Deenie

the book that gave me hope

My eldest sister, Vicki, noticed first. “One of her hips is higher than the other.” At age nine, Vicki noticed everything.

I was doing half cartwheels, in my underwear, a typical evening uniform and activity for me at age five.

“Stand still,” said my mom.

I stopped so my mom could scrutinize my body, then continued my attempt at gymnastics.

A week later, the doctor said there’s nothing to be done at my age but touch my toes as though stretching would improve a curve in my spine.

Seven years later my obvious misalignment had my mom back on the phone, making an appointment with a pediatric orthopedist.

Dr. King looked over my x-rays and measured my spine with a slide rule and grease pencil.

“She has scoliosis and needs a back brace.”

I didn’t know what this meant. My mom asked questions and this was all I heard, “22 hours a day… until she stops growing… x-rays every 6 months…”

At 12 I didn’t care. To me, it meant I had alone time with my mom at the doctors and I might get to leave school early in the future. The brace also meant I’d need new clothes, albeit two sizes bigger to fit over the brace, but I was thrilled. My mom already set a date for shopping and lunch at Bonwit Teller.

The Reality

At the fitting, the plastic corset was strapped and belted as though I was an over packed suitcase. I suddenly sympathized with women from the 1800s— even though Scarlett O’Hara was my only reference. The single metal vertical rod attached to the bodice protruded over my chest and connected to a chin piece, like the one I’d set my chin on at the ophthalmologist’s office, then joined with curved rods around my neck. This neck portion screwed in the back, linking the rods together. Still, this wasn’t enough to straighten my spine. A separate padded hunk of lima bean shaped plastic was attached to one of two vertical rods on the back side that strapped to another protruding horizontal rod on my chest. I’d have to wear undershirts to prevent chaffing.

The Milwaukee brace.

Luckily this brace that was invented in the 1940s is rarely used today.

Along with the hormones of a pre teen, kids at school inventing un-clever names for me, I became an angry, depressed, rebellious child. Picture Regan in the movie, The Exorcist when the devil took over.

I dreaded appointments with the Prothsetist, named Hank, for this story. One time I ran out into the parking lot, in my underwear, hiding behind the garbage bin, de-sticking the undershirt from my skin. (After several hours in the brace the sweat soaked through the undershirt.) I was angry that I smelled. I never did before. Hank and my mom charged after me, calling my name. Hank was kind. My mom was trying but was probably all out of kindness cards. I’m sure I was testing her patience. She left it up to Hank to coax me out which he did. I guess my frontal lobe kicked in and I realized I wasn’t going to spend the night in this Van Nuys parking lot. I was getting hungry and hadn’t had my afternoon Oreos yet. I went back inside, and Hank readjusted my brace, making it tighter.

Deenie

My mom found a Judy Blume for me to read, Deenie. It’s about a thirteen-year-old girl with a back brace. I wasn’t a big reader because my mom had forced books on me the second I knew the alphabet. Peony by Pearl S. Buck being the most boring. Sorry, Pearl. I read it again as an adult and was still yawning.

But Deenie was different. So was Judy Blume. I loved the author’s voice. How did she know what I was thinking and feeling? The only difference between me and Deenie was that this fictional character was model-pretty and her dream was to be a cheerleader. I had a Jew-fro, braces on my teeth and scarce eye lashes. While I would have loved to have looked like Brooke Shields, I learned how to be the comedian, scraping off comments like “Hey ugly— what’s that thing around your neck?” with “It’s a biological weapon.”

This Book Gave Me Hope

It was the 1970s. Way before social media. I didn’t know anyone with a back brace. I didn’t know anyone who felt so alone and angry. It was just me, a hunk of metal and plastic, an undershirt, and Oreo crumbs stuck in between. Deenie learns to have empathy for others who feel different. Instead of being a model she wants to become an orthopedist. I wasn’t THAT influenced by the book. I still wanted to be an actress. But the novel showed me that there were other Deenie’s out there. That most of us have some sort of struggle. A recent reviewer of the book said that Deenie’s character in the beginning is “mean spirited about other children.” I don’t recall this flaw but most kids are mean and judgmental of other kids. The nice kid was the outlier. I wonder if this reviewer was an adult.

Judy Blume

This author and book gave me hope. I then read another Judy Blume book, Are You There God It’s Me Margaret, and once again felt like I was part of a community.

Thank you,

Tara Penry

for this exercise in Hope.