My Scoliosis Saga

Not even a month back at school, as a GCSE student, and I am bored. Woah, they really give you so much homework at GCSE level! I have at least one essay every week, which would be alright if I actually knew how to write one, and didn’t have homework to do from at least three other subjects every night!

Not only that, but now in Biology, they’re basically telling us that stuff we learnt about, like cells, in our first years, were wrong and we have to un-learn it. I mean how can you do that? If it was wrong in the first place, why did they teach it to us? Even if we didn’t need to know it in as much detail, why change the truth just to simplify it, because now I don’t know what to think! Rubbish. Rubbish.

What I’m talking about is that those imbecile teachers have gone from calling the nucleus, the ‘brain of the cell’, to something completely different. Now they say that that’s wrong and that we have to know and say what the nucleus does exactly. We won’t get a mark in the exam for putting “Nucleus: The brain of the cell“ Crazy. Crazy.

I think I’m going to go crazy if it carries on like this. Many of the other girls already went crazy over the summer. One girl came back and had cut her own hair. She had it in a short bob, and her mum wouldn’t pay for her to get a trim even though it was starting to grow out and she had a mullet ( I know, terrible parenting), so she got an electric razor and shaved the bottom of her hair at the back. Can you believe it? She didn’t even realize until someone said at school (obviously her mother likes to laugh at her own child) and now she tries to brush the longer bits over it. But the shorter spiky bits just protrude through. Like she protrudes from the crowd of schoolgirls, I suppose. Terrible. Terrible.

Anyway, got to go and watch Neighbours now. And then the news. Honestly, it is way better than doing homework, and my dad can’t hassle me for taking an interest in the world. Ciao. Ciao.

I’ve got that Friday feeling…and I have nothing to do with it.

I’m already bored with TV.

It’s like dishwasher water - there’s probably a few interesting morsels somewhere that I might be interested in getting my teeth into, but it’s only the dirty, soapy stuff that I can actually see. In other words, you have to watch the rubbish your parents want to watch before you can find something for yourself, and even then it’s probably boring, or they won’t let you watch it.

Okay. I just suggested putting on a film, and they just both sat there. Mum and Dad. Quiet.

“Mum? Mum!”

“Oh - oh - yes?” (Blatantly pretending she couldn’t hear me)

“I said, why don’t we put a film on?”

“No, Molly.”

“Dad?”

“What?”

“You didn’t hear what I said?”

“No. What did you say?”

“You really didn’t hear?”

“No! I’m watching the tele!”

“Okay, so, when does this programme finish?”

“Half past, I think. ”

“Shall we put a film on after this?”

“Well…erm…let’s see what’s on first.”

“You just looked - nothing’s on!”

“This programme’s on.”

“But I’m talking about after this programme.”

I left the room in the end.

Computer’s boring. Friends are busy with their boyfriends - well, one is anyway. Boy next door has gone to his Dad’s for the weekend, so I can’t even oggle at him out of the window with my telescope. I’ve got no money, nothing to do.

I just sit and stare out of my window at a building on a hill. I’ve never found out which building this is. So I stare at it, and imagine climbing out of my window, and running away, whilst my parents sit downstairs and stare at Mr Fatface on the One Show, and go to the house. Most of the time, this boy lives there who I saw standing around school once. I tell him I’m lost and he invites me in. Sometimes he’s eating curry, which we never eat ’cause my mum hates it but I love it, and then he tells me how nice my eyes are, or feels sorry for my back, and then he leans forward and strokes my cheek, and then -

My dad shouts upstairs. I’m like, grr.

But he says,

“We’re getting McFlurries!” And I’m like, yeah! A drive to the drive-through!

Well, it’s better then doing nothing.

OMG! I can’t believe that new Dairy Milk advert. They’ve basically used the old drumming gorilla advert, put on a new dodgy 80s soundtrack on it, and cut and slowed down the old gorilla footage over the top. It’s such a ripoff. Why do advertisers always think we’re thick ’cause we’re audiences and won’t notice? I feel sorry for them - they’re the thick ones.

After a commenter called Jessica wrote on my blog, I had to check something out that she said to look at. It was a website for a new, weird brace, called SpineCor - this brace that bends in the middle. This girl was flipping cartwheels wearing it in a video on the website. Really good and everything, but like it’ll come to England in 5 years. You can’t see it under your clothes either! Mine sticks out every time I bend over. I don’t care if people see. It’s so obvious, it doesn’t look like I’ve got a freaky back ’cause there’s obviously something wrong with it. But I’d rather have an invisible brace. I’ll say something at the next check up.

School so far: More painful and depressing than watching Eeyore pin his own tail on himself.

That’s bout it at the mo. Gotta go, Mum’s squealing down the stairs at me like a flying bombshell. Bloody great. Right in front of Tony’s friend. How are men ever going to take me seriously if Mum’s always on my case?

Anyway, ciao.

So, I decided to take the summer off from writing this blog. Yeah, like I’m a professional or something. Maybe it was more that I couldn’t be bothered to do anything that made me think of school over the summer?

So another year with the brace. I got new trousers that fit around my brace for school. They’re a couple o’ sizes bigger than I am so I have a really baggy crutch and I can’t do things like leap frogging obver bollards without the extra material catching on it. Ugh, baggy crutch. Nice.

So, I thought I’d kick off with a crazy quiz, about… ME! Obviously most of it will involve guesswork for you guys.

1. How did my first pet die?

2. What am I most scared of?

3. Whose hair style would I most like to have?

4. What is the name of my all time favourite party song?

5. When did I last throw up?

6.  Did I get a boyfriend over the summer? Or get off with anyone?

7. Have I taken up a religion over the summer?

8. Have I ever witnessed a death?

9. What am I wearing?

10. What do I think is worse: smoking or not eating Kit Kats in a certain way?

Please send in your answers over email…or just leave them in comments.

I came bottom of the class in my Geography exam. Yeah! At least I got some recognition…even if it was sniggering.

Oh well, what can you do with a Geography qualification anyway? That is the big question of the week.

Today, it is raining yet again. The problem is that my brace doesn’t take too well to this weather - I just sweat, because it’s not sunny, not that cold, but muggy. I prefer the winter. I’ve got an extra layer. I’m about to put my brace back on actually, as I took it off to have a shower - my hour is up. I only wish there was that water cooling system thing like they have in computers these days. Just tubes of cold water running down the inside.

Oh well, it’s not bad like the 50s and 60s in America when children were sent to special spine hospitals. They made them lie on tables and hang weights from their bodies (which they still do today) if the spine was drastically curved. I went to Sainsbury’s the other day, and this woman in front, about 50 or older, had a really curved spine, like this:

Actually, I couldn’t find a picture bad enough. It was worse than this:

My friend couldn’t believe it. I think it was a single curve because it looked so bad. The top of the curve was practically resting on the bottom bit.

I wonder if she also had to wear a brace. Maybe not if she was English - not sure what they used to do in this country. In America, I get the impression that scoliosis is much more recognised. Anyway, the braces used to be plaster casts which went from under the chin and up slightly behind the head and all the way down to the thighs. So, like, you couldn’t turn if someone called your name. You had to turn your entire body.

I was reading one account recently (http://www.healthinjoy.com/index.php) where this woman had to wear a brace like this for a whole year, and didn’t even get a chance to have a bath before she had to put it on. No baths for a year as she couldn’t take it off. Though apparently some doctors believe it only works if you NEVER take it off until you stop growing, which is why there is so much scepticism with the boston brace.

Also, they had to eat lying down, more or less lived lying down, lost breathing space in their lungs…

It’s quite a sad website actually. I tried to email her and didn’t receive a reply. So I checked again, and found this. Quite sad really.

Hey, here’s something wierd I found:

A fish with scoliosis! Sadly, this fish is labelled as “deformed” on the website. Fish, you’re not deformed, you’re beautiful!

Woo hoo! It was the last day of my summer exams today, and I feel happier than when I take the first sguidgy bite of a chocolate eclair. Or maybe happy is the wrong word - maybe it’s free. I feel freer than how George Bush feels when he looks down on the prisoners in Guantanamo Bay. Okay, maybe that’s not right either. He never visits Guantanamo Bay.

Anyway, the reason why freer is a better word, despite the fact that I am still encased in this white, bodice, tomb thing and am not actually free from this godforsaken back curvature that becomes more uncomfortable every day, is because I’m not really happy about the Geography exam - my final exam. I’m rubbish at Geography, but I never used to be. History is now my best subject, like, the battle of Hastings and stuff. I don’t like staring at co-ordinates on maps, and naming the 5 cities in Italy blah blah blah…

So I’ve probably scored lower than the thickest girl in the class. I know that sounds bitchy. I don’t mean it to sound like that, know what I mean? She’s nice and everything but she is dim. Oh well, she’s got her prettiness to fall back on. Wish I was pretty and clever. James Dean - I mean, Jason obviously doesn’t think so. I’m just some little toy he can play with, make me fancy him, and then still carry on being Amy’s boyfriend. I’m one of those little cloth fishes they have hanging from plastic rods, that your nan has for her cat, and it’s mangled ’cause the cat tears it to pieces, and Jason is the cat and I stink of tuna breath. Miaow. No, I have to stop thinking of him like that. I should be pleased for my friend. Don’t think I’m jealous - I’m not. I’m just frustrated that people all go for the same person all the time. It’s like, all the boys go for Amy ’cause all the other boys do. If she’s not around, then they might get interested, but don’t do anything with any of us ’cause they don’t want to cramp their chances with her.

But what if they all went after me? Or two did, then the rest would follow, because it’s cool to do that - go for the same person. That person is fashionable to go for.

Calm down, Molly. Deep breaths…count…

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Better.

Anyway, I’m meant to be celebrating my freedom. Well, free until I get my results. Then I’m thrown into the dungeons of guilt when I realise I didn’t revise enough, I spent too much time colour co-ordinating my revision plan, too many hours staring and imagining what Jason’s lips feel like, what his arms would feel like around me, his aftershave (does he shave?) permeating my nose, his hands rubbing my back/brace (if I can feel him through it), and Amy glaring at us from behind me (now I would definitely feel her eyes burning through the brace).

There I go again. I’m going to watch some TV. Hopefully, Eastenders is on. Makes me feel better watching other people’s rubbish lives. Hope the tennis has finished - can’t stand fit people at the moment. Except Jason.

Thought I’d catch up with the ol’ blog whilst I have nothing to do during this breaktime, and because I may not be able to at the weekend. We’re all going to my nan and granddad’s. No, not those ones with the fit boy next door. These ones are evil.

I think Jason might like me. Either that, or he’s playing me. So glad Amy doesn’t know about this blog, or I couldn’t talk about this stuff. Anyway, he was with Amy when he started talking about Damien, even apologized for him - yeah Jason is really mature. This was just in the high street, by the way, after school the other day.

Anyway, we started talking and I hated it, ’cause I went so red. I’d tried telling myself I didn’t fancy him anymore since he’s been seeing Amy. I even stopped looking out of my window for him skating down the street, though that’s probably more ’cause he skates to Amy’s house now instead of his friend’s down my road. So, when I bumped into him and Amy, it shocked me that I felt so attracted to him. I think Amy thought I was embarrassed ’cause Jason was talking about Damien and stuff. She started saying how rude Damien was for talking about me like that. He then asked me about my brace. I took the opportunity to show him a bit.

Okay, I know it’s not the same as showing a bit of skin and he was stood next to his girlfriend, but, he tapped the brace. Actually tapped it with a knuckle. It made me shiver. And the funny thing is is that Amy actually got jealous, and said,

“Don’t do that! She doesn’t like it!”

I said,

“I don’t mind.”

Jason said,

“Yeah, she doesn’t mind. I only wanted to see what it felt like.”

Then he called me a fembot. I didn’t know what that was (I do now). But I took offense in a joking way, and was like,

“Hey, no I’m not! Amy, tell your boyfriend I am not a fembot!”

Oh dear, I say to myself now. Oh dear. We were flirting in front of his girlfriend, my friend. But like she never did it with anyone else’s boyfriends! Yeah right. So she said something about needing to get home, and dragged him off. He grinned at me over his shoulder as they walked away.

I can’t tell if he fancies me, or is just trying to be friendly with Amy’s friends.

You’d think I’d have chances with Jason now, especially seeing as he’s cut his nails. But nope. Amy told him to do that - she’s going out with him.

Never managed to speak to Damien about what he said the other night. No, his mum wouldn’t let me in the house. She said, he was feeling very down about it all. I said,

“He dumped me! And he’s being saying stuff about me and my back problem.”

She said,

“My Damien wouldn’t do that,” and  shut the door. That didn’t stop me from reaching him after school.

I got his bus today and confronted him in front of everyone. The problem was, the more I said that I wasn’t obsessed with my back, the more his friends took it to mean that I was! In the end, Amy had enough.

“Damien, you can’t deny that you told Molly you were falling for her!”

He then did deny it. But Claire came to the rescue.

“Don’t worry, Molly,” she said to me in front of everyone around him on the bus, “you wouldn’t wanna go out with someone who has diarrheoa. You’d be kissing him, and you’d like touch his bum -” - his immature friends went crazy at this - “and he’d like s*** all over your hand. He was lucky he had you while he let it last.”

This reference to an old story about Damien’s sorrowful experience at primary school, that he had revealed to me in confidence, and I had revealed to my friends in confidence, had been proclaimed to everyone else on the bus. From Damien’s face, I knew that he knew that this story would soon be the talk of pupils around the town who had never met him before. He glimpsed my embarrassed face - embarrassed that he knew I’d told my friends this secret (which was later dissolved by Amy who reassured me that it wasn’t my fault) - and looked away.

I haven’t felt quite justified by my victory all evening. It wasn’t really a draw, 1-1. I dunno, it’s weird. It was his fault for spreading rumours, and yet mine for going out with him in the first place. We hadn’t gained points, but lost them.

Zero - Zero.

0-0.

In tennis: Love-Love.

Damien dumped me. Well, that relationship was short lived. He reckoned that, “We don’t want the same things in life.” Oh please. He told me he was falling for me last week. Blatantly got wind that I was dumping him.

Actually that’s not all. I was halfway through writing this when I rang Amy ’cause I got this really weird text through, just saying, “Got news on Damien. Call me now!” So yeah, I found out that he told everyone that I was a freak ’cause of the brace thing. I won’t repeat the words I used about him on this post. He said that I was obsessed with it. Am I? I mean, do I write or talk about it non-stop? Okay, fine I have a blog with a scoliosis theme, but why doesn’t he get over it? Maybe it’s actually helping me! Agh! I’m so angry. Gonna go over to his. He’s got a lot of explaining…