Scoliosis & Working as a Seafarer aboard Cruise Ships

14 Dec

“Wait… you’re not sitting straight.”

That’s usually the moment I remember I’m living with scoliosis. Most days, I completely forget I even have it – until someone points it out. Like that time in the salon, when the barber asked me to sit upright so he could cut my hair evenly. I thought I was sitting straight – but something about my body always feels a little... off.

Before working on cruise ships, I briefly considered becoming a flight attendant. But I realised either I didn’t have the right personality for it, or I read that scoliosis might disqualify me. Whatever the case, I gave up on that idea and turned my focus to life at sea instead.

To work onboard a cruise ship, you need to pass a medical exam. Most people don’t know that. It’s not just a formality – it’s a full-body evaluation that determines whether you’re “fit for duty.” If your spine is curved, if your vision isn’t up to standard, if you’ve had any serious conditions – they look at all of it.

Scoliosis makes working as a cruise ship crew member more complicated – especially when each seafarer medical exam feels like a tightrope walk between getting cleared or being asked for more tests.

Working with Scoliosis in Uniform

At first, I wore oversized T-shirts to hide my uneven posture. Over time, though, it became less about hiding and more about comfort. My go-to grunge style – layered T-shirts and checkered long sleeves – felt like a cosy armor that helped me focus on my work instead of worrying about how I looked.

There were days when I felt self-conscious, especially when I saw photos of myself. I avoided looking at them too closely. What was the point? It’s not like I could Photoshop my spine. But these moments were rare, and for the most part, I forgot about my scoliosis altogether.

What really helped was the environment onboard. Most of my colleagues didn’t even notice my scoliosis, and the few who did didn’t think much of it. Their reactions reminded me that I was often my own harshest critic.

A Spine that Curves

Scoliosis, for the uninitiated, is a condition where the spine curves, often resembling an “S” or “C” shape on an X-ray. Mine’s a long, lazy “C”. It’s not extreme, but it’s there. Subtle enough to forget about most days, obvious enough for others to notice when I’m sitting weird or leaning off-centre.

I don’t see it in the mirror. Not really. But side-profile photos or back-view shots sometimes betray the truth. One shoulder slightly higher, my posture a bit off, like I’m permanently mid-shrug.

It’s never been painful, which I count as a small blessing. No dramatic spasms, no medical emergencies. Just a quiet imbalance. A feeling that my body’s doing a bit more background work than most to keep me upright and functional.

On the ship, I didn’t have a physically demanding job. No heavy lifting or cargo runs, just long hours at a desk or behind a counter.

But even then, by the end of the day, all I wanted was to lie down. I used to wonder if I was just being dramatic, or if my back was quietly tired from hours of micro-adjustments. Maybe both. It’s not the kind of thing anyone else can see. But I feel it. That quiet fatigue that builds up in your bones like static.

The Cost of Curving Differently

The cruise ship medical exam had always felt like a gamble. I never knew which year they'd want more tests – an X-ray, a letter from a specialist, or some new surprise from an overzealous doctor with a ruler and a red pen.

Most of the time, I passed without issue. My job didn’t involve heavy lifting or anything too physically demanding. Mostly I was based in the office, where it’s all computers and reports.

I still remember the first time I went through the medical. The usual check-up bits were fine, but because of my scoliosis, I had to get extra assessments – X-rays, letters from specialists, the works.

Some years, they wanted more proof than others. Sometimes it wasn’t even the scoliosis that raised questions. One year, it was an abnormal ECG. Another time, a different clinic flagged something completely new.

I bounced between clinics, collecting test results like Pokémon cards, explaining over and over that I didn’t experience pain and could do the job. Yet it always felt like I was trying to convince someone I was fit enough to pass.

The costs? Around RM400–500 per exam. It’s usually reimbursed, thankfully, but when I needed to see specialists or get extra opinions, those add-ons weren’t always covered. That part still stings. You’re jumping through hoops just to prove something your body already knows – that you’re capable. That you’ve been doing the job all along.

The hardest hit came when I applied for another cruise line. I thought it was going to be a step forward – a bigger opportunity. I did everything they asked. I spent nearly RM3,000 (US$680) on paperwork, medical tests, and a visa.

But I didn’t pass the medical. My spine apparently didn’t meet the international guidelines. I still don’t know what those exact guidelines were. They never explained. Just a blunt “Not fit for duty.” After everything, I came back empty-handed – no job, no refund, no closure.

There’s no dramatic collapse. No visible crisis. Just the quiet weight of extra paperwork, medical doubts, and that familiar end-of-day fatigue. I get cleared. I do the work. And later, when it’s quiet, I lie down and let my spine settle into its natural shape – curved, but still carrying me.

Living With It, Quietly

I used to think I had to fix it. Stand straighter. Tuck in my shoulder. Pull the lower ribs in. Wear something that didn’t make the curve obvious. I thought if I just tried hard enough, maybe I could look... normal.

But scoliosis isn’t something you fix. At least, not mine. No more brace. No surgery. No stretching routine that reverses the shape your bones have already committed to.

These days, I don't try to hide it – not really. I still reach for oversized T-shirts and slouchy layers, but not to disappear. I just like how they feel. I like clothes that don't demand posture.

Maybe that's the real shift. I’m no longer pretending to be straight, whatever that means. I’m not aiming for symmetry. I just want to be at ease in my own body, even if it leans slightly to one side.

There are no big revelations. No heroic “and then I embraced it” ending. Just small things. I stretch sometimes. I move gently. I lie down when my back asks me to. I say no to things that feel like too much.

I still get self-conscious in photos. I still wonder if people notice. But I don’t hate my body anymore – or at least, I don’t blame it. It’s done nothing wrong. It just grew differently.

And maybe that’s all I’m learning to do – to grow differently too.