“Stand up straight”

From not that long after we are born (obviously not for the first few months, during which absolutely everything is done for us) we are taught to do things for ourselves. This is necessary for being readied for adult living, and this preparation starts long before then. So, at the age of sixteen, I was well able to do most things for myself, except drive a car, or visit a pub, or vote. I was young, healthy, and full of vitality – and looking forward to grade 11 and life beyond…

A school nurse visited our school annually, during which time routine immunisation injections, eye tests, and general check-ups were done. During one such visit, the focus was on spines and, despite clowning around in my underwear pretending to be the Hunchback of Notre Dame, it was discovered that I really did have a severe curvature ….

Until then, nobody had picked up that I have a severely skew spine, and this despite me wearing a bikini throughout Summer! 

My mother occasionally told me to ‘stand up straight,’ but isn’t that the sort of comment mothers usually make? I had noticed that tightly fitting clothes did feel strangely tighter on my right side, but I was sure it was a laundry issue. Also, my shortness of breath when singing in the choir I ascribed to poor breathing technique.

Suddenly, my life cascaded into a medical escalation process: Nurse. Doctor. Specialist. Surgeon. Surgery. My curvature was that severe that it required having a spinal procedure only done in Cape Town (my family lived in Uitenhage at the time).

The idea of being alone in Cape Town, minus my family, did initially hold appeal (I was a teenager, after all). Naievely I romanticised what I was about to experience, which turned out to be:  

• A nine hour operation 
• Spending several months recuperating, flat on a hospital bed
• Wearing a solid POP cast (much like a permanent tortoise shell) for 6 months

Being vulnerable, helpless and dependent on others for everything is not any sixteen year old’s idea of being cool! Even turning in bed was as militantly choreographed as the changing of the Queen’s guard: A nurse to hold my head, one to hold my feet, and another two nurses to each hold an end of the draw sheet underneath me.’ Secure. Lift. Turn. Repeat, four hourly. Concerns about teenage acne paled in comparison with the threat of unsightly bedsores!

The moments of ‘being turned’, although fleeting, were undoubtedly the sweetest moments of the very long days and the even longer nights. After hours of lying motionless in one position, body and mattress literally demand to go their separate ways. Body burns with indignation. Mattress ceases to offer comfort. Mind starts to play tricks. Fear and hope collide. Family and the comfort of home feel light years away. 

To add insult to injury, even though my school back at home had passed me based on my mid-term results, the hospital insisted that I show-up (in my bed, of course) for school – every day. But, even though I could do very little for myself, I could still close my eyes – and pretend that I was sleeping! (No teacher was allowed to wake a patient. I learnt that lesson fast)

I welcomed the twice daily visits from a physiotherapist whose task it was to supervise various exercises – this was to keep my muscles from atrophying. I was being readied for walking, long before I would walk again… 

The day dawned on which I was going to be permitted to STAND: This was not going to be a let’s hop out of bed, stand, take a step and walk again, exercise. After being wheeled to a physiotherapy rehabilitation room, I was shifted onto a wooden tilting table, and then, ever so gradually, tilted upwards, into a standing position. My head was spinning, my heart was beat-boxing and my bare feet were finally back on solid ground. Victory! 

Once I could stand for 5 minutes without my legs buckling, I was allowed to step away from the wooden tilting table and take my first step. One small step. One giant leap for “Jann-kind”. Once I could manage walking between the bars, I was permitted to step beyond the bars, hold onto a walker and push it while walking for five minutes (the coolest uncool thing this teenager had done in a very long time!) – 5 minutes a day for a week, then  10 minutes, then 20, then 30…

As much as I had longed to walk again, I had not anticipated how challenging and painful it would be. The young me had no idea that I would have to relearn some basics. Initially, it felt like I had sharp pins and needles sticking into my feet. Being weak meant that I tired so easily too. I needed lots of encouragement to keep at it.

It was during my months in hospital that I learnt what it means to be dependent on others, how to have patience as a patient, the part we play in having others want to help us, how to care, and be cared for. Although my spine was straightened (supported by stainless steel rods), during this time as a teenager, much else, including some attitudes and beliefs, was straightened about me too. 

I learnt that love – expressed as kindness  – is the key to most hearts. A gentle voice, a gentle hug, and a gentle spirit can cure just about all ills. It’s knowing how much we are loved and valued that brings about a change of heart. We don’t need to be constantly reminded about our flaws –  our skew spines and skew attitudes – that’s NOT what straightens us out! Especially not when we are teenagers.

It was during this time that I learnt the importance of knowing how to receive. It has better equipped me to know how to give…

The Harrington rod spinal fusions straightened my spine. The love of God expressed through others straightened out my heart.

I can now stand up straight! 

I realise that I am not the only one that has had to face challenges. If there is anything from your own life journey that you would like to share, please feel free to do so.