Clinical Trial #15: Day 7

Nobody tells you that having a chronic illness is like taking on a part-time job. The first provider who typed “chronic” into my chart didn’t warn me I’d become a one-woman drug trial for years. Hey, I get it. Everyone fixated on me getting better. The possibility that might not happen was never mentioned, andContinue reading “Clinical Trial #15: Day 7”

I’m Still Not Here

At 14, I read the entire Bible, front to back. When I attended sleepovers, other kids brought plastic clamshells of eye shadow or bottles of nail polish, clattering in their backpacks like marbles. I brought my leather-bound Bible. I was always the last to fall asleep. As my friends dropped off into unconsciousness and heavyContinue reading “I’m Still Not Here”

“The Good Place” Makes Peace with Death

SPOILERS! SO MANY SPOILERS! Over the last four years, The Good Place fans knew writers were going to have to deal with the “real” good place eventually. It was the inevitable end. Each character, including our favorite demon, was invited into a deeper knowledge of their shortcomings. Which meant growth. As each character got betterContinue reading ““The Good Place” Makes Peace with Death”

Life and Death

I apologize for being MIA the last week and a half. Things have been happening. Those of you who have been following me for a while know that I have chronic migraines. I developed migraines shortly after the first assault I survived at age 12, and they became chronic shortly after the last assault atContinue reading “Life and Death”

The Stations of the Cross

Nothing, other than chronic illness, has acquainted me more intimately with death than trauma. Through the violence that one body can do to another, trauma demonstrated my fragility, my transience, my mortality. It showed me, too vividly, that my bodily autonomy, and even my life, could end at any moment if a man decided toContinue reading “The Stations of the Cross”

The Traces We Leave Behind

I’ve been thinking lately of the framed photos of soccer and football teams in the gymnasium at the Webb Institute where my brother graduated last year. Black and white photos from the 1910s and 1920s, rows of gray faces, young and smiling under their wool caps. A special kind of optimism, solid as the muddyContinue reading “The Traces We Leave Behind”