Identity, Hospital, and Cancer: The Story of Lucy Grealy
2012; Bridgewater State University; Volume: 13; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
ISSN
1539-8706
Autores Tópico(s)Empathy and Medical Education
ResumoDedicated to parents who helplessly witness their children dying, and especially to my grandmother. Who are you? said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, I--I hardly know, just at present--at least know who was when got up this morning, but think must have changed several times since then. What do you mean by that? said the Caterpillar, sternly. Explain yourself! I can't explain myself, afraid, Sir, said Alice, because not myself, you see. I don't see, said the Caterpillar. I'm afraid can't put it more clearly, Alice replied, very politely, for can't understand it myself, to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing. Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland Keywords: Literary criticism; Self-image; Cancer; Hospitalization; Suicide Lucy Grealy was diagnosed with cancer when she was very young. Her childhood was seen, felt, transcribed into feelings from a traumatic point of view. Because of the visibility of her she suffered additional cruel remarks, all an immature cliche (i.e., monster or Frankenstein). Grealy discovered and revered her invisibility either in hospital, among other patients, or during the night of Halloween, where, under a mask, she had a few hours of freedom of looking at the world without being stared in awe and poorly judged. After invasive treatments, Grealy managed to be cancer-free. But her face was still not symmetric; she underwent about 30 plastic and/or corrective surgeries to complete an image, and, an identity, that stubbornly refused to be fulfilled. In other words, no matter how many risky surgeries she had (to a certain extent, as self-punishment and/or self-mutilation), regardless of how many tissues were taken off from various parts of her body and grafted onto her face, the result was only temporary, eventually succumbing Grealy into spiraling disaster. We hope words such as cancer, chemotherapy, and will be avoided from our dialogue. In fact, we hope to never have to confront them. Some are, indeed, lucky. Others, like Grealy, are positioned by fate at the gate of hell, uncertainty, and misfortune. For this reason, some taste daily drops of death through an invisible to others IV pole. In order to keep her pain at a somewhat tolerable level, ever since the diagnosis of Grealy depended on drugs, some of which were very potent. One unfortunate day, she could not take it any longer. Although cancer-free, after another failed reconstructive facial surgery, pain moved into unstoppable agony and despair. She committed suicide by an overdose of drugs. Her cultural legacy is a memoir of invaluable literary power, in which she speaks about her struggle with and, more importantly, about her confrontation with pain, suffering, depression, and fluctuating identity. Grealy's Autobiography of a Face (2003) initiates a quest the contemporary invention of the self that is disjoined from the humiliation of tormenting physical suffering, even if that implies suicide. As argued, people like her, who cannot overcome their status as patients, suicide is a justified step to complete and validate their journey into life interrupted by constant pain. Finally, Grealy, suicide means finding dignity as a genuine response a life performed on a restrictive stage of bodily incarcerating deformity. [II] Once upon a is the formulaic, initial sentence of most fairytales. It entails the premise of a fictional universe saturated with dragons, charming princes, white-asmilk castles, magic wands, ballrooms, and wicked characters eventually caught and taught a lesson. If there is something that is excluded from this promising narrative that is the lack of pain, or, at least, its eventual defeat. Furthermore, childhood implies transacting life at the level of a series of novel sensations and experiences: first friendship, first kindergarten teacher, first diary, first membership in a club, and first time reading by oneself. …
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