illness

Are You My Guru? How Medicine, Meditation, and Madonna Saved my Life

barbara — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Are You My Guru: How Medicine, Meditation, and Madonna Saved My Life is Wendy Shanker’s follow-up to The Fat Girl’s Guide to Life. It is a hilarious and inspiring account of Shanker’s battle with Wegener’s disease, a rare autoimmune disease that results in inflammation of blood vessels in various organs. Using her love of Madonna as well as her journey in trying to find treatment in traditional and alternative forms of medicine, Shanker dangerously treads Eat Pray Love territory but ultimately gives an honest account of her journey.

The book reads like an open conversation, and I could hear Shanker telling me about her struggles to juggle a fatal disease, her weight, and her stressful work life. Rather than writing as a distant and wise survivor, Shanker writes as a relatable source, another person struggling with her own conflict. Her strength is in writing about the struggles to maintain both physical and spiritual health, and how the two correlate. Rather than reading as a self-help novel, Shanker’s work serves as a self-reflection piece, serving as a conversation piece in understanding how we define health today, particularly as it pertains to women.

While Shanker clearly states that her book is her own journey with finding peace with her condition, Are You My Guru began to resemble Eat Pray Love in some of its more contrived moments of enlightenment. While Shanker used these moments sparingly, I was still hesitant about some of the conveniently “miraculous” moments of the book. Both Gilbert and Shanker speak of random moments of clarity, or messages from God in the most tight of situations. While some of Shanker’s more convenient moments (i.e something she prays for coming true at that moment), may be true, maybe the skeptic in me believes that those moments are there more for substance. Some may read her book and try to use it as the foundation of their own treatment of their own difficulties. However, Shanker is far clearer than Gilbert in cautioning readers that this was her own journey. Her book serves as an encouragement to find a regiment that suits the reader personally. Unlike Gilbert, Shanker maintains her ability to maintain intimacy with the reader.

Though I was more skeptical of some of the more “lucky” moments, where passages were stylized for the sake of substance, these moments did appear sparingly. I think the strongest aspect of Are You My Guru is Shanker’s relentless and honest optimism. Despite the hardships that are constantly thrown at her, she never asks the reader for pity, and that strength is inspiring. Shanker also changed my view of Madonna, someone that I did not really give much thought to as a feminist icon. However, her relationship with her idol is very poignant and entertaining.

Overall, I recommend Are You My Guru. Shanker is honest, vibrant, and hilarious, and I found her story to be thought provoking and well written.

Written by: Sara Yasin, November 13th 2010

Forced to Care: Coercion and Caregiving in America

admin — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Evelyn Nakano Glenn

Harvard University Press

Evelyn Nakano Glenn is a professor of Women’s and Ethnic Studies at University of California, Berkeley and author of Forced to Care. Perhaps because of her vocation, the book has a bit of a textbook flavor to it, but as it progresses, she lets go and begins to fill it out with a more humanistic view.

Forced to Care begins with a look at those who are responsible for the lion’s share of caregiving in America. Glenn’s findings basically confirm what most of us know already: in most cases, women of color, women at the low end of the socioeconomic scale, and illegal immigrants are the ones caring for our nation’s young, disabled, and elderly.

The author then takes her inquiries one step further by tracing the roots of caregiving back to colonial America in an effort to discover why such a disproportionate amount of paid and unpaid caretaking falls to these individuals. Glenn does a terrific job of leading the reader through the individual events that occurred politically, socially, industrially, and economically to reinforce the notion that it is a woman’s duty to take care of needy family members. Following the shift from an agricultural, self-sustaining, family-based society to a market economy, Glenn shows just why gender divisions still remain with respect to these types of jobs. She illustrates, through the use of an amazing amount of research, just exactly how American women with very few other choices have been coerced into providing care for others to the detriment of their own needs for centuries. Our society’s continued devaluation of these kinds of “homemaking” services serves to perpetuate the problem.

It is clear that the author encourages a sea change with respect to both paid and unpaid caregiving, but she refrains from demonizing any particular groups or individuals, instead offering a clear, concise look at how we got ourselves here, and why we need to get out of this mess while we still can.

Glenn advocates for both care providers and those receiving care and uses her vast knowledge of the history and foundation of the problems to offer concrete solutions to the difficulties both face as our aging society pushes us closer to a crisis in the fastest growing segment of healthcare in America.

Before picking up this book, I was nearly certain that I would be called upon to care for elderly family members at some point in my life, although hopefully not until my children are grown and gone. Despite my fears of being able to do so with grace and love versus resentment and frustration, it was nonetheless something I didn’t see a way out of. I can’t say that Forced to Care allayed my fears in any way, but I gained a tremendous amount of insight as to how and why I might be called upon to provide such care and how, if I am so inclined, I might join in efforts to increase the availability of resources and respect for caregivers as a whole.

While the book is not an easy read—I didn't settle down with it in my lounge chair next to the pool—it is an absolutely eye-opening look at something many of us take for granted; that we as women will eventually be called upon to care for those family members who cannot do it for themselves.

Written by: Kari O’Driscoll, July 10th 2010

Encarnación: Illness and Body Politics in Chicana Feminist Literature

admin — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Suzanne Bost

Fordham University Press

The pockmarks on the Aztec figure on the cover of Suzanne Bost’s Encarnación: Illness and Body Politics in Chicana Feminist Literature are a reminder of the proximity of disease, illness, and pain to death. Chicana artist Maya González’ painting is in fact entitled Death Enthroned, and serves as a constant thematic backdrop to Bost’s book since it embodies many of the themes that Bost will deal with in her study of Chicana feminist literature: Aztec culture, illness, death, religion, and woman’s precarious position in the intersection of these elements.

Bost’s study is not the first to examine Chicana feminist literature, as many readers will note (many such studies have been reviewed by FR). In effect, the three authors Bost chooses to analyse are part of the established cannon of Chicana literature, with Gloria Anzaldúa being the face of said literature with twice as many critical articles written on her (over 200 in the MLA directory as of April 1, 2010). Both of the other writers, Cherríe Moraga and Ana Castillo, have also established themselves in the last twenty years or so. All three have been studied within other “literary labels,” such as Queer Studies for Cherríe Moraga and Ecocriticism for Ana Castillo, for example.

Separately, all three authors have been examined under the relatively new label of Disability Studies, but the intersection of Disability Studies with Chicana Feminist Literary Studies is a novelty, which Bost (and other academics) sees as appealing. In the contextualization of her analysis, Bost finds it fitting to differentiate studies on the Female Body (which have been done for each of the writers mentioned) with Disability. This is perhaps one of the most interesting theoretical parts of her analysis since the line separating the two is very fine: pain, illness, and disability are all part of the bodily construction and seem inseparable. Thus, Bost’s analysis is enlightening as to what exactly is new in her approach: a Chicana identity rooted in the body, but which transcends it, as her use of the Spanish term encarnación (incarnation) in the title signals both a figurative and literal embodiment. Bost specifically writes that she is interested in “the ways in which other corporeal qualities—ones that are not genetic, visible, or already politically inscribed as an assumed axis of oppression/privilege—upend the familiar forms of identity.”

Before moving to individual chapters examining each author, Bost explores the context of identity and grounds Chicana identity in the Aztec traditions. The author is very thorough in her reminder of all the Aztec symbolism throughout the four chapters and, for those of us who need a refresher, there is an abundance of useful information. What Bost terms as a hagiographic (reverential towards the religious figures) study of Aztec culture is also useful in that it establishes an unconventional (read non-Christian) relationship to pain, illness, death, and their relationship to representation in that tradition. Furthermore, in this chapter Bost chooses to iconize Frida Kahlo as one of the central contextualizing figures for the Chicana disability studies as she epitomizes both analytical elements, as well as being a significant influence on all three authors.

All three chapters on the individual authors are well written and quite detailed. However, one can but lament the fact that Bost did not take the opportunity to write a proper conclusion to her study (one that would have reiterated the more direct links between the writers and come to some consensus about the use of Disability Studies as a useful tool to examine Chicana Feminist Literature). Although I personally find her introduction of the Chicana artists Maya González and Diane Gamboa in her conclusion to be fascinating and informative, it is Chicana Feminist Literature that her study chooses to focus on, and it would have been interesting to see if Bost had found relevant links to other Chicana writers. With the prominence of the Chicana women artists and the inclusion of the twelve beautiful color plates in her book, it is almost fitting to suggest that the book be renamed Encarnación: Illness and Body Politics in Chicana Feminist Representation.

Written by: Sophie M. Lavoie, April 22nd 2010

Sick: A Compilation Zine on Physical Illness

admin — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Edited by Ben Holtzman

Microcosm Publishing

It surrounds us. No matter how difficult, awkward, or painful, we will inevitably come into contact with it. But despite its ubiquity, physical illness continues to be one of the most challenging subjects for people to broach.

Sick is a compilation zine on physical illness that offers up the experiences and perspectives of individuals living with illness. Whether dealing with incurable polycystic kidney disease, coping with cancer, or struggling with an unnamed medical condition, each piece, no matter how distinct, explores common themes of support, communication, and community. Each writer concisely documents her or his personal struggle with illness and sheds light onto the stigmatization of sickness and deep-seated taboos that hinder dialogue. Apart from exploring the painful consequences of living in a society unaccustomed to discussing illness, the writers offer valuable tools that teach us to be considerate and helpful allies.

Sick gracefully navigates its way through a wide range of experiences as it aims to open the channels of communication and establish a collective voice for those impacted by illness. How do we respond when someone tells us they are sick? How many people in our community are transparent about having a disability or illness? What can we do to help each other feel welcome, equal, and supported?

The zine also considers exclusivity within radical/DIY/punk scenes. How does someone’s level of health determine their participation in a particular community? Riding a bicycle, marching in a protest, and dumpster diving, for instance, are activities accessible primarily to the able-bodied. To avoid being ostracized or dismissed, many sick individuals find themselves pushed into the proverbial closet of shame and isolation.

In our culture, sickness is a private affair. We have been socialized to fear or ignore it. Consequently, sick people must not only learn to manage their own disease, but are often burdened with others’ inability to openly discuss and cope with illness. Often racked with feelings of guilt, isolation, and alienation, it is essential that a sick person’s experiences are acknowledged and validated. This is what Sick achieves. It opens dialogue and validates experience. Perhaps we cannot understand what it means to have supraventricular tachycardia, but we can learn to listen and ask our friends how we can provide the support they need.

Though the accounts in Sick can be grim or downright disturbing, the writers’ warm resilience brightens every page with hope for opening discourse and dismantling entrenched social norms. It’s the writers’ heartfelt declarations and earnest desire to create a caring community that makes this read so compelling.

Sick is a compassionate, honest work and a necessary first step toward understanding the complexities of physical illness and building communities of support. It is challenging and tender; it is unprecedented and accessible.

Written by: Sofia Marin, April 15th 2010

Louder Than Words: Emily

admin — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Emily Smucker

HCI Teens

There were two things that drew me to this book. Firstly, the title is Emily and, hey, that’s my name, too! Secondly, and more importantly, the story revolves around a young girl called Emily whose life is plagued by physical illnesses, which she endearingly calls “Emily flu.” Could this book possibly be written about me?

Alas, whilst I just suffer from chronic hypochondria, literary Emily has a genuine disease; the rare and incurable West Nile Virus. But even if your name isn’t Emily, and even if you’re fit and healthy, chances are you’ll be able to draw something positive from this tale.

Emily is a true story, an autobiography of one teenage girl and what it’s like when you’re forced to take a back seat in life. From school work to holidays, Emily is dealt a harsh hand. Drawing on her Mennonite faith, Emily uses her religion as a crutch to help her deal with the roller coaster of emotions that comes with her illness. Zapped of energy and plagued with dizzy spells, every day life is a nightmare for Emily, who yearns for the things we take for granted and often complain about, such as the ability to attend school and have achy legs from an arduous day at work. Written in diary form with short entries, Emily is the perfect book to dip into if you’re not an avid reader, although it can, at times, be void of much storyline and substance, so it may not be to everyone’s taste.

Emily’s enduring spirit and sense of determination displays a strong, focused view of the female gender. A quirky read—at times focusing on the monotonous activities of daily life, reflecting Emily’s isolation and confinement, which will make you think twice before moaning about your busy work schedule.

Written by: Emily Ray, December 29th 2009

La Americana

admin — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 17:34:00 +0000

Directed by Nicholas Bruckman

People's Television

This review will probably be a bit dated, as Nicholas Bruckman’s 2008 documentary appealing for more welcoming U.S. immigration policy has been superseded by our new president’s openly liberal views on the issue. However, La Americana still manages to be refreshing, ambitious, and important, particularly for those who are still skeptical of Obama’s stance or who simply don’t know much about the immigrant experience.

Bruckman makes a valiant effort to de-generalize the issue or, rather, the people it affects most, by focusing on one woman’s journey to the U.S. as an illegal immigrant from Bolivia. Her story is not the one to which we are accustomed: Maria does not come to New York in pursuit of some variation on “The American Dream;” she is only there in the hopes of making enough money to cover medical expenses for her daughter Carla, who was left paralyzed by a bus accident as a young girl. Ironically, Maria’s need to take care of her daughter ends up being somewhat of a detriment to their relationship, as it keeps them apart for several years.

For a film that’s bookended with two liberal quotes on immigration—the first by JFK and the second by Obama himself—La Americana is surprisingly unbiased in its presentation. Though Maria is a special case and certainly doesn’t represent all the illegal immigrants in New York City, let alone this country, her story is told in such an unadulterated manner that I wasn’t left feeling manipulated or like I was being pitched a political ideal.

It only helps that Maria herself is quite relatable and likable; she speaks candidly and without a speck of naïveté, so much so that even in spite of her situation, we never pity her. When she moves back to Bolivia on Carla’s quinceañera, we are finally able to see the awful living conditions her family endures there, but Maria never breathes a word of despair. She says nothing of how poor the available health care is there—we see it for ourselves, as she is forced to carry Carla up flights of stairs to the doctor’s office.

Unfortunately, the money Maria saved up in the States cannot sustain her and Carla for more than several months, and it is with a world of regret that she must move back to the U.S. It is at this point, at the end of the film, that we are reminded of Bruckman’s agenda, but not by Bruckman himself; it is Maria who pushes for change, eloquently expounding on what the term “American” means and what it should mean.

As I watched Maria tearfully explain that all Americans came from immigrants, I was surprised to realize that I’d never been allowed such emotional access to an illegal immigrant before. Bruckman has done something truly revolutionary by concentrating on this woman’s story: he’s personalized a group of people that has typically been pluralized and portrayed as a single mass, a collective “issue.” With the help of his film, perhaps those who still have trouble breaking that convention will at least begin to see illegal immigrants as people rather than a problem.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, August 27th 2009