April 9, 2006

[Cyto]genesis/ [Site-o]genesis

For as long as I can remember, my relationship to my body has been mediated by the media. As a child, I can remember watching television and looking up the maladies discussed in commercials (allergies, heartburn, yeast infections) in our family guide to medicine--in this way much of my knowledge about the body, especially illness, was mediated by visuals and text. When I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in the spring of 2003, this mediation was taken to another level as medical technology and imaging isolated parts of my body for study and in this way led to a sort of fragmentation or dis-membering.

Even before my own illness and surgery, bodily wellness and illness were topics of discussion amongst my family members--who's sick, who's dying, who's getting better, how everyone's digestion has been. Nearly all of us have had major illnesses or surgery and time is often measured for us in relation to these events--the summer Sara had her thyroid out, the fall Bernie ruptured his Achilles tendon, the extended period of time during which Hoagy had no hair. I often wonder why we spend so much time thinking and talking about illness. Are we particularly sickly? Or particularly morbid?

As a result of personal concerns, I decided to begin collecting illness narratives from my family and friends. I was impressed by the response from people interested in contributing and began asking myself and others why we like to talk about illness so much. My mother posits that it's because people like to talk about themselves. My friend Ethan contends that it's because naming things gives us dominion over them. I think it's a little of both.

On a theoretical level (more akin to Ethan's thinking about pain) the genesis for this project emerged from a number of sources and questions.

Sources:


  • Gregg Bordowitz' meditation on his colonoscopy "Present Tense," particularly through his discussion of becoming "witness to [his] body's history" as he watches footage of his intestines on a TV screen and his discussion of viewing one's body as a spectator.

  • N. Katherine Hayles' discussion of flickering signifiers, particularly her suggestion that "the longer [a] chain of computer codes, the more radical the transformations that can be effected," which suggests a link between the shared language of informatics and genetics, vis-a-vis coding and mutation.

  • Donna Haraway's Cyborg Manifesto discussion on the melting boundaries between humans and machines always makes me think of my mother's titanium knee or the pills that my dad takes with the label that essentially says: "IF YOU ARE A WOMAN, DO NOT COME WITHIN A 10 MILE RADIUS OF THIS MEDICATION."

Questions:

  • What happens when the family tree becomes a web?
  • What happens when I put my family (with whom I share a genetic code) into cyberspace (which requires that I "code" our narratives in html)?
  • In what ways can this project be used to explore cyborg identity?
  • In what ways can this project underscore and/or problematize the ways in which our relationship to our bodies are mediated by the media?
  • How do people remember illness? What kinds of details do they focus on?
  • What happens when I link my families stories about their bodies to images of other people's bodies available on the web?
  • What do I make of this?

With that, I give you Re-membering Dis-membering.

*Processed Lives: Gender and Technology in Everyday Life. Eds. Jennifer Terry and Melodie Calvert. London and New York: Routledge, 1997. 103-105.

Dad

Rupturing My Achilles Tendon

It was March of 1993 and I was standing on the tennis court at the Diplomat Hotel and Resort in Miami Beach where I was attending a professional conference. We were in the middle of a not so highly competitive doubles match, and I had just lunged forward (not unlike many similar moves I make every time I play) to return an opponent's shot. All of a sudden I heard a pop, and I was on the ground. This being Don Johnson land and the home of Miami Vice (remember it was 13 years ago), I assumed I had been shot.

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Mom

A New Knee and an Old People's Home

Convalescent homes are places for old, sick, disoriented people. Don't ever put me in one - don't even think about it! Just take me out back and shoot me if it ever comes to that - at least that's' the way I felt before I had my knee replacement surgery in December of 2005.

When my surgeon told me I should plan on spending 3 to 4 days in the hospital and then 5 to 7 days at a convalescent home I immediately tried to envision alternatives. I considered returning home and arranging for therapists to come to the house. When I realized how hard it would be on my family (and on me), I grudgingly began to make plans to visit the local facilities.

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Scott

Kidney Stoned

I think that it happened my senior year of high school. I know that I already had my driver's license, and that my brother was in high school at the time. On that morning in December, I woke up with an ache in my lower back. At first, I thought that I must have injured myself doing squats at the gym. I then remembered that I did not go to the gym, and would not do my first set of squats until I got to college.

Assuming that I had some sort of muscular injury, I tried stretching. This had no effect. I remember being puzzled, because I could not get any relief, no matter which position I assumed. The ache was the same when sitting, standing, or lying down. At that point, I popped a few Tylenol and got ready to drive to school. As I was walking out the door, I was hoping that the medicine would kick in soon, because the pain was becoming increasingly worse. My brother and I went out to my 1980 Chevy Citation and I started the motor. It actually started on the first try. I then remember sitting in the car, and feeling a wave of nausea as the pain became unbearable. I shut off the engine and went back in the house.

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Hoagy

In Memoriam

When I was a puppy puppy, my mother would tell my brothers and I stories of our family's history; she knew we would soon be taken away from her, and made sure that we were aware of our heritage and responsibility as Chesapeake Bay Retrievers. We were a line with a rich history, going back to the mid-1800s, and were renowned for our ability to retrieve ducks (even if this task required the breaking of ice, a specialty of my great-grandfather) and guard the ducks when they were taken to market. Aside from our retrieving and swimming skills, we prided ourselves on our reddish-brown coats that kept us warm on winter hunts.

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Me

Metabolizing Memory

Molly's been complaining that this summer all her friends will be 21 and she will only be 20, which means that she will miss out on a summer of patronizing some of the Jersey Shore's finest drinking establishments. In response to this complaint, I reminded her that the summer my friends were 21 and I was 20 I had thyroid cancer. I didn't mean to make her feel badly, and this memory didn't even make me feel badly or sad or traumatized--that was just how I remembered that summer, in a fog of medical imaging, surgery, recovery, radiation, and a triumphant return to Rutgers where a took a summer course on Tsarist Russia--and unlike my repeated failure in the medical tests to which I had been subjected over the past several months, I aced the final exam.

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Molly

Genes

I have never had to go to the hospital. My mom says that it is because I have the good genes in the family. But while I entertain this suggestion, others are quick to point out my near blindness, ovarian cysts and chronic ear infections. While I do not have the best genes in the family however, I do know the most about them.

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Chad

The Tale of the Broken Heart(burn)

This is a story of lost love, and all those reading it are hereby warned to keep their tissue boxes ready as you share in my grief and my loss. It began a few years ago when I began experiencing frequent episodes of heartburn. At first I tried to ignore it, but that did not help. Then I went with over-the-counter antacids like TUMS or Rolaids. They would help somewhat for a time. However, as time went on my heartburn became more frequent and I went with some of the more powerful over-the-counter medications, like Pepcid and Zantac. These medicines also provided some temporary relief, but the heartburn would keep coming back. I also tried Prilosec, which takes 2-3 days to work. That actually helped after the 2-3 days. However, you are only supposed to take the Prilosec for two weeks and then stop taking it for several months. Only a day or two after I finished the Prilosec, all of my symptoms returned. Finally, I gave in and went to the doctor.

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Zachary

Emergency Room Trouble
(as told to the narrator's mother)

Well, my story begins when Grandma DiDi was babysitting me. The thing was
that I couldn't breathe too well. My mom and dad got home, they tucked me
into bed, and I told them I had to go to the emergency room, so they took
me, and I needed to breathe asthma.

All I saw was a cart. I was riding in a carton. I got a dragon mask. I went home.

I saw some doctors. I saw some nurses.

I felt really sick. I was scared. I don't know what I was scared of[?]

Could you put a question mark at the end of that last sentence?

Okay, that's enough about the emergency room.

Luke

Blowout

The conventional wisdom in pitching says that if you hang a changeup, get ready to turn around and watch it leave the yard. I would make a slight amendment: if you hang a changeup, get ready for a lifetime of driver's license restrictions and some really awful prom pictures. I was throwing a no-hitter through five and a third against Charles City's Babe Ruth team in a meaningless pre-season game my senior year of high school in what is, statistically, the safest activity in amateur athletics. My curveball was especially sharp because of a light April humidity, and I was locating my fastball better than usual, so the need for changeups was slight. One particular changeup, though, instead of tailing knee-high down and away, sailed belt-high down the center of the plate to one of the team's more average batters, and he crushed it back at me at an estimated one hundred and twenty five miles per hour. If you imagine the eye as a series of concentric circles, with the pupil as center and the orbital bones surrounding it as the outermost ring, then the ball hit a perfect bulls-eye. I like to think of it as the eye as a crosswalk button on the side of a stoplight pressed violently by some really thick fingers, probably akin to those of my father. In either case, I fell to my knees without losing consciousness and broke the by-now-awkward silence with a steady string of loudly-projected profanity, trying desperately to stanch the blood spilling out of my eye socket. The ambulance arrived shortly after.

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Ryan

It Sucks to be that Guy

It was some years ago, after I had been fired from my first job, that I had my first real hospital experience. No, getting fired didn't put me in the hospital. It was a quite bizarre circumstance. I believe the month was September, or maybe late August. I'm not sure. Anyway, I had gone to get a mole removed from my chest - just a simple procedure. And the procedure went perfectly well, actually. But on the way home, I felt really weird. Thank goodness my mom was driving, because otherwise, I would have ended up crashing. What happened was, I had what a neurologist later called a "convulsive faint". Not necessarily a seizure, although at the time I thought that's what it was. It only happened for a second, but my mom was freaking out. I just remember swooning, like I was really tired, and I could hear muffled sounds, so I hadn't completely blacked out. I could hear my mom calling my name, then I snapped out of it, and felt slightly nauseous. But I didn't puke.

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Michelle

Finding out your child is born with a birth defect is one of the hardest things anyone can imagine going through .

When I got pregnant with my third child, I was happy. Everything was going great for myself and my unborn baby. Until the day I found out he was going to be born with a birth defect. I was about five months pregnant and had a normal ultrasound done when my doctor said she wanted to send me for a stage 2 ultrasound. She thought she saw something on my baby and wanted a better look. At first I thought there couldn't possibly be something wrong with him because I had two children prior that were fine. So as always, I went on with my normal activities until the day I had my stage 2 ultrasounds done.

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April 16, 2006

Grandpa

The following is an appeal letter written by my grandfather to his insurance company after he was rushed to the hospital, nearly bleeding to death.

On the 4th of July, I went to the Emergency Room at St. Peters Hospital by ambulance after we called 911. I was so weak, I couldn't walk. Someone in ER called Dr. O--. He was on vacation. Covering for him was urologist Dr. R--. He arrived at the ER and started to work to stop the blood. He spent several hours with an attendant. They stopped the bleeding. They took my pressure and ordered me into the hospital from the ER. My hemo at that time was 4.2. They ordered two units of blood. Then two more units of blood. By Tuesday morning I had received 4 units of blood, by Tuesday I would have been gone.

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April 19, 2006

Ian

Straitjacket

The first time I was in straitjacket, I was only three. Or maybe four. Strictly speaking, I've only ever been placed in a straitjacket once, as far as I can remember.

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