Five years of basketball. Seven years of cello. Eight years of swimming. All gone with one word: scoliosis. By dictionary definition, scoliosis is an abnormal lateral curvature of the spine.

“정은이는 지금 몸으로 너무 무리하면 안돼요. 너무 활동적인 일을 하게되면 척추층만증의 심각성을 높일수도있어요.” (Jennifer will have to reduce all possible physical activities that would deteriorate her unbalanced body). 

No, my new physical trainer was not referring to the “balanced life habits” students are reminded of everyday—not “drink more water”, “join a sports team”, nor “sleep at least six hours.” She meant a literal unbalanced body. Holding a ruler close to my backbone X-Ray image, she pointed to the evidently unaligned bones. My mouth attempted to mumble some words, denying the fact that I had lived with this incurable condition since birth. Incurable and unaccountable. Taking a glimpse at my mom, I found tears streaming down her cheeks, her fingers wiping every drop. I silently grasped her hand, hoping she realized I was fine. 

Nothing was as dooming as that day. As a middle schooler with immense optimism, my dream to be the next Han-Na Chang was crushed. Now, what do I do? What could I do? I was not suited to be the next Olympic swimmer nor the next basketball champion—simply too short. To make matters worse, scoliosis inhibited further growth. Reaching 165 centimeters would be a stroke of luck, which I clearly haven’t accomplished yet. With a short height, abnormal back, and awkward gait, I awakened to the rude reality—society no longer offered me any internship or job opportunities. Physical labor was not easy on me. Yet that did not make me some extraordinary genius. Anyways, who would want a disabled high schooler as their worker? Honestly, right? 

Dragging me from one hospital to another, my mom wasted piles of money, expecting to find some panacea for scoliosis. One day, I was massaged by an old woman who claimed she had thirty-something years of experience. Another day, a doctor babbled on for hours about the desperate need for surgery—otherwise, I would be unable to walk in my seventies. Undoubtedly, we fell short of luck, and my parents had no other option than to concede to the harsh truth. After five efforts, my parents ultimately settled on a decision to take one final chance. Goryeo University Hospital. The most typical, yet the most reasonable consultant suggested an alternative: to adjust my posture with a corset. 

Yes, a corset. At first I couldn’t believe my ears either. Since the 20th century, I thought corsets did not even exist, but the moment I woke, right before me were rows of white plastic corsets. I rubbed my eyes. The scene was almost as though I was caught in a common Korean drama set at an illegal factory. You know the ones where children or women are abducted as hostage, then an attractive man appears to rescue the victims—some plot along those lines. All eerie and spine-chilling. Two women took me by the arms and led me to a dim room. 

“속옷 빼고 겉옷은 벗어주세요.” (Please take of all your clothes except your underwear). 

Only thirteen, I obeyed. Three minutes. The women re-entered, rolling a cart of an unidentified, clay-like mixture. Following instructions, I stepped up to stare into a reflection of my crooked body. Never sincerely attending to my parents’ concerns, I finally spotted my flaw. Never had I found scoliosis a big deal, until I noticed the clear curve. The women pressed a cold metal on my waist. Pushing slightly to balance my spine, they covered my body with the white mixture. An unfamiliar and unpleasant experience, but my lips were pursed from shock, unable to complain.  Stiff, I stood there for thirty minutes. Slowly, the viscous mixture sculpted into a mold. Removing the rigid mold, the women glued a miniature cushion to one side, attached straps, then poked holes in pattern. 

They wrapped the new “cast” around my body, fitting perfectly. Quite impressing. The corset straightened my back, hardly allowing me to breathe. The reflection displayed a new, taller Jennifer. Peaking in from behind, I sensed a hint of satisfaction from my mom’s fatigued countenance. 

To this day, I wear my corset in my sleep—ineffably uncomfortable, but worth the try. Many contend, “How bad could a twist in the spinal cord be anyways?” I wasn’t able to comprehend the significance of this difficulty, until I figured that I was a patient, and the 14 degree distortion trampled on my dreams. I first encountered scoliosis while reading “Deenie” by Judy Blume. Deenie, a teenage girl who aspired to be a model, was diagnosed as a scoliosis patient while auditioning for a model agency. She was dumbfounded, refusing to converse with anyone. At first glance, the novel seemed too informational, too dramatized. Now, as I read it again, I sympathize and find the realistic details. 

One fact I disregarded is that unlike all other extreme maladies, scoliosis does not steal life from me. I still have eighty years to live to the fullest, which is more than enough. To think on the bright side, scoliosis has forced me to find a new passion, to adapt to unexpected changes. Basketball, cello, and swimming are all lost childhood fantasies. However, I’ve traded my talents for health, and I don’t regret that decision. Anyhow, I’ve discovered a better, stronger passion for writing. Hence, scoliosis leaves me with dozens of disadvantages, but hundreds of wiser life decisions.

By dictionary definition, scoliosis is an abnormal lateral curvature of the spine. By my definition, scoliosis is a physical disadvantage that is not treatable, but manageable. 

So Jay, now you know why I walk so “weirdly”—as you call it.