A week of confusion
My mind is muddled this week. It’s a phrase my mom uses sometimes. That murky muddle that comes from being too saturated in terrible news, including the news of all the people leaving Substack, which leaves me unsure about being here at all. Even though all social media platforms are based on capitalist evil. Too strong?
Forgive me, my mind is muddled. I just got home from Violet’s first MRI, which was more traumatic than expected. Mostly because I didn’t read the letter which meant we didn’t know in advance that an IV would be involved. IVs send Violet into sobbing fits and then I usually get philosophical, “We don’t get to choose our stories, Violet.”
Cue Violet’s “WHAT?” face.
…
“Can I bring my day-timer into the MRI room?” I ask the technician.
“Is there metal on it? Did you read the letter?”
“A few metal rings,” I say sheepishly.
“Then no.”
“A pen?”
She shakes her head.
“I’m mystified that we haven’t invented an MRI compatible pen—“
She isn’t open to discussing the possibility of compatible pens in the hospital’s future.
…
The receptionist last week on the phone asked if she should “bother sending the MRI letter.” I said, “Sure” but at the same time was thinking that the letter couldn’t be that important because she used the word “bother.” Also, I’m old hat at this hospital stuff. Not to mention we were covering all the pertinent information on the phone.
“Can she watch a movie in the MRI tunnel?” I ask.
“Yes. She can pick a DVD.”
“Perfect.”
…
Now I understand her “bother” to be more about my general familiarity with MRIs for heart patients. Anyway.
…
One good thing about being muddled. Sometimes a nurse sees your distress and calls in some help. In this case a caregiver who could explain step by step the processes that would happen during the IV—at the pace that Violet needed.
“Violet, would you like me to explain the pinch of the IV? Did you know that when they pull it out all that’s left is a plastic straw? Squirrel sized. A squirrel straw!”
Violet giggles. The first one in an hour.
That’s better, I think. Keep talking. And if I could be permitted a brief moment over in the corner to sob myself.
In the end Violet’s veins were still hard to find but at least we had some strategies that went beyond “we don’t get to choose our stories”:
Breathing in and out slowly. The way you would breathe in your favourite food and then blow out to cool it down so you can gobble it up.
Distraction through conversation.
Squeezing Mommy’s sweaty palms and then discussing how sweaty they are.
Numbing cream.
…
The MRI was where I really got to show my resilience…to myself. Because I hadn’t read that fucking letter I didn’t have anything to do. No book, no script. Nothing but the pleasure of my own mind and the sounds of the MRI machine. Violet said the actual MRI wasn’t too bad. It was loud but she had the distraction of a movie. Me, I just had to lean in to the noises. So many varieties. The sustained beep. The pulsating chug. The woman’s voice, “Take a deep breath. Now breathe out. You can resume breathing now.” Violet was surprised when I told her I did the breathing along with her. But I wanted to check how long they were making my daughter hold her breath. Also, WHAT ELSE was I going to do?
Good news, I now have a new idea for a scene in my novel.
The Double Life of Benson Yu by Kevin Chong.
Kevin taught me essay writing during my MFA at UBC. I liked him then but am even more impressed with his mind after reading this book. He brilliantly plays with form in one of those stories about a story way. The protagonist Yu is writing a story about Benny, but keeps interjecting to reveal hints of his own story (which seem to be related).
Kevin says in an interview that he likes books “in which reality folds into itself as a commentary on storytelling.”
My mom (if you were interested and you should be because she has great taste) is reading Lessons in Chemistry. I offer that to you in case you need a lighter read. Kevin’s book is more along the lines of the mother wailing to her child in the hospital change room that we don’t get to choose our stories.
In fact, my mom says Lessons in Chemistry is one of her “most charming” reads in a while. Well, who doesn’t want to be charmed?!
An Ezra Klein interview with Kyle Chayka about his book Filterworld—how Algorithms Flatten Culture. We’re going to interview him on the Reframeables podcast shortly. Along with Claudia Day. And Canisia Lubrin.
has secured us some seriously heavy hitters. All amazing writers and people. So now I’m wondering why I’m not as famous as Ezra Klein.
Jury Duty.
We’re late to the Jury Duty party, but I’m still glad we joined. It’s so funny and I need more funny. The world is hard and bad! And it…muddles me up! How many times can I say that in one newsletter?
In this pseudo reality show where the guy in the middle is the only real person in a fake trial, we particularly like the character Todd Brown. Todd is passionate about cybernetics and his own inventions like the "chair pants.” So weird…and brilliant. Put me in the room with the writer behind that character.
Staring at the new growth on her plant. I’ve been waiting for this.
This whole piece is a vibe. Thanks for sharing what I didn’t know I needed.
You’re so strong, thanks for sharing. It’s nice to see another you.