Scoliosis treatment without surgery using exercise | Neurosurgeon in Delhi
Scoliosis can cause trouble if not treated correctly. Many doctors and top neurosurgeon have suggested exercises to help patients deal with pain and correct the spine posture during daily activities. Scoliosis exercises should be done cautiously and with good technique. The objective is to establish spine symmetry to restore trunk alignment and relieve back discomfort.
This guide curated by the Dr. Nagesh Chandra, Neurosurgery Specialist in Dwarka, Delhi, explains the meaning of scoliosis, exercises, etc. You must consult your doctors before performing any exercise to ensure it is safe for your condition. Follow all the instructions from your doctor and take a path towards fitness.
What is Scoliosis and its diagnosis in Delhi?
Scoliosis is a sideways spine curve that can look like an “S” or “C” shape. It can cause the body to tilt to the side, and some people may have one shoulder higher than the other. Scoliosis is usually mild and does not cause symptoms but can lead to back pain. Most cases of scoliosis are mild, but some curves worsen. Scoliosis is more likely to get worse while bones are still growing.
Scoliosis occurs in about 3% of people and most commonly develops between the ages of ten and twenty. Females typically are more severely affected than males, with a ratio of 4:1.
Scoliosis and Kyphosis however looks similar but are two different spine conditions.
Scoliosis treatment without surgery using exercises
These are some of the exercises for scoliosis that must be performed under an Spine doctor supervision.
Cat-camel
The cat-camel stretch is a freehand exercise that can help improve the flexibility and mobility of the spine. It can also help prevent spinal disorders and reduce pain.
How to perform it: You must lie down and stand on your hands and legs. Ensure your back is on level and your head & neck are comfortable. Arch your back and inhale deeply while drawing your abdominal muscles up & down. Now, exhale, relieve your abdominal muscles, and drop your neck. Lay flat on your belly and lift your towards, facing towards the ceiling.
Latissimus dorsi stretch
How to perform it: Stand and keep your back straight. Keep your legs apart and slightly bend your knees. Raise your hands and hold the right wrist with your left hand. Bend towards the right side until you feel a stretch in your body. Hold your breath for 10-15 seconds, and release your breath and hands. Repeat the same process on the left side.
Abdominal press
The abdominal press is a static exercise that can help with scoliosis by strengthening the core and abdominal muscles. Read more
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all your ducks in a row – 7k, phoenix/miles, a prequel to the pacific rim au
it's done :) first two scenes below
After waiting ten minutes in Ema’s lab sans Ema, Miles makes an extremely flashy show of checking his watch.
“Who are you doing that for?” Phoenix asks him. “I bought you that watch, you think I don’t know how expensive your watch is?”
Miles growls at him, brings the watch a few inches closer to his face (not a show, Phoenix took most of their nearsight for an earlier briefing and has yet to give it back), then shakes his sleeve back over his wrist. “She’s late.”
“You know how I knew that? I don’t have a watch, it’s sad, but there is a clock on the wall that—”
“Oh, shut up,” Miles says, and buffets Phoenix with an old memory, rubbed near to loving smoothness, of: Phoenix Wright, newest technician at the Los Angeles Shatterdome. Big wounded eyes, crisply-starched uniform, the way he’d tottered to attention like a baby flamingo every time Miles Edgeworth passed him in the hall, like if Miles would just spare a look for the razor-thin crease in Phoenix’s slacks he might drop to his knees right then and there and—
“Alright, alright!” Phoenix laughs, waving a hand between them as if Miles’ love is a cloud that might ever be dispelled. “You can have your little vanities.”
“Thank you,” Miles sniffs, prim, and smiles as Phoenix does. “She is late, though.”
“Yeah, yeah. One more minute and then we’ll give her a call.” It’s well into evening but loud in the Dome, the thumping boots of night shift filling the halls as swing shift stumbles past them to their beds. Miles wants them out of here, quickly. He’s doing his best to keep his impatience to himself but the little hooks of it snag at Phoenix, too. When Phoenix reaches into the space between them, the aura of Miles’ incoming migraine haloes his vision. “She’s almost here,” he says to Miles.
“And how could you possibly know that,” Miles replies with an unbecoming roll of his eyes at the exact moment Ema throws herself into the room.
“Sorry, sirs!” she yells, stack of papers clutched to her chest, and Miles doesn’t acknowledge Phoenix’s smirk as they make their greetings and all sit down except that he’s forced to, intrinsically, because he melted his neurology to Phoenix’s in a massive industrial accident. Sucker.
“Okay,” Ema says, leaning over her spread of papers like a dealer trying to remember which color chip is the 50. “So I finally got my guy on the phone.”
There’s a little sparkler of panic from Miles, who can’t get the memory in time. Phoenix provides: her guy is an academic and neuro specialist that Meraktis reluctantly put Ema in touch with before his retirement. Well, “retirement.” His wife and two of his three children died trying to escape the city during the last attack and he’s leaving California while he still has a family left. Maybe better to just keep calling it a retirement.
“He thinks it might work,” Ema says.
Miles leans forward, whole sordid body alert. “He does.”
Phoenix says, “Keep talking.”
When Miles and Phoenix’s tangled health began, a few years after Ratel Cerulean, to stabilize, the good Dr. Meraktis had told them to consider themselves unbelievably, inconceivably lucky. Symptoms that were bad in a predictable way were a gift from god compared to the alternative. When they knew all of Miles’ migraine triggers, and all the weather patterns that would make the screws in Phoenix’s spine sing like malevolent tuning forks, and it had been years since they’d last had a seizure of even the little baby kind—that was a real life. They could live like that. Miles had been intensely grateful, as had Phoenix. He’d never say he wasn’t. But Ema, then Meraktis’ spunky neurology sidekick, had thought there might be more they could still try, and Meraktis had called her ideas ridiculous, but Phoenix had heard her out. Their problems were the making of a drift gone wrong. Could they be further resolved by a drift gone right?
It took years to get Miles on board. Until Meraktis fled the coast and couldn’t stop Ema from making her pitches anymore. Miles still isn’t totally on board—as he listens to Ema describe imaging results and hypothetical neural bridges, his fear is a bright and chattering flame.
Phoenix imagines the sensation of his hand on the back of Miles’ head, pushing his fingers through Miles’ hair. He remembers the feeling, many years familiar, of the stubbly back of Miles’ neck rubbed beneath the pressure of his thumb. In the seat beside him, Miles’s hands slowly release their white-knuckle grip on the arms of his chair. “So all we would need to do,” Miles says, as Ema’s explanation slows for breath, “is start a new drift?”
“I think so,” Ema says. “It could work. There’s no guarantee, there’s no, like, precedent for what’s going on with you guys but—I think so.” She shuffles her papers across her desk with a nervous hand. “I think so.”
She’s not selling this so well, certainly not enough for Miles’ flagging confidence. That’s fine. Miles doesn’t need to be sure of it. Phoenix is, enough for them both. This will work. This will help them. This will be okay. He cups Miles’ faith in the palms of his hands.
“Alright,” Miles says. “Let’s try it.”
---
Miles’ tentative optimism doesn’t withstand the rest of their working day, which includes a review of the Jumphawk’s latest no-light maneuvers, a call to Brussels, a call to his sister (way more harrowing than the EU), and a final visit to Angel, who hates them, just before the clock flips to 2:00 AM. It’s bad for both of them—Miles who was up at six yesterday morning and Phoenix who will be up again at six this coming morning. If Miles hadn’t begun to spiral as they trudged towards their mockery of a bedtime, Phoenix might have actually started to worry.
“We are—we’re delusional for even considering this,” Miles says, pacing their awful fucking rooms with his arms locked right behind his back. He’s going to pull something in his shoulder. They should really let the janitorial staff dust in here more often. “Frankly,” Miles says, “we should court-martial ourselves and hand control of the dome to Franziska now, for even thinking of this.”
“Sure, baby,” Phoenix says. His forearm lays heavy over his eyes. He tracks Miles’ movements by other means. “We both know how much you love handing your sister control of things.”
He remembers, before Miles can stop him, the “surprise” “party” Franziska has organized for Miles, the one time they’d visited Sydney before Miles became Marshall. It had been a poor surprise and an even worse party. When Franziska had mistaken Flight Commander Wright for a member of her own terrified support staff and ordered him to fetch more non-alcoholic wine spritzers, Phoenix had experienced nothing except relief.
“You weren’t wearing your uniform,” Miles muttered, face heating sharply. “How was she supposed to recognize you?”
She wouldn’t have even perceived the uniform. Phoenix could have been wearing a trophy from all three of his and Miles’ kills-to-date and she still would have told Phoenix to go get more toothpicks for the cocktail weiners which no one was enjoying and everyone was avoiding.
“Back to my original point,” Miles growls, before Phoenix can really get started on remembering the taste of the weiners (bad).
He sighs. “And what was that, baby?”
“Phoenix. We haven’t tried to drift in years. To just throw ourselves at it like this, with no practice, with no time to think—”
“We’re currently drifting. We’re drifting right now. What other practice do we need?”
Miles turns in his pacing at the edge of the bed, his inner ear off tonight, the pivot too deep for comfort. “This isn’t a game. This is dangerous. What—if something goes wrong, after what it did to you last time—”
“To us,” Phoenix says.
It’s Miles’ memories that sweep them this time, strong as the breakers. Phoenix as he’d hung from the harness in Ratel’s burning, electrified cockpit. A corpse, a scarecrow, a bare-ribbed carcass awaiting the butcher, etc. etc. Phoenix wasn't really there. Phoenix remembers very little of the four hours it took their rescuers to cut into Ratel Cerulean, hesitant as they were to set off her distempered nuclear heart. He remembers pain and Miles screaming. Howling. He’d been informed afterwards, by surgeons and Miles’ fear, how bad it had been. Miles remembers, far beyond his own pain, the burning smell of Phoenix’s skin and the blood emerging in fat slugs from the seams of Phoenix’s suit. Miles’ mind had been peeling open like fruit beneath a knife. He’d been so sure, for days after, until Phoenix woke up and could be examined himself, that Phoenix’s eye had been gone. He was sure he’d seen it sluicing away.
Phoenix, in bed, rubs a hand over his eye, calluses catching on the scar. It was just the scar. His eye was fine. The eye had been fine. “You didn’t do that to me,” Phoenix says. “Don’t apologize for that.”
Miles had been commanding officer.
“C’mon,” Phoenix murmurs.
Miles slides away from him, slipping the noose of Phoenix’s grace. That’s not his word—Phoenix would never call it grace. Miles, half the room away, says, “It’s dangerous. It’s—beyond that. God knows what we’d risk. How many people in the Dome’s medical staff are even aware of our neurology?” He hates calling it a drift. “What happens when something goes wrong and they have no idea what they’re looking at?”
“911’s still operational, right?”
“Phoenix, take this seriously!”
“Miles, it’ll be okay.” Miles doesn’t believe him. Phoenix says it again. “We’ve been over this a million times. We’re not out fighting a kaiju this time. We’re not even leaving the shop floor. We’ll be in the dome, with Ema, with her two guys that know the stuff, with like one Jaeger tech, and no one else around. Nobody’s going to find out about our drift and nobody else will need to find out, because it’ll be fine. It’s just a drift test. It’s going to work. We’ll be fine.”
He’s still so afraid. He’s only admitted to like half of the things he’s terrified of. He starts to pace, stops again. Here comes another big slice of the pie: “What about Trucy?” Miles asks.
“She won’t even be here,” Phoenix says. “Maya’s picking her up tomorrow. You know that.”
Miles hates that, too, though he won’t fully articulate why and doesn’t appreciate Phoenix picking at that lack of articulation, thank you. Trucy distant, Trucy away—Miles’ fists tighten bloodlessly into themselves.
“What, you’d prefer she stick around?” Phoenix asks. That Trucy would give them a week of subtle teenage hell for canceling her girls’ Kurain weekend is too obvious to need saying. “You’d want her to see if anything goes wrong?”
“So you admit something might go wrong!”
Phoenix groans and laughs and finally lets his arm fall from his eyes. Their junky old room is dim and hazy, pressure-spotted a sickly green. Miles watches him from just out of arms’ reach. He looks just miserable.
“You really should have been some big, hot-shot lawyer, you know that?” Phoenix says. “Always putting me on trial.”
He holds out his hand. “C’mere,” he says.
Slowly, Miles takes it. Phoenix pulls him into their bed. He helps Miles kick his shoes off, nudging them off of the sheets. He sets Miles’ watch on the table beside their bed.
Miles, voiceless, traces the dark flat scars of the burns on Phoenix’s neck. His fingertips shake.
It must be nearly 3:00 AM. “S okay,” Phoenix says. “You didn’t do that to me. It’s going to work.”
Miles wants so badly to believe him. Miles wants, with a desperation he loathes, to catch just a handful of the thing that makes Phoenix so sure.
Neither of them will get to sleep like this. “C’mere,” Phoenix says again, taking Miles’ hands in his own.
He pictures the snow. Mt. Shasta, when he was young, maybe eight. He remembers sitting in the formless powder. He’d been warm. The sun had been just above the trees. No cold drips down his gloves yet, no slush in his boots. The sky had been blue and entire. The world was in concert hushed. Snow had moved with the ease of air between his fingers.
Miles is beside him. He draws Miles’ hand into the snow, making a many-fingered shape with his own. He shows Miles how to sit deeper in the powder, to let it form around you in a smooth bowl. He breathes and Miles breathes with him, exhalations rocketing from their mouths.
read the rest on ao3 👍👍👍
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I’m rereading your bvd/cci/eds/migraine posts with interest, bc I’m coming at it from the other direction—cervical spine degeneration and my body’s compensation attempts being the cause of the vision and other neurological symptoms, where you seem to experience that compensating for the vision problems exacerbates the issues with your spine.
Did you end up trying the preemptive bracing, since you found that monthly hormone changes caused eds flareups and migraines? What kind of brace, if you don’t mind saying?
And do you find that chiropractic adjustments help or hurt more than massage?
Not asking you for medical expertise, but it is so nice to hear from people who are speaking from the lived experience.
Thank you!
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I haven’t tried bracing my neck yet, no. I doubled down on cervical stability exercises in PT and that seems to be helping a bit more. (Though I am still on the lookout for a brace that doesn’t break me out in hives.)
And no, chiropractic adjustments of the neck are never recommended for anyone, but especially not for anyone with cervical instability issues. I found this out after a neck adjustment tore all the muscles in my neck and required me to have an MRI to look for a possible brain bleed after I started developing neurological symptoms from the injury. I was bedridden for weeks.
This was not a “bad” or wrongly performed adjustment: it’s just the risk of having your neck adjusted.
It’s been 5 years and I still don’t have full stability on the right side of my neck and often get tingling numbness on that side.
The spinal specialist I saw for my recovery told me he used to primarily see people with brain injuries from car crashes and construction accidents. Now most of his primary patients are people who saw chiropractors and had their necks adjusted.
I still sometimes see a chiropractor for mid and lower back adjustments, and my hips because those pop out of place fairly often and my chiro is better at getting them back in than the local urgent care, but my person uses gentle stretching motions rather than the more abrupt cracking motions. She also refuses to touch anyone’s neck ever. There are far too many vital nerves and blood vessels there to risk it. The fact that she knows this makes me feel safe entrusting my pain management to her.
Massage and physical therapy are how I manage my issues the best.
Mysofascial release therapy has been very helpful for me in reclaiming a lot of my range of motion, breaking up muscle adhesions and building healthy soft tissue. There’s some new-agey bullshit claims about it, but if you find someone who knows how to do it and who doesn’t believe the “cures cancer” horseshit (claims some chiropractors also make) it can be beneficial.
The real long term progress, however, has been from regular physical therapy from providers who know how to deal with my hypermobility.
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