Patient Stories

When I was ten, I went to a doctor’s appointment expecting the usual routine. Height, weight, a quick reminder to fix my posture, then out the door. Everything followed that script until my primary care provider asked me to bend forward so she could examine my back. She paused longer than normal, stepped out of the room, and came back holding a scoliometer. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it meant something wasn’t right. A few X-rays later, my family and I learned I had thoracolumbar idiopathic scoliosis, already measuring 36 degrees. The number felt jarring. I had spent a long time unaware that my spine was slowly curving out of place.

Not long after, I received my first brace, a Boston Brace—on my birthday, no less. Instead of celebrating, I stood in an orthotics office while rigid plastic was tightened around my torso. I was told immediately that the brace wouldn’t fix my curve, only stop it from getting worse. The idea that all this discomfort came with no promise of improvement was hard to accept, especially on a day meant to feel happy.

Living in the brace felt like learning how to exist in a new body. It pressed into places I didn’t even realize I used to move. Sleeping became a nightly struggle, and comfort felt like something I had to earn. I spent hours scrolling through YouTube, searching for anything that claimed it could help. Stretch routines, posture fixes, miracle exercises. Even though I knew the brace was the real treatment, I needed to feel like I was doing more than just enduring it.

School brought a different kind of stress. Wearing the brace under my clothes made me overly aware of every movement. I worried about how obvious it looked and whether someone would point it out. What surprised me was my friends’ reaction. They didn’t treat it like something awkward or fragile. They joked about it, called it a constant hug, and moved on. I wore that brace for nearly four years, and while it was never comfortable, having people around me who didn’t make it a big deal made it easier to live with.

By the summer before high school, I went into my annual X-ray appointment cautiously hopeful. That hope faded quickly when I learned my curve had increased to 38 degrees. Two degrees felt small until it wasn’t. For my orthotist, it meant edging closer to surgery. For my family and me, it meant fear, frustration, and the realization that time wasn’t on our side. We left that appointment knowing we needed another option.

The weeks that followed were filled with late-night conversations and constant uncertainty. That’s when we found a scoliosis center in our hometown. Their approach challenged everything we had been told before, and their patient stories stood out. Some people had curves well past the surgical threshold and still saw major improvement. It sounded unrealistic, but we decided to try.

For the past four years, I’ve been in treatment with them, and my curve has decreased to around 10 degrees. The work behind that progress has been demanding. Daily stretching pushed my limits, especially since flexibility has never come easily to me. Core exercises and personalized treatments tested both my discipline and patience. Balancing all of this while starting high school felt overwhelming at times, but the results made the effort undeniable.

Scoliosis has affected far more than my spine. It has influenced how I see my body, how I stand in a room, how clothes fit, and what I believe I can physically do. At the same time, it has taught me how to persist through discomfort and uncertainty. Through every stage of this process, my family and friends remained steady and offered support when things felt heavy.

Now, as a scoliosis ambassador, I want to be a source of reassurance for others going down the same path. I hope to help people feel confident in their braces and more at ease in their own bodies. Scoliosis is one chapter of my life, but it doesn’t get to control the whole narrative.