glared at the plastic white object that the unfamiliar yet friendly man was holding out to me. It infuriated me that he was so calm, so cheerful, when my entire social existence was being threatened. “I'm not wearing it,” I stated with a plaintive look toward my mom.
She sighed. We'd had this conversation innumerable times in the past week. “You have to. You don't want to end up hunched over when you're older, do you?” I shot her a look filled with pure venom and reluctantly took the offending piece of plastic to the changing room.
Ever since I found out that I had moderate scoliosis, I had been completely miserable. My back would ache every time I sat for a long time or bent over, and I knew that my spine was visibly crooked in a bathing suit, but I was not prepared to wear a back brace for two years.
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