Braced Read online

  “I wanted to remind you that we have our appointment with Dr. Paul next week.” Mom rests her hands lightly on my shoulders.

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks.” Even though I’ve been counting down, waiting for this moment, it feels good that Mom is telling me in advance.

  “Is there anything else you need before we go?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  Seven days later, Dr. Paul pulls up the x-rays of my spine on the monitor. Then he opens the image of my wrist. This is the one that tells my fate. The growth plates will show if I’m done, if I’m free.

  Nothing is guaranteed. I know that. I shouldn’t be thinking about going to practice today without my brace, but I am.

  The room is silent. Even the flock of doctors is quiet. Dad is facing Dr. Paul, but his eyes are shifting back and forth between the two images. When the creases in his forehead unfold, I know he’s done concentrating. He knows the answer.

  Mom is staring at the ground, gripping the sides of her chair. Danny is sleeping in his stroller, covered in cotton blankets. He hasn’t made a peep since we got to the hospital. I wonder if he can tell how nervous we are. It seems like he’s trying to be calm for all of us.

  I look back at Dad. I wish he’d be the one to tell me, but that isn’t happening. I close my eyes and wait for Dr. Paul to deliver the news.

  The tiny room is hot between the lights and the doctors.

  Dr. Paul clears his throat, and I almost jump out of my seat. “She’s finished growing.”

  He says it in this nonchalant way, so I’m not sure if I’ve heard him right. I look at Mom and Dad in case I imagined it. Dad slaps his hand against his leg. He does that whenever he hears good news. They’re both smiling, big ones that stretch all the way across their faces. Dad’s eyes are even glossy, like he could cry, or maybe he is crying. I’ve never seen it before, so I’m not really sure what I’m looking for. I guess I knew the brace was hard on him, because it’s been hard on Mom and on me, but it never occurred to me that Dad wants what I want, for me to be okay and for this to be over.

  Then Dr. Paul sighs. “David,” he says, looking at Dad. “I really think—” He pauses, shifting his weight, like he’s not sure what to say or if he should say whatever is about to come out. I’m already thinking about calling Hazel and Frannie and how I’m going to actually say it to them: “Hey guys, I have news.” Or: “Fran. Hazel. I’m out. Done. I’m free.”

  “Rachel is done growing,” Dr. Paul says. “But as a precaution, I’d like to keep her in the brace for another six months.”

  What? I can’t breathe. My lungs feel like they’re shutting down. He said I had to wear the brace until I was done growing, and I’m done. Everyone said that. It’s not fair. I feel the tears coming, building behind my eyes.

  Dr. Paul shuts off the screen, like the decision has been made, like it’s final. There’s no room for discussion. He’s a dictator. “We’ll schedule another appointment three months from now and go from there,” he says.

  “No,” Mom says. “No.”

  “Amy.” Dad says her name like she’s in trouble.

  “No. It’s not fair. It’s not okay. She should be getting out of the brace today.” Mom sounds like she’s out of breath. “Rachel did exactly what we asked her to do, and now we’re changing the rules.”

  “We’re doing what’s best for her spine in the long run,” Dr. Paul says.

  “But what about what’s best for the rest of her?” Mom asks.

  “It’s six months,” Dr. Paul says, like he has a clue what that means, when he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to wear it.

  I look down at my brace by my feet. It’s stained on the inside with sweat and yellowed like a trophy. The thick padding under the plastic is worn from rubbing against my body. Even though it’s on the ground, I can still feel it around me, squeezing me. I think about how good it would feel to chuck it in the trash with the hazardous waste and toxic materials and never think about it again.

  I’m ready to be done. Forever. I want it to be over. But I have this feeling that it’s not that easy, and that the brace will still be there even when it’s not. It’s part of me now, in this way that I can’t erase or throw away, and maybe I don’t really want to.

  I look at Dad. “What will happen if I stop wearing it now?” I ask.

  He looks at Dr. Paul. “I’m not sure. You’re done growing, so most likely the curve won’t move very much. That’s why Dr. Paul called it a precaution.” Then he looks back at me. “I really wish it were different, but Dr. Paul’s recommendation is that you stay in the brace.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not wearing the brace for another six months just because Dr. Paul says so,” I say. “It’s hard. Every day. And some things get easier, but it never stops being hard. If you tell me I’m taking a risk with my health or my posture, I’ll wear it for as long as I need to. I’ll handle it.” I look at Mom. “I can handle anything.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s true. “But you have to explain it to me. Give me a real answer.”

  Dr. Paul nods, so I know he’s heard me. “There isn’t one definitive answer,” he says. “Your growth plates in your hands are closed, and you haven’t grown any taller in two visits. These are the most reliable pieces of information we have to determine if you are done growing. But it’s certainly not conclusive. What I can tell you is that if you stay in the brace for another six months, you will be doing everything you can to eliminate the risk of your curvature progressing. What I’d like to do is have you continue to wear your brace for twenty-three hours a day until our next appointment, and at that point, we can start to wean you out of the brace by gradually reducing your hours.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom asks me.

  I look right into her eyes when I say it. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  She nods. And even though her mouth is closed, I can tell she’s smiling.

  Once the doctors clear out, Mom adjusts Danny’s blankets, and I put on the brace.

  “I’m sorry the news wasn’t what you wanted to hear,” Dad tells me.

  I shake my head, because even though I love him for saying that, right now I don’t need him to be sorry for me. “I’m lucky you were here. Both of you.” I look at Mom and then down at Danny. “All of you.”

  “I can’t wait to come back here in six months,” Mom says. “I’m ready to be done with this for good.”

  She’s not back to her old self, and neither am I. I hardly remember who that person is anymore, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to be her. She’s gone, and so is the old Mom and the old Dad and our family before Danny. Everything is new and better and stronger. Especially me.

  Scoliosis is an abnormal curvature of the spine that affects an estimated seven million people in the United States. While girls are eight times more likely than boys to need treatment, this condition affects children of all genders, races, and social classes. Scoliosis impacts children with congenital and neuromuscular diseases, but it is most common in healthy children, where it usually has no known cause.

  I was one of those kids, and at eleven, I got a back brace for scoliosis. The “S” curve in my spine had progressed to twenty-five degrees, and my doctor wanted to do everything possible to avoid surgery, which my mom had undergone when she was my same age. He prescribed a Boston back brace, similar to the brace Rachel wears in this book, for twenty-three hours a day until I was done growing. It hurt to breathe and move inside my thick plastic shell, and everything was harder—standing, sitting, sleeping, getting dressed, having friends, and just being a kid. I felt confined by my new responsibility and closed off from my friends.

  Over time my brace became easier to manage physically, but emotionally I never adjusted. During the two years and four months I spent in a brace, I didn’t open up to anyone about how alone and insecure I felt. I held my pain inside. It took all of my strength to go to school acting like nothing had changed, while at the same time
feeling uncomfortable and exposed. I used my brace as a shield, because I didn’t want anyone to see me the way I saw myself—as different. As an adult, I can see that was a mistake. I never stopped hating my brace, and it was such a big part of who I was every day that it had a negative effect on my self-image. I struggled for a long time after my brace came off to break that pattern of insecurity.

  It wasn’t until I was in my twenties, when I started talking about my experience of being treated for scoliosis, that I realized how alone I’d felt. Since I began working on Rachel’s story, I have met many people with scoliosis, including my editor. I’ve found that connecting with others who went through a similar experience has allowed me to feel understood and see the incredible impact wearing a brace had on my life. It has also made me aware and more sensitive to the fact that many of the people around me felt different in some way as kids. My hope is that by raising awareness about and sensitivity for kids with scoliosis, Rachel’s story might be a gateway to heightened understanding for others. I know now that had I let even one other person in on my pain, I would have felt less alone, and maybe instead of feeling different, I would have been able to see that I was strong and fearless and most of all brave.

  Listed here are places where you can connect with other kids being treated for scoliosis and read more about the condition and how it gets treated:

  Curvy Girls Foundation, Inc

  www.curvygirlsscoliosis.com

  Scoliosis Research Society

  www.srs.org

  National Scoliosis Foundation

  www.scoliosis.org

  This book would not exist without my amazing agent, Kate McKean. Thank you for being my champion from the very beginning and for holding my hand every step of the way.

  I am so grateful to Cheryl Klein, the most incredible editor. Thank you for taking a chance on me, for believing in Rachel, and for sharing pieces of your own scoliosis story in your brilliant, insightful, and always kind editorial letters. This book has come so far from where it started thanks to you. You have taught me so much.

  There are a lot of people at Arthur A. Levine Books and Scholastic that helped to make Braced a real book. Special thanks to Elizabeth Parisi for designing the most beautiful cover and for sharing your perspective with me, and to Rebekah Wallin, Weslie Turner, and Milena Giunco.

  I can’t imagine my world without the constant encouragement and support of my author friends and readers—Amy Ewing, Caela Carter, Corey Haydu, Jess Verdi, Mary Thompson, Mindy Raf, Alison Cherry, and Lindsay Ribar—or where I would be without my teachers and classmates from the New School, especially David Levithan, Susan Van Metre, Caron Levis, and Sarah Ketchersid. I am grateful to Susan Shapiro for telling me I could write a book, and to Erasmo Guerra, Sarah Showfety, Victoria Grantham, Royal Young, and Joe Antol for giving me the strength to try. There are countless teachers who believed in me along the way. I think of you more than you will ever know, but Mrs. Alsop made me believe in myself and taught me I could do anything. Thank you for seeing my strengths and showing me what was possible.

  I am very lucky to have a group of forever friends cheering me on. Thank you for listening and for making me laugh: Meredith Sondler-Bazar, Laine Alexandra, Jaimie Mayer, Rachelle Borer, Laura Becker, Emily McGinnis, Hannah Goldstein, Ted Malawer, Rebecca Mansell, Dana Roth, Corey Greene, Robyn Gerber, Nikki Gerber, Elise Dowell, Heather Jameson-Lyons, Billy Lindmark, Pedram Saif, and Stephanie Tankel.

  I am grateful to the orthopedic and orthotics teams at Boston Children’s Hospital for monitoring, bracing, and taking care of me, especially Dr. John Hall.

  I am lucky to have a strong, supportive family. Thank you to my siblings, Caroline and Adam, for everything, but especially for getting me. Papa and Gammie, there are no words to describe how special you are to me. And Bubbe, you are always with me. I miss you.

  Dad, thank you for making me feel important and taken care of and for teaching me what it means to work hard. You are an incredible role model and a hero to so many people, especially me.

  I wrote this book for every kid who has ever had to be strong, including my mom, the strongest person I’ve ever known. Thank you for never letting a spinal fusion or a back brace or anything you’ve been through stand in your way. I learned to never give up from watching you, and it has been a gift.

  Andy, you made this (and everything) possible. Thank you for believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself and for loving all of me, especially the part that is still in the brace. I love you.

  ALYSON GERBER wore a back brace for scoliosis from the ages of eleven to thirteen, an experience that led directly to Braced, her first novel. She received her MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from the New School, and before that she taught elementary and middle school students in a supplementary education program. She lives with her husband in Brooklyn, New York. Please visit her on the web at alysongerber.com and at @alysongerber.

  Copyright © 2017 by Alyson Gerber

  All rights reserved. Published by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and the LANTERN LOGO are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Gerber, Alyson, author.

  Title: Braced / Alyson Gerber.

  Description: First edition. | New York, NY : Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., 2017. | Summary: When twelve-year-old Rachel learns that her scoliosis has worsened and she will need to wear a back brace to keep her spine straight, she is devastated; afraid that she will not be able to play soccer, and terrified that she will not be able to hide her condition from her friends and classmates—but her mother is determined to spare her the spinal fusion surgery that she herself had as a teenager.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016016818 | ISBN 9780545902144 (hardcover : alk. paper)

  Subjects: LCSH: Scoliosis in children—Juvenile fiction. | Genetic disorders—Juvenile fiction. | Orthopedic braces—Juvenile fiction. | Mothers and daughters—Juvenile fiction. | Self-consciousness (Sensitivity)—Juvenile fiction. | Families—Massachusetts—Andover—Juvenile fiction. | Andover (Mass.)—Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Scoliosis—Fiction. | Orthopedic braces—Fiction. | Mothers and daughters—Fiction. | Self-consciousness (Sensitivity)—Fiction. | Family life—Massachusetts—Andover—Fiction. | Andover (Mass.)—Fiction. | Massachusetts—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.G4745 Br 2017 | DDC 813.6 [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016016818

  First edition, April 2017

  Book design by Abby Dening

  Jacket image © 2017 by Mike Heath

  Hand Lettering by Sarah Coleman

  Jacket design by Elizabeth B. Parisi

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-90763-7

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

 

 

 
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