Becca is a chronically-ill lady, writes on health, humanity, and what it truly means to be alive. She invites you into her unique world, and the imagination, that comes with being stuck in bed. The world may be still, but words keep moving.
Hysterectomy and the "Hysterical" Woman
Hysterectomy is a word that often strikes fear in the heart of a woman. It is plagued with a history of heartbreak and pain and even now isn't something taken lightly by many. The word hysteria and that of hysterectomy are not coincidently coordinated, but are stemmed from something that was one in the same. Women who were considered to be emotionally unstable were considered "hysterical," and in order to cure their hysteria, they were often put into asylums. Some of these places put women through a procedure that removed what they believed was causing all their emotional distress—the uterus. Thus the surgical term for hysterectomy was born and paved the way for many medical shortcomings for women for years to come.
Traveling With a Chronic Illness
Chronic illness can be difficult for anyone and has a wide range of symptoms. Depending on what you have can determine exactly how you prepare for travel. As a sufferer of a wide range of illnesses, I have learnt the importance of preparation. Sometimes it seems like travel is impossible for those that are sick, but it doesn't have to be.
Breathe in. Hold your breath. A metal casket turns around me as I lay as still as stone. The hospital gown does nothing to diminish the cold of the table beneath me. Eyes peer at me through a layer of glass; the faces, the eyes belong to share a laugh. With my hands clenched and my breath caught in my chest, my lungs begin to sting. There is a fire tingling in the lowest part of my lungs, which beg for air. However, it is nothing compared to the knives, the invisible daggers that dig into my body over and over again.
I keep a bunny in a bag in my desk drawer. There is a bunny in a bag inside a square little drawer, a childhood memory tucked away like a textbook that has been forgotten to be used. She sits there like a memento from a time when I believed in the person that gave her to me.
The snow crunched under Olivia’s feet like ice being ground in a blender, sharp and loud. It was the melody of her Monday in the cold Nebraskan winter. A blizzard passed through just a week prior, painting the world around her in a scene out of a Hallmark snow globe. It was the type of weather that Olivia would rather see than experience. The cold chilled her bones and made her want to hide under the cheap twin bedding she had bought from Walmart. Yet there she was, trudging her way through the snow to get her mail on the other side of campus.