The Word is "Pain"
One day I walked into the doctor’s office without a care in the world. It was just a routine check-up, I couldn’t think much of it. There my doctor did her usual doctor thing and we were reaching what I hoped was the end of an uncomfortable visit when she stopped and said “That’s odd.” She noticed a curve in my spine. She referred me to a specialist and after a few x-rays and a couple of standard tests, it was confirmed that I had scoliosis. A sideways curvature of the spine. Very common. More than 3M US cases per year. It can even be treated with meds and a back brace. Great. So now I’m that guy. I was soon fitted into an ugly green back brace to try to combat the growth of the curve. See, as you get older, your body grows, and so will the degree of the curve. I felt it’s effects early on but by ninth grade is when I really started to feel it. I had hit a growth spurt and my body was totally tilted. My back ached everyday and would get worse with activity. So I started to gain weight. I went to the specialist and there I was told that I would have to have surgery. Major spine surgery. I wasn't as worried or shocked about it as I probably should have been. My mom cried a little bit, and my dad was just pissed. I was told that if I wasn’t to do the surgery, then I would get worse and be miserable for the rest of my life. We had to act. Months after that announcement, I had the x-ray before the surgery and it discovered that my curve had reached 59 degrees. I was supposed to have had the surgery at around 50 degrees. As nervous as I was, I knew this was the right thing to do. I was ready.
October 12th was the day. We woke up at 5am to get to the hospital at 6am. They prepped me and I sat there and waited until 8am. My sister Paige came and so did my aunt who I call Sissy. As well as my parents, they’re always there for me and always cheered me up. However, their presence couldn’t help the inevitable. Anxiety overflowed me. They put in the IV and gave me something to calm me down. I hadn't even been cut yet and already I was manipulated by drugs. I was shot up with anesthesia and said goodbye to my family. Onward they took me into the operation room and moved me from the bed to the table. I quickly looked around trying to take in as much of my surrounding as I could before drifting off. I notice a room full of people moving in synchronization, the typical spotlight over the operating table and the faint sound of whirring and beeping. And as much as I tried to keep my eyes open, I was quickly pulled under. The next thing I knew, 10 hours later I was awake.
Where am I? Why? I open my blurry eyes and I am blinded in more ways than one. From both the excruciating white light shining down on me and from the pain rushing over me. The smell of tape and tubes surround me. Sterilized from head to toe, it made me nauseous. My body felt empty and drained from the blood or lack thereof. Yet I feel infinitely heavier from the mechanism inside of me. My back is on fire and I cannot tell if I’m crying. My muscles have just been cut apart; my ribs were taken out, scraped to use for the vertebrates and put back. My insides have rearranged. My spine has shifted and I feel the hot metal grasping on to it. Bolts and rods hugging my spine tight and close. I was terrified. Or at least I feel like I should’ve been. But I was too tired and too drugged to think of much of anything but the pain. I was in the hospital for 7 days after that. The only solid food I had eaten during that time was a well appreciated chocolate Frosty and large fry from Sissy. Both of which I could not even begin to finish. I just couldn’t eat. I walked into the hospital at 192 pounds and walked out as 157. A 35 pound difference in seven days, I was weak. It didn’t help that on December 4th I walked back into that hospital for another surgery. Why? Because the fourth bolt on the bottom of the rod popped out. Excellent.
I’m not going to lie, pain became my life for the next three months. The time spent after the surgeries were harder than any time I spent in the hospital. The drugs had deteriorated my mind and turned my brain to mush. My short term memory is shot. The brace I had to wear everyday was definitely embarrassing. Especially at school, you know, people can be mean. Life was definitely an adjustment. And even though I got through the most difficult times, I still find myself adjusting. I wish I had been stronger than I was walking into the hospital that day and everyday after. I wish I could say that I didn’t cry close to everyday and that I went and climbed mountains and did cartwheels and that nothing was going to stand in my way. But I can’t. I got depressed. And I often wondered when the day would come that I could sleep peacefully and that I could walk, sit or even lie down without struggle.
I know that I didn’t have it anywhere near as bad as some other people have it. Not even close. But it was still hard. And I’m not telling you all of this to make you feel bad for me or to make you feel sad. But rather sharing this whole story to prove that even though you may be going through something awful now, it gets better. You hear it all of the time, but do you believe it? I didn’t. I do now. I couldn’t be happier today. I’m actually going to recite something to you guys that I wrote just last semester in Creative Writing. We were told to listen to a poem called ‘To This Day’ by Shane Koyczan and use his poem as inspiration for our own version of it. When I wrote it, I kept my past in mind.
To this day monsters exist.
I'm not talking about the monsters that surround us,
As the evening news shows often discuss,
But rather the monster inside of us,
That fills our brain with disgust.
Liars and non-believers, the you'll-never-be-able-to-achieve-ers,
Screaming and pleading for us to just,
Quit.
To just,
Give up.
And yes, sometimes they won,
And two, as much as you and you and you want to believe
Nah, it won't be us,
There are still some who just
Never got up. You shake them and
They just never got up.
So you can go and run
And shout to
Shake the dust, but
If you don't believe,
Then it's all for naught.
And the monster inside of us
Grasping onto our bones
Will not give up.
And so you can't.
You have to fight
And believe in your actions and in the words you speak.
To this day
I still struggle,
But I move along
With the hope of
A more beautiful tomorrow.
And you will too.
I wrote this as something of an anthem for the people who feel like they don’t want to get up in the morning and for those struggling to smile. I learned a ton from my surgeries. I learned to be much more appreciative of what I have and for the simple pleasures I am granted with day after day. I learned never to take life for granted. I am never bored. I don't believe in being bored. There's too much to be bored. There's just too much. I feel better than I did before the surgeries, so I know I made the right choice. As much as I went through then, I take moments to look at where I am now.
I’m going to conclude with my senior quote, a direct quote from Shane Koyczan author of the original ‘To This Day’ poem. It took me years to believe in this idea.
“But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain and more to do with beauty.”
October 12th was the day. We woke up at 5am to get to the hospital at 6am. They prepped me and I sat there and waited until 8am. My sister Paige came and so did my aunt who I call Sissy. As well as my parents, they’re always there for me and always cheered me up. However, their presence couldn’t help the inevitable. Anxiety overflowed me. They put in the IV and gave me something to calm me down. I hadn't even been cut yet and already I was manipulated by drugs. I was shot up with anesthesia and said goodbye to my family. Onward they took me into the operation room and moved me from the bed to the table. I quickly looked around trying to take in as much of my surrounding as I could before drifting off. I notice a room full of people moving in synchronization, the typical spotlight over the operating table and the faint sound of whirring and beeping. And as much as I tried to keep my eyes open, I was quickly pulled under. The next thing I knew, 10 hours later I was awake.
Where am I? Why? I open my blurry eyes and I am blinded in more ways than one. From both the excruciating white light shining down on me and from the pain rushing over me. The smell of tape and tubes surround me. Sterilized from head to toe, it made me nauseous. My body felt empty and drained from the blood or lack thereof. Yet I feel infinitely heavier from the mechanism inside of me. My back is on fire and I cannot tell if I’m crying. My muscles have just been cut apart; my ribs were taken out, scraped to use for the vertebrates and put back. My insides have rearranged. My spine has shifted and I feel the hot metal grasping on to it. Bolts and rods hugging my spine tight and close. I was terrified. Or at least I feel like I should’ve been. But I was too tired and too drugged to think of much of anything but the pain. I was in the hospital for 7 days after that. The only solid food I had eaten during that time was a well appreciated chocolate Frosty and large fry from Sissy. Both of which I could not even begin to finish. I just couldn’t eat. I walked into the hospital at 192 pounds and walked out as 157. A 35 pound difference in seven days, I was weak. It didn’t help that on December 4th I walked back into that hospital for another surgery. Why? Because the fourth bolt on the bottom of the rod popped out. Excellent.
I’m not going to lie, pain became my life for the next three months. The time spent after the surgeries were harder than any time I spent in the hospital. The drugs had deteriorated my mind and turned my brain to mush. My short term memory is shot. The brace I had to wear everyday was definitely embarrassing. Especially at school, you know, people can be mean. Life was definitely an adjustment. And even though I got through the most difficult times, I still find myself adjusting. I wish I had been stronger than I was walking into the hospital that day and everyday after. I wish I could say that I didn’t cry close to everyday and that I went and climbed mountains and did cartwheels and that nothing was going to stand in my way. But I can’t. I got depressed. And I often wondered when the day would come that I could sleep peacefully and that I could walk, sit or even lie down without struggle.
I know that I didn’t have it anywhere near as bad as some other people have it. Not even close. But it was still hard. And I’m not telling you all of this to make you feel bad for me or to make you feel sad. But rather sharing this whole story to prove that even though you may be going through something awful now, it gets better. You hear it all of the time, but do you believe it? I didn’t. I do now. I couldn’t be happier today. I’m actually going to recite something to you guys that I wrote just last semester in Creative Writing. We were told to listen to a poem called ‘To This Day’ by Shane Koyczan and use his poem as inspiration for our own version of it. When I wrote it, I kept my past in mind.
To this day monsters exist.
I'm not talking about the monsters that surround us,
As the evening news shows often discuss,
But rather the monster inside of us,
That fills our brain with disgust.
Liars and non-believers, the you'll-never-be-able-to-achieve-ers,
Screaming and pleading for us to just,
Quit.
To just,
Give up.
And yes, sometimes they won,
And two, as much as you and you and you want to believe
Nah, it won't be us,
There are still some who just
Never got up. You shake them and
They just never got up.
So you can go and run
And shout to
Shake the dust, but
If you don't believe,
Then it's all for naught.
And the monster inside of us
Grasping onto our bones
Will not give up.
And so you can't.
You have to fight
And believe in your actions and in the words you speak.
To this day
I still struggle,
But I move along
With the hope of
A more beautiful tomorrow.
And you will too.
I wrote this as something of an anthem for the people who feel like they don’t want to get up in the morning and for those struggling to smile. I learned a ton from my surgeries. I learned to be much more appreciative of what I have and for the simple pleasures I am granted with day after day. I learned never to take life for granted. I am never bored. I don't believe in being bored. There's too much to be bored. There's just too much. I feel better than I did before the surgeries, so I know I made the right choice. As much as I went through then, I take moments to look at where I am now.
I’m going to conclude with my senior quote, a direct quote from Shane Koyczan author of the original ‘To This Day’ poem. It took me years to believe in this idea.
“But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain and more to do with beauty.”