The Gift of Logic by Lauren E. DeCorte
By Lauren E. DeCorte
“Eventually everyone you know someday will die.”
This is what my grandmother said to me as I lay lounging around on the rough carpeted floor of our living room one day after preschool. It was put so bluntly that I looked up at her in protest as if I, the overeager four year old, held the power to undue this monstrous outcome of life. I wriggled upright into a more comfortable sitting position under my grandma’s firm gaze. “It is the natural order of things. First I will die. Next will be your dad, then your mom, then your brother, and then you.” There was a long pause and then she continued, “Then your children will die, and your grandchildren, and then your grandchildren’s children.” This was not the subject I wanted to converse on as a four year old, so after a few pouts of “why?” and “when?” I gave in. To a four year old’s mind the frankness of the statement made it logical. So I accepted the inevitable. I accepted death.
What I did not realize at the time was that my grandma was giving me the gift of logic: the firm idea of reality, un-sugarcoated. It wasn’t a nicely wrapped gift hidden under an overly obtrusive, flashy bow. It was the raw deal, clearly visible on her chalky white face, her pale, age worn skin and rather cranky temper which conveyed the symptoms of cancer-the closing in of death. This indisputable truth had to be addressed in her newly begun twelve year struggle for life. It was her shocking statement that I would turn to as I stood by, helplessly watching her life slip through our hands. It was this same statement that has had me push through my emotions to find logic in order to make sense of the world around me. It is the only way I am now able to handle living with scoliosis.
Viewing my twisting spine for the first time through an x-ray at my doctor’s office was shocking. I felt like I was looking at the bumper of a car that was just recently mangled in an accident. I was more aware in that moment then ever before of my left rib cage protruding out to the side of my body. I could feel my spine hugging the right side of my back more closely; pushing it out into a rounded hump forcing my right shoulder to slightly lurch forward. I tried to sit there comfortably in the chair but my back seemed to be fighting the seat cushion. My hips decided to join the battle too, refusing to stay level with each other creating the image that one of my legs was longer than the other. How could I have never notice how deformed I was before? I felt the overwhelming rush of emotion in my stomach. The back of my mouth suddenly went dry; I tried moving my tongue around to combat the raw burning sensation. My logic fought it; my logic was the Hoover Dam holding back my tears.
Just as death and now scoliosis are apart of my life, I know realize that surgery is an inevitable detail of living with scoliosis. My grandmother taught me that facing the truth and not shrouding it in emotions will bring me closer to understanding the reality of the situation. Now, years after her passing, her logic has helped me maintain my calm and keep my mind focused on my goals; not letting fear and self-pity take root in me.
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This was one of my daughter's college application essays written as a Senior in high school. We discovered her Senior year that she needed Scoliosis surgery. The surgery was scheduled over July 4th weekend after she graduated, finished her sports seasons, and had been accepted at all but one of her chosen universities. She healed from surgery during the next 30 days and was off to George Washington University in D.C. in August where she began her degree program in BioMedical Engineering, which she completed 4 years later. In college and after she ran marathons, played "pickup" basketball and soccer games, and returned to her very busy, logical & focused schooling, career, marriage and soon to be motherhood. We are very proud of her and love her beyond words. :-)