I did not go to the doctor’s office much as a kid. I would like to think it was because I was healthy, but really it was because we could not afford regular health care.

Back to Basics

One visit to the doctor is forever burned in my memory. I was about 12 years old at the time. An elementary school kid, it didn’t even matter to the doctor that I was in the room. My pediatrician didn’t even look at me. He spoke over my head to my mom who sat wringing one hand in the other.

“We will need to put her in a back brace and see how she improves.”

I felt my mom’s hand stroke the top of my head. “Do you really think that’s necessary, doctor?”

“I do. Her back will worsen over time if we do not deal with it now.”

Even though he didn’t address me personally, his words struck me with a forcible slap. I could not move or even breathe. The tears welled up in my eyes. Apparently, my back was so “deformed” I would be subjected to emotional and physical scars by wearing a back brace in middle school and high school. I was never going to fit in, so my pre-teen mind thought.

“Let me work on it, mom. I can get stronger and fix my back. Please let me try?”

Doing the Right Thing

When my mother saw how upset I was, she took my hand and we walked me out of the appointment. Standing tall, we never went back.

The truth was I had no back pain or symptoms back then. The doctor had identified an idiopathic scoliosis during a well-child check and never even did an x-ray. My scoliosis curve was no more than 10 degrees and according to medical guidelines, brace treatments were not recommended until either 1) the curve was 25 degrees or more or 2) the angle worsened by 5 degrees within a 6-month window. No one had ever diagnosed me with scoliosis before that visit.

Of course, we didn’t know any of this at the time. We rode our emotions to a decision of non-treatment. In the end, it actually ended up being the best thing for me.

My pediatrician dictated his care plan without following standards of care, without discussing other possibilities, and without listening to the patient or her family. No wonder I became a doctor. To prove that there could be more compassionate caregivers in the world.

Standing Tall

I have never spoken of this experience to anyone, not even my mom. After we walked out of those clinic doors, it was as if it never happened, and not talking about it made it even more taboo.

I always wondered if my mother was embarrassed by me.

(Update: After reading the original post, my mom reached out to me and made it clear that I was out of my mind. She has always been proud of me.)

The contour of my back has plagued me my whole life. It makes me feel defective and unattractive, a blow to my self-esteem all these years. Like I am not good enough. Like I am broken. Looking in the mirror, I see imperfection and failure. At times, I wonder if I should have gotten the back brace after all, even though as a physician I know it would have done little good.

Of course, none of this is rational thinking. Bad posture is hardly the end of the world. That didn’t stop it from leaving its mark on my psyche during my formative years.

Now when I take a closer look, I see potential. Rolling my shoulders back, I am standing taller. Working with dumbbells and resistance bands, I strengthen my arms and shoulders. I even work on building core strength, although diastasis recti (separation of the abdominal muscles) from my pregnancies limits how much I can do. Even when I am not standing perfectly tall, I stand proud. I give it everything I’ve got.

That’s what matters most.