Making Sense of Suffering
1992; University of Illinois Press; Volume: 25; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.2307/45227838
ISSN1554-9631
Autores Tópico(s)Grief, Bereavement, and Mental Health
ResumoMy tale begins in 1983 -the year I turned thirty years old.It was definitely prime time.I had (and still do have) an incredibly fulfilling marriage with my husband, Lee.Our poverty-stricken years in graduate school with very small children were dimming, our three girls were getting settled into day care and school routines, and I was starting a part-time but seemingly glamorous and progressive job-share situation with my sister in the financial department of Huntsman Chemical Corporation.But our 1984 Christmas letter was a catalogue of disasters.Our usually stalwart Subaru threw a rod and needed a rebuilt engine, new carburetor, and alternator.Total bill -over $2,000.Lee had a positive job interview with the American Red Cross.However, after keeping us dangling for three months, their final answer was, "We're hiring someone else."After nine months, my boss told me he needed more continuity and fired me.And I spent my thirty-first birthday enduring three days of Demerol-induced hallucinations in the hospital before doctors finally operated and discovered that my appendix had been ruptured for those days.However, the real upheaval came in December of 1983 when the right half of my face became numb.When the pins-and-needles feeling hadn't subsided by the fifth day, I pulled out the household medical dictionary, compared symptoms with a friend who had had Bell's Palsy, and went to a neurologist.In brief, Dr. Michael Goldstein told me, "No, if you had Bell's Palsy, the muscles in your face would be drooping.You may have one of four things: a
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