I have been a victim to countless sprained ankles and weak knees, strained hip-flexors and fractured hands, but the temporary injuries to the limbs of my body are no match for the lifetime feeling of discomfort in my back that has led to even further injury. “Scoliosis” is just a snazzy word for asymmetrical. My shoulders aren’t straight, nor are my hips aligned. My ribs are disfigured and my muscles are disproportionate. One side of my body decided to be stubborn and beat the other in a race against time, so now my spine curves like a S and the rest of my body is forced to pay the price.

That was the opening paragraph to my college admissions essay in 2013. Being an athlete with scoliosis affected every fiber of my being. I have had scoliosis my whole life but for me, being an athlete came first. Not in the sense that I prioritize my athleticism over my bones, but the quite literal sense where I started playing sports before I even knew my spine was curved. In my mind, I was healthy in every sense of the word. So when I finally got injured, it took me by surprise.

A row of hurdles lay in front of me, and the gun fired. I leaped over the first one, then two, then three, and then I reached for my back in pain.

It’s hard to describe scoliosis to someone who’s never had it. I’ve always said it’s being a little bit uncomfortable all of the time – like a 0.5 or 1 on a pain scale, just because cars and couches and mattresses aren’t made for you. In reality, it can be a lot scarier than that. If I don’t take proper steps to manage my symptoms and something feels ‘out of place’, certain movements will trigger sharp pains that are so bad, I have to hold my breath to keep from moving in the slightest while I readjust. Those episodes aren’t very common, but they are a reality. I felt those pains when I was ‘injured’ during a track meet in seventh grade. What followed seemed like an endless stream of doctor appointments, through age sixteen. My doctor encouraged me to continue playing sports, saying that staying active would keep me ‘limber’ and strengthen those muscles I need, so long as I take proper precautions. Eventually, I ventured into the most creative and physically demanding sport I’ve ever played.

I started rugby at the College of William & Mary and have never looked back. I have always loved sports, but never felt I ‘looked’ like an athlete, especially wearing a jersey with crooked numbers. Rugby has challenged my body and my mind in ways only other rugby players understand, and there is an incredible amount of body diversity – no one cares what you look like so long as you can contribute to the game in some way. In reality, we’re all squeezed into the same form-fitting jerseys with our flaws exposed, and we all nurse old injuries because many of us come from athletic backgrounds.

While in college, I had two ACL tears in four years, one on either side and the most recent in the last 15s game of my college career. That experience was traumatic in itself, but so many other people, women especially, had ACL tears in their sports careers. There is a community to rely on, cry with, grieve missed games alongside. I’ve never met another rugby player that came into the game with scoliosis. The only time I’ve ever seen “rugby” and “scoliosis” mentioned in the same search is when medical forums talk about which sports to avoid. It’s disheartening and painful to read.

I have always worked with my doctors, instead of against them, although there have been more times than I can count I wanted to ignore them. I’ve seen a few spine specialists and chiropractors with tons and tons and tons of contradictory information. I’ve heard everything from “you’ll need weekly appointments for the rest of your life” to “your spine is unlikely to move, play all the sports you want.” I like to believe the reality is that I fall somewhere in the middle. I am conscious of my rucking and tackling form. I monitor my pains and sit out when necessary. I’m honest with myself, my coaches, and my teammates, because the reality is that if I try to play when something feels more ‘off’ than usual, a bad enough injury could end my rugby career.

I started playing with the Furies in the summer of 2018. It had been over a year since my second ACL surgery. I showed up with a clunky metal knee brace, having not played rugby in a year, and decided to only play touch rugby for the next few months. I’m so unbelievably thankful that I did, and then took preemptive steps to ensure I was ready to return to contact.

Recently, I had an appointment with a spine specialist because I was getting back into the season and wanted a check-in. I had the first ‘scoliosis’ x-rays (slightly different from regular x-rays of your back) since I was sixteen, and the doctor called me to give me my results. “Yep, you have scoliosis,” he said. I laughed. It was obvious. I see it every day. I feel it every day. It’s literally the center of my being. “...but it’s not severe, so you’re more at-risk for some of the common injuries you see every day, but you know your body.” And the reality of the situation sunk in. I am lucky. There’s a reason there’s not many athletes with scoliosis...it’s because those with severe scoliosis often don’t have the choice to play contact sports. I am so fortunate to be able to challenge myself in ways that others can’t. And even though I’ve been an athlete with a condition for fourteen years, it was only recently I realized that I can’t be hard on myself for not being the athlete I want to be. Because, let’s be honest. The athlete I have wanted to be for so long is symmetrical.

I often feel alone in my experience as an athlete with scoliosis. In the same breath, the Furies have made that experience worthwhile, pushing me based on the specific things that I can do, instead of what I can’t. I’m held to the same standards as some of the best athletes I’ve ever seen, and they encourage me to discover what skills I can develop. I’m given the agency to speak up about what drills or positions aren’t beneficial for me and am trusted to make my own decisions about my body and recovery. They’ve helped me discover that the athlete I should want to be is resilient, strong, and still playing the game fifteen years from now. It means everything to have support and trust from this team. And, even though I am often alone in the face of scoliosis, the Furies are no stranger to unique journeys. They’re the fiercest family I’ve ever been a part of, and they’ll always hold me accountable to the goals I set.

PTBAF
Liz Linstrom

Player Perspective: The Athlete I Want To Be