Victoria Abreu: "Scoliosis has affected my life but has not held me back."

Victoria Abreu with her sister before her procedure.

I sat in the children’s hospital waiting room anxiously for what felt like the millionth time. This time, however, was different– the date of my life-changing surgery was soon to be finalized. Upon finally reaching the examination room, the surgeon who would be operating on me began to describe the procedure. My heart sank. He explained that my surgery was quite risky, and that I wouldn’t end up with the results I’d been anticipating since I was just 9 years old. I was devastated. I had spent the past five years counting down the days until my operation, only for my hope to be replaced with fear and disappointment. When I walked into the hospital in Philadelphia on that day, I had no idea that it would be my last time walking through those doors.

I was diagnosed with severe Scoliosis and Kyphosis when I was born. Each are distinct types of spinal curvatures that combined to form a sideways-curved hunchback on my spine. At first, my struggles with my condition revolved mainly around physical deprivations. I spent pre-school in a wheelchair with daily physical therapy. Later on in elementary school, I still couldn't do things like running and jumping. My condition, however, didn’t take a psychological toll until I was told that I’d only grow to be about 4’9. Although being small was cute and endearing in pre-school and elementary school, my height was recepted differently amongst growing pre-teens. My self-esteem began to plunder, with my physical disabilities soon becoming a target of taunting and ridicule. I was left wondering if I could ever love myself amidst my disabilities. 

Growing up dealing with these congenital challenges, as well as their overarching implications, made it difficult for me to open up to people and be confident. Nonetheless, I came to find an outlet that nurtured my self-expression and confidence– acting. In early middle school I was awarded the role of The Wicked Witch of the West in my school’s rendition of The Wizard of Oz. The confidence that I seemed to lack offstage radiated throughout my performance, and was received with praise and admiration. I began to contemplate whether acting was something that I should do more often.

Shortly after my hopes for surgery were defeated, I joined a theatre group. Here, I came to discover a community that helped me to accept every part of myself; even my disabilities. While I was on stage, I didn’t need to worry about my physical differences. I was capable and talented. More, the people around me thought so too. This helped me realize that although my disabilities were a part of me, they didn't have to be all of me. As I grew older, my passion for theatre only grew stronger, coming to encompass a main portion of life throughout high school. Little by little, my deficits and scars stopped defining me. 

Soon, plans were made for me to have my surgery at another hospital. A second opinion reassured me that this surgery would in fact give me my anticipated results. Although I still wouldn’t grow much, my scoliosis would be corrected and my hunchback would be shrunken. When the time came for the operation, I woke up with so much hope and excitement, in awe of the fact that the changes I’d wanted for my whole life were finally here. The surgery was ultimately successful, and the recovery was painful but extremely rewarding. Nonetheless, upon coming to terms with my new physique, I realized that my surgery did not change much about me. Instead, I realized that I was confident, capable, and strong, even without my surgery.  Theatre served to remind me of that. Now, years later, the scars from my operations reassure me that I am inherently strong. I will be successful not in spite of my physical deficits, but because of them.