Issue 16 • Spring 2023

Aditya Kalra

Cover Artist

e t t e r f r o m t h e e d i t o r s

Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up the sixteenth edition of The Muse. This issue is special to us as it marks the return of our magazine to stands across campus. During the COVID-19 pandemic, we relied on our online platforms to share poignant pieces of literature and art with our community, and it has not been easy navigating the transition back to a physical presence on campus For many of us, this was our first experience of The Muse in person, and though there was some trepidation and unfamiliarity, there was an abundance of joy and learning to be had.

However, despite the challenges we faced, we are excited to present to you a new collection of creative works from local and international authors and artists, including those from the McMaster community The works we have included raise awareness about the medical humanities, promote empathy, and highlight the lived experiences of patients and providers.

We would also like to express our deep gratitude for our hard-working coordinators, and mention how proud we are of what we have accomplished this year as an executive team In this year of transition, we surely would not have been able to create what we have without their impressive dedication, commitment, and creativity Similarly, we would like to extend our thanks to each of our subcommittee members who worked tirelessly despite their personal, academic, and professional commitments to make this beautiful issue possible.

Further, this year, we would like to thank the McMaster Child Health Conference for their collaboration, and we are excited to present the winning poster of the 2023 conference in this issue We would also like to extend our sincere gratitude to the McMaster University Office of the President, the Department of English & Cultural Studies, the McMaster Alumni Association, and MSU Clubs for their continued sponsorship of The Muse. Using our platform to share unique stories and experiences from authors and artists around the world would not be possible without their generous support

Although we are incredibly excited about the new faces we have seen lend their talents to The Muse this year, we are sad to see some of our long-term members departing. Two of our Co-Editors-in-Chief, Subin Park and Kelsey Gao, will be graduating this year. We are certain that their brilliance and dedication will serve them well in their future pursuits.

We look forward to continuing our journey of renewal with The Muse in future issues and in the upcoming year We are humbled and encouraged by our team and contributors and are expectantly looking forward to The Muse continuing to find its place on the McMaster campus and in the lives of our community members. Finally, we must extend a big-hearted thank you to you, our readers. We are glad to see that our issue has sparked your interest and hope these stories affect you the same way they do all of us at The Muse Stay tuned for much more to come!

Sincerely,

Kelsey Gao Kylie Meyerman Editor-in-Chief Editor-in-Chief Subin Park Editor-in-Chief

sister

AUTHOR Lucilla Trapazzo

It’s bathed in pink the asphalt before the hospital A cloud collapsed by mistake. On a wall an ugly imitation of Madonna Litta. I enter the room and your silence of bitter chicory

I turn my back to the nothingness That passes on TV

You are but a cypher - of time – of this time of the hollow mind, of bitterness for a closed hand, that you chase in vain And yet you are my flesh my blood My sister

I was your mum I was your dad. And again, I embrace you. Like a sail in the wind, I surrender. Take the words I don’t say listen, past the walls of silence

We are still humans we are hands and mouths, we are still trees

my mother

AUTHOR Lucilla Trapazzo

My mother is sitting next to me at the doctor’s My mother is here and she's not really here. She's missing some pieces. One day she lost her teeth, then her hearing. She lost a breast, a lung, her hair.

My mother lost the trains the buttons and her mother and the childhood.

One day my mother lost a son (other she let them go)

My mother holds her name in her pocket It once was worth banners. A country has my mother and a house overflowing with butterflies. My mother has three birds; she keeps them tied to her side with cords of various colors. When the wind rises, they hit her flank in attempt of a flight.

My mom has rhinestone bars and smoke volutes among her asbestos hair. My mom has a crease on her face and a padlock. My mother has a pain and a rosary. A branch planted on her neck and an empty grave between her father and her mother

My mother has three daughters and better verses than mine.

My mother is in the mirror, and she looks me in the eyes

Lucilla Trapazzo writes her poems based the days spent in the hospital tending to her sister after a delicate ovary cancer operation After moving away from Italy years ago, it was important for her to write and foster her bond with her family members

HIP

AUTHOR Isobel Cunningham

His hand poised for just a moment over flesh, past its prime but still serviceable. A good body that never failed, never betrayed, until the fall

A crack, a fissure

A million steps, a billion, carrying her along, fast and slow, light and burdened. A myriad of steps after the fall

Pain, a grinning visitor

Never bored, never leaving, never taking the hint of pills of smiling young therapists. Insolent Pain tickled her groin, made her shift on the hard chair, made her limp, gasp, hobble, made her mutter the same prayer, a thoughtless charm as she folded the poor body, past its prime, into her jaunty red car

She laughed when the surgeon told her the new hip had a bar code.

Now, scalpel in hand, hand that has so often drawn the elegant crimson line over, down, breaching the fortress of the body, past its prime.

Isobel Cunningham is a retired hospital social service worker Isobel got their "new" hip when they were in their 60's. The criterion was pain. "I walked the 790 km Camino de Santiago in Spain on this hip Soon it may be time for another one, but not before I walk the Portuguese Camino, I hope "

Art by Sergey Dobrunov Sergey was born in Lugansk, Ukraine, where they studied at an art school Now, they are studying at the magistracy of the Institute of Culture and Arts in Poltava, Ukraine Their specialty is glass painting and employing the oil and ink This glass painting is 20 x 30cm "During an operation, I was under anesthesia and I had an image (in my head) as if I saw a shepherd who grazes a cow in his room He does not write off anywhere and enjoys peace and comfort I depicted this image in my picture This was my experience under anesthesia I think I became different after that "

The other one, the one who guards her breath, scrubs, mask Needle inserted – smooth and quick. “You may hear what’s going on.”

Smiling.

But she descended into a dark well as the surgeon split the skin, bands of muscles, tendons, wrestled, sawed, fixed, pinned. Drove home the new hip, the bar code hip. And the other, curating her breath, her soul, nodded, a little surprised Murmured, “Went right under.” Awake in the cold recovery room, shivering, shuddering, teeth chattering, wrapped in warmed blankets

The surgeon and the other one wash their hands

on advocacy

the gap all night long.

Samantha Carr is a poet, a flash fiction writer, an ex-nurse and a single parent She and her daughter both suffer from asthma and this poem explores the journey toward diagnosis

Embroidery by Jagoda Zwiernik.

pain and healing

AUTHOR Sarah Christie

This piece was called ‘pain and healing, it represented the pain both mentally and physically through the fire and the blooms to reflect the process of healing but how they can be interspersed with each other

Sarah Christie is a mostly self-taught artist They're inspired by the world, its nature, its people and its complexities

They like to explore and paint subjects rarely talked about, mental health and feminist issues in particularly A lot of their work resonates on many different levels and they continue to explore areas of controversy. They paint predominately with acrylics but use many mediums in order to finish a piece Their painting style is mostly abstract, contemporary sometimes delving into other styles to suit mood and subject

During lock down and a traumatic period in their life they began on their painting journey They have fibromyalgia and have suffered with depression for a large period of their adult life but they try to keep a good balance of working to pay the bills and painting to keep their soul alive. After having a brief spell in make-up artistry and raising their daughter, they revisited their passion for art and didn't stop. They accomplished their first successful solo exhibition in July 2021 selling over half of their works They continue to paint commissions and are working towards their second exhibition exploring pop art and female issues

throne of solace

ARTIST Nicola Kelly

Thorns of Solace is an oil on linen (100cm x 70 cm) This piece was recently created after a long period of health problems in which the artists painting subtly depicts.

inbound

ARTIST Ana Stjelja

Two doves as a symbol of love and caring for other people; looking over a huge hospital building, their comforting soft voice fills people with serenity. Also, as harmless birds, they present hope for people who have to endure the hardest times spent in hospitals in the recovering and healing process. Some believe that these doves are the spirits of the loved ones who appear to convey us a message or to give us comfort

Ana Stjelja (1982, Belgrade, Serbia) In 2012 she obtained her PhD (on the life and work of the Serbian woman writer Jelena J Dimitrijević) She is a poet, writer, translator, journalist, researcher and editor She published more than 30 books of different literary genres She is also a graphic designer and digital artist In 2018, she established the Association Alia Mundi for promoting cultural diversity. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, the Association of Literary Translators of Serbia, the Association of Journalists of Serbia and the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ)

Nicola Kelly is a self taught realist artist from Co Dublin and living in Wexford Her ethereal style of visual storytelling has been strongly influenced by her background in contemporary dance training, creating a sense of rhythm with an innate understanding of form and movement Nicola felt compelled to begin painting in 2007, she describes painting as a cathartic process of releasing past trauma’s which cannot always be articulated or easily conveyed with words Primarily painting in oils theres an element of delicate translucency in her work achieved using small repetitive brushstrokes gradually and thinly built up. Nicola’s work has been exhibited in the Signal Arts Center Bray, public architect offices among other local venues She was also selected as one of one hundred Irish artists asked to design a ‘What On Earth’ globe sculpture which was exhibited at CHQ buildings Dublin Private commission work also undertaken

glory from above

AUTHOR Franz

see those days where our body floats, ghost towns, finding crossroads little lumbers forming covered courts white hooded horses, gray raven evenings, spent around museum floors messing now, messing now. confuse about, confused about.

i’ve prayed in change, kept a little myself, rowing me over. don’t leave your phone, don’t leave me nights, or gray raven evenings, spent around over vinyl records. don’t mess around, mess about, now too much to pray for, with little changes, changes.

the well we’ve dug never overflowed, mud-walled, stone-weighted shoulders you can’t spade the sky with dirt, too high, regard me near, i’m with you here. in the sleep of a clocktower, lockets clasping in, showing the clear in bouts of isolation, i pray you here, it’s cool to fear, it’s cool to fear, i’m with you here, i’m with you near.

Franz is a graduate of AB English at PUP His poems were featured in Anxious Poets Society, Knack Magazine, and recently, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal and Likhang Lansangan He’s an editorial assistant for a Publishing company in the Philippines Usually once or twice a month On Sundays Current influences in poetry include Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, E E Cummings, Nick Joaquin and Jose Garcia Villa His free time is spent on Prince’s music, going home to his parents or visiting his bestfriend, Kevin.

Photograph by Martin Lopez from Pexels

nero wolfe & the curtain that must be obeyed

AUTHOR Carol L Deering

Bright apostrophe, early dawn, the sky’s possessed by a crescent moon.

You can’t see the moon or its reflection on the snow. Your bed faces The Curtain. No window, no door you can detect.

You doze off in mid-sentence, then wake with an acute non-sequitur, unsure why everyone starts laughing.

An ambulance brought you to this town, this hospital, for debriding your pressure wound, your body fraught with foreboding

Tubes in nostrils, a bag hanging down. You have a MRSA infection. Oxygen canula, IV antibiotics

Staff and visitors don hospital masks, gowns and gloves. Handwashing, no hugs.

You can’t manage to log in or text, or read the mystery on your ebook, even in huge font

I shrink Nero Wolfe and read out loud, with different voices – apparently out too loud. The Curtain shouts Hush!

When I turn back, you’re asleep.

Photography by Aditya Kalra

APRIL 2023

Carol L. Deering is currently writing a book (of poetry) about my husband's life "My husband, who had polio when he was one-year old, got post-polio in his later years He was also a fan of murder mysteries. This poem was when he went into a local hospital for a pressure wound debriding It's a true story"

the good patient

ARTIST Asha Dore

arthroscopy

AUTHOR Vivian Wagner

A knee’s filled with fluid, and the scope’s circular views appear like scenes of a distant planet. The astronomer-surgeon’s eyes explore, looking for strange bodies and rough edges, his robot arm tinkering and cutting, lifting stones and examining crevices, until finally the hatch closes, the ship launches skyward, and we, coming to, walk shakily onto the not-so-familiar surface of our own world.

Vivian Wagner’s work has appeared in Slice Magazine, Muse/A Journal, Forage Poetry Journal, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, among many other publications She is the author of a memoir, Fiddle: One Woman, Four Strings, and 8,000 Miles of Music (Citadel-Kensington); a full-length poetry collection, Raising (Clare Songbirds Publishing House); and several poetry chapbooks

Asha Dore is a writer and artist living in Seattle Her work can be found on ashadore net and writingtruth substack com This piece is about the lingering that happens after loss

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near death experience

AUTHOR Jonathan Fletcher

Mine wasn’t out-of-body but inside: blurred images, trembling limbs, eyelids that lowered, struggled to lift. A stomach that moved like the ocean, sent up wave after wave of half-digested food, pills.

I encountered no bright light, unless you count the blinding ovals in the ceiling of the ambulance. Or the end of a pen-shaped flashlight, shined in my pupils by a gloved hand Can you tell me your name?

I moved down no tunnel, unless you count the brightest halls I’ve ever passed through. I met no beings of light, unless you count the white-coated figures around me, who helped roll me in the stretcher.

I felt no sense of peace, except from the voices above me: stay with us, Jonathan You’re still needed here my only comfort as I ingested the earthen-flavored charcoal, gagged as the beings pumped my stomach.

Art by Aditya Kalra

Originally from San Antonio, Texas, Jonathan Fletcher (he/him/his), a BIPOC writer, currently resides in New York City, where he is pursuing a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing in Poetry at Columbia University’s School of the Arts He has been published in Arts Alive San Antonio, The BeZine, Clips and Pages, Door is a Jar, DoubleSpeak, Flora Fiction, FlowerSong Press, fws: a journal of literature & art, Half Hour to Kill, Lone Stars, New Feathers, OneBlackBoyLikeThat Review, riverSedge, Synkroniciti, The Thing Itself, TEJASCOVIDO, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Voices de la Luna, and Waco WordFest His work has also been featured at The Briscoe Western Art Museum

in the face of adversity

ARTIST Jagoda Zwiernik

Straggling with the possibilities of my own body, as well as with the limitations of form, are the foundations of my artistic practice. Through my artworks I want to make a difference by raising awareness about physical, emotional and mental health issues

Jagoda Zwiernik has tried to represent the theme of human condition and being unwell through their own experiences, and the journey through illness What's most important is to show the process of acceptance and give hope

the waiting room

AUTHOR Eric D. Rose

Antiseptic sickness

Fills the air

Common cold and AIDS

Sit together, Faceless to each other, Behind barriers

Of consciousness

Of those around them

Children cry and chatter, Just as children do, Playing with their dolls

And pneumonia

Adults cry and chatter, Just as children do,

Playing with their thoughts

Of hypochondria, Not knowing what will happen

When the doctor calls

Will it be the roll call of health, Or will Death

Rear his ugly head today.

Antiseptic sickness

Fills the room

But Dettol cannot stop

The Dead from dying.

My mother worked in The Bahamas for almost 40 years, in the Princess Margaret Hospital; so I spent many hours there either waiting for her or getting the free general healthcare that we have in the Government clinics That afforded me the opportunity to observe patients and healthcare providers in various circumstances

Graphics by Nouran Kushnaw

Eric Demond Rose is a multi-award-winning photographer and published poet He represented The Bahamas at two Caribbean Festivals of the Arts (Carifesta); published the book "Poetry of a Life Renewed"; is in the Carifesta Anthology of Poetry; and various issues of UWI's "Poui" Journal of Creative Writing

cult of p53

AUTHOR Trae Stewart

demon, gnarled, bloody, swollen, not claiming a soul, left ovary decayed, limits chance, for any souls hereafter, beliefs threatened, no protector, or on hiatus

histological invasion, not a parasite, consuming still, plans, desires, comfort, reminders constant, future hidden, in limbo.

gut pain, clawing omentum, conscribing other tissues, internal warfare, excruciating, fallopian tube, torsion

mutated code, cells divide again, and again, cult of p53, exorcism needed physical intervention, specialist incantations, intervene, to end, her possession

Trae Stewart is an emerging queer poet and psychiatric-mental health nurse practitioner He writes poetry to center and ground himself so that he may best help others Trae’s poetry has been recently featured in San Antonio Review, Aurum Journal, Orangepeel, and Survive & Thrive He is also a widely published academic researcher and seasoned educator

Graphics by Sabrina Sefton

cellular war

AUTHOR Angelina Horta

My body was built to tear me down from the moment I was created, An encoded hatred that pervaded my cells and DNA.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve fought this type of war, Another new diagnosis, Sure, I’ve been here before.

But like a prisoner trapped in my own body that attacks itself, Trying to escape, Held down by shackles, And confined to cages, Wanting so desperately to be liberated and freed

In that moment the doctor diagnosed me with this new disease, There was a sudden gap in my sense of identity

I had become a lost entity, Who no longer understood who I was, As the things I based my worth and joy on had to be put to a complete pause.

This was the change I had ultimately always feared.

Everything I’ve loved, Ever wanted to become, The sum of the life I’ve known, Routines and familiar ways of living I’d sewn into every fiber of my being, Had felt like it disappeared

There was so much grief held within the belief I had experienced a great loss.

Loss of a familiar life, And what I’ve come to known, Robbed of my peace, And a safe and healthy body that I once called my home.

Because the world kept moving forward, While it felt like mine was falling behind, As my state of mind began to decline, Where I could feel my identity starting to become defined by illness.

Routines shifted from testing the knowledge in my brain, To testing the contents of my blood.

From solving practice problems, To healing my health, Preventing it from hitting rock bottom

This peace I built and fortress of mine, Became invaded and dictated by an oppressive force.

One that reinforced all my fears, That stabbed at me like spears, As I’ve had to come to terms of dealing with this for the rest of my years.

Now here I stand after being left to my vices, Using these literary devices to cope with all this change

I’ve come to realize that amidst all the uncertainty, And physical pain I can feel, Awaits a happy ending, One where my body has finally healed

These battle scars left behind from my bodies cellular war, Have created a resiliency in me that no one can ignore

Angelina Horta is currently a student at McMaster University "This poem describes the battle I've had to face with illness my entire life, especially more recently I was recently diagnosed with another serious autoimmune disease; as a result, I've been dealing with a lot of new health challenges and changes to what were my old and familiar routines My life has changed a lot since my new diagnosis; I've had to place the things I enjoy and based my identity on hold for now This has caused me to feel that my identity has started to become defined by illness, which is a harsh reality many patients face Despite all the adversity and challenging health experiences I have faced, it has created a powerful resiliency in me, such as a warrior who fights in a war"

Catharine Clark-Sayles is now 69 and retired from medical practice in 2019 "I practiced mostly geriatrics which has given me a lot of stories to tell I completed an MFA in narrative medicine and poetry also in 2019 I've spent the last two years dealing with liver failure and liver cancer culminating in a transplant last May This poems looks at the interactions from the other side of the white coat I live north of San Francisco While writing, I am looking longingly at my garden (currently not allowed to do anything that might cause me to inhale fungal spores and water restrictions are in place due to drought) I am adjusting to the double vision of being both a doctor and a person dependent on many doctors to stay alive The shifting perspective is strange, wonderful and sometimes a little frightening "

Art by Nouran Kushnaw (left) Art by Cezara Ene (corners).

diagnosis

AUTHOR Catharine Clark-Sayles

He folds his stethoscope sits on his roller chair the pause indrawn breath and sigh his gaze pulls in to meet my eye where a drop of hope eyelash-balanced falls

cuterus uterus

AUTHOR Connie Boland

“I need more light down here!” The gynecologist hauls what appears to be a 1,000-watt lamp into position. Unnatural light reveals dimpled thighs before casting a harsh glare on my unshaved calves.

“That’s better,” she says. “Shimmy your butt this way a tiny bit, there you go Slide your feet into the stirrups, perfect!”

Jesus Murphy. Is there anything worse?

Tissue paper folds into the sweet spot at the base of my spine. Huddled under the thin cover I rub my bare arms. Goose bumps look like a heat rash on the first day of summer In the examination room, metal shelves are stocked with antiseptic, and surgical kits. I see protective equipment, and personal care supplies The air smells like rubbing alcohol, hand sanitizer, and bleach. ----

I arrived at the hospital, as instructed The Outpatients Department was a mass of complaining humanity. Perched on the corner of a metal chair bolted to the stained floor, I clutched my MCP card and a paper triangle snatched from the dispenser clinging to the dented wall. Number 57 in a

room ripe with unwashed bodies A youngster with a slimy nose and puke-encrusted hands toddled my way. A man sitting six metres to my left sneezed violently What should have been captured in the crook of his camouflage jacket spiralled into moist air. A teenager coughed energetically.

On the Woman’s Health Unit, I see a nurse with blond highlights and a styled-up lanyard. She had pinned a thumb-size uterus next to a smiling vagina Her ID badge dangled from a heart-shaped badge reel. “Put this on and meet me outside,” she said. “No clothing from the waist down.”

My fingers curl around a mucus-

coloured gown Clean stains form a rainbow of bodily secretions embedded in opaque material barely the size of a dish towel. It smelled like urine. I ask about the gown “Is it necessary for an ultrasound?”

“Hmm,” the nurse murmured. “I have you down for a different procedure.” The appointment was arranged months ago I was distracted when my doctor’s receptionist called. Caught up in the blurred reality of working from home and overseeing my grandchild’s online education I scribbled the date, time, and location on a calendar pinned with alphabet magnets to the refrigerator door. God damn short-term memory

In the frigid bathroom, I shimmied out of my faded Levis. I stripped off the Hanky Spanky lace thong bought on sale at Walmart. The flimsy material slithered to the floor I dug into my creased leather purse for a baggie of wet wipes that smelled like chubby babies. I stuffed my panties into the pocket of my jeans but kept on my wool socks I arranged my winter boots neatly, under a table with tired legs.

The gynecologist explained the procedure, a routine test to extract rogue cells from a dormant uterus. “You will experience a bit of discomfort,” she said. “But that shouldn’t last long.” Positivity posters are taped to the ceiling God damn menopause

The speculum feels like a long, thin icicle. God damn vaginal exams

“Is our patient ok up there?” The RN stands guard at my right shoulder. “We’re doing just great, aren’t we, my love?”

A Charlie Brown scrub cap appears between the yellow smiley faces knit into the heels of my socks. “Jen, come see this,” the gynecologist says. “No, not there, stand here Closer”

I feel a rush of warm air. Something slides further inside, up, and around my lady parts. A pause and then four eyes roll over my wrinkled knees

“You can watch,” the doctor says. “There’s a screen over your left shoulder.”

I tilt my head, adjust my glasses, and squint The images are watery pink, and skim milk white.

“That’s a lovely little polyp,” the doctor says “Let’s nip it right off.” A wire snare slithers toward a mushroom-like stalk. It lassoes the tip, which looks bumpy, like broccoli. I tug my mask over my bifocals, breathing deeply The image disappears.

“Almost done. Hold still. It’s going to pinch ” The RN holds my hand I feel her bones shift She doesn’t flinch.

The duck-bill-shaped device chews into my womb, ripping at cells, tearing them from the lining I wiggle my toes and bite the inside of my cheek. My heels press into the stirrups. My mouth tastes like the scrambled eggs I had for breakfast “Christ, that, hurts,” I say through clenched teeth.

The doctor’s navy scrub top fills the space between my legs. “All done,” she says, patting a hairy calf “Nothing to it ” *****

In the bathroom, I clean myself tenderly Outside the heavy door, health care workers strip a disposable sheet flecked with red from the examination table.

I retrace my steps, gliding around wheelchairs, IV poles, and bruised hands Outside the hospital, the air is frosty. It washes away the smell of

cafeteria food, dead flowers, and cigarette smoke My phone rings as I scrape snow from my car windshield. “It was fine,” I say, trying to ignore ice pick pains “Nothing to worry about ”

My significant other asks about dinner. “Let’s not have stir fry,” I say. “I’m not keen on vegetables right now.”

Connie Boland is a creative writer and adult education instructor in Corner Brook, Newfoundland and Labrador New to menopause, she is trying to navigate the world of hot flashes and hormones When Connie figures that out, she plans to write about it to help others

Photograph from Unsplash

harvest moon

AUTHOR

Ann Iverson is a writer and artist She is the author of five poetry collections: Come Now to the Window by the Laurel Poetry Collective, Definite Space and Art Lessons by Holy Cow! Press; Mouth of Summer and No Feeling is Final by Kelsay Books She is a graduate of both the MALS and the MFA programs at Hamline University Her poems have appeared in a wide variety of journals and venues including six features on Writer’s Almanac Her poem "Plenitude" was set to a choral arrangement by composer Kurt Knecht She is also the author and illustrator of two children's books As a visual artist, she enjoys the integrated relationship between the visual image and the written image Her art work has been featured in several art exhibits as well as in a permanent installation at the University of Minnesota Amplatz Children’s Hospital She is currently working on her sixth collection of poetry, a book of children's verse, and a collection of personal essays

Artwork by Carol Wang

Ann Iverson

Years ago, when my father stroked all speech lagged save his charm for rhyme and music as we read aloud

“Stopping by A Woods on a Snowy Evening”

brushing our fingers over the chalky illustrations.

And he sang to the ladies of the home shine on shine on harvest moon up in the sky

for he had promises to keep and miles to go before he could sleep.

infertile

AUTHOR Tom Schaefer

The results of a garden untendedShow your wild overgrowth to me! You ask how much longer until the harvesting can begin, and I answer, without breath, that there is no pulling before the frost.

Everything must be dead before we act or else we’ll likely do something drastic. “Wait in twenty-first century patience” is the worst advice I’ve ever given. Yet here we are, toes deep in barren dust

I will admit to only my mistakesGracious spirits have kept me drunk too long. There are no nutritious lessons, no fruits of a labor borne from love, from a spoon that did much to nourish these two bodies

Tom Schaefer is co-founder of the Bigger Boat Visiting Writers series, presenting writers of all genres in a digital format With an MFA from Bowling Green State University, he teaches writing and literature on Cape Cod in Massachusetts

Artwork by Sabrina Fan

patient woman with gastrectomy

ARTIST Alexandra Savvo

Βorn in Athens, Alexandra Savvo studied Political Science at the University of Crete & Organization and Administration of Health Services - Crisis Management at the University of the Peloponnese She specialized in Νarrativity As an artist, she has been awarded by the International Academy for Literature and the Arts & the International Society of Greek Writers and Artists (Kazantzakeia 2017). In 2020 she participated in the HelloAIRIS Summer School (EIT Health). Today, she is an artist & elected President of the Gytheio Cultural Educational Association Alexandra works in the mediums of narrative science, experimental psychology, sociology of health and illness, painting, sculpting, installation, performance, and poetry

five facts to know about button battery ingestions in children

AUTHOR Yasmine Madan, Nikolaus E Wolter

Button batteries ingestions are a growing problem

There have been more button battery (BB) ingestions in Ontario last year than ever before. This is a world wide trend.1,2,3 BBs are found in many household electronics, including TV remotes, key fobs, and children’s toys When ingested by a child, they can cause serious injury or death. When a BB gets lodged in a child’s esophagus, the saliva triggers a current flow, leading to a chemical reaction that burns the tissue.4

Injury can continue to occur even after surgical removal of the BB

The burning process starts in 15 minutes and severe injury can occur in as little as two hours 4 Rapid removal is key to avoiding serious injury, but burning can continue to occur after surgical removal of the BB.5 Children can develop severe complications, such as swallowing problems due to scarring, and holes in the esophagus that can be deadly, even weeks after removal.5 Thus, it is important to remain vigilant for symptoms even after a child’s BB has been removed with no immediate harm.

The symptoms of a BB ingestion are vague; thus, they are a diagnostic challenge

The majority of BBs are obtained directly from the devices or found loose in the home. Most BB ingestions are unwitnessed,6 and the symptoms can resemble common viral illnesses 7 Because of this, they are a diagnostic challenge, and are often initially misdiagnosed.8 Esophageal BBs are diagnosed by a chest x-ray Thus, it is imperative to inform emergency staff about a suspected BB ingestion.

Honey should be given to a child who swallowed a BB less than 12 hours ago

Children with a suspected BB ingestion should be brought to the hospital as soon as possible If honey is available, it can be given to children over the age of one.5 Honey reduces burns by creating a physical barrier between the BB and esophageal tissue 8 The recommended dose is two teaspoons every ten minutes if the child swallowed the BB less than 12 hours ago (up to six doses) 5

A ‘dead’ BB can still cause injury

‘Dead’ or ‘spent’ BBs may still have enough energy to create a current flow in a child’s esophagus, and thus can still cause injury. The correct way to dispose of BBs is to bring them to a local battery recycling facility Recent studies show that wrapping BBs in packing tape or duct tape completely inhibits current flow and may prevent injury 9

References

1 Button Battery Ingestion Statistics Washington (DC): National Capital Poison Center Available from: www poison org/battery/ stats

2. Bucci C, Caruso F, Quitadamo P, Tipo V, Martemucci L, Marmo R Covid‐19 Lockdown led to fewer ingestion cases but a higher percentage of more serious cases needed hospitalisation Acta Paediatrica 2021;110(4):1293–4. Available from: doi:10 1111/apa 15748

3 Festa NT, Thakkar H, Hewitt R, Dhaiban M, Muthialu N, Cross K, et al. Foreign body ingestion during the COVID-19 pandemic: A retrospective single centre review BMJ Paediatrics Open 2021;5(1) Available from: doi:10 1136/bmjpo-2021-001042

4 Jatana KR, Rhoades K, Milkovich S, Jacobs IN Basic mechanism of button battery ingestion injuries and novel mitigation strategies after diagnosis and removal. Laryngoscope 2017;127(6):1276-82 Available from: doi:10 1002/lary 26362

5. Mubarak A, Benninga MA, Broekaert I, et al. Diagnosis, management, and prevention of button battery ingestion in childhood: a European Society for Paediatric Gastroenterology Hepatology and Nutrition position paper J Pediatr Gastroenterol Nutr 2021;73:129-36 Available from: doi: 10 1097/ MPG 0000000000003048

6. Litovitz T, Whitaker N, Clark L, White NC, Marsolek M Emerging battery-ingestion hazard: clinical implications Pediatrics 2010;125(6): 1168-77. Available from: doi:10 1542/peds 2009-3037

7 Buttazzoni E, Gregori D, Paoli B, Soriani N, Baldas S, Rodriguez H, et al Symptoms associated with button batteries injuries in children: an epidemiological review Int J Pediatr Otorhinolaryngol 2015;79(12):2200-07 Available from: doi:10 1016/ j.ijporl.2015.10.003.

8. Anfang RR, Jatana KR, Linn RL, Rhoades K, Fry J, Jacobs IN pH-neutralizing esophageal irrigations as a novel mitigation strategy for button battery injury Laryngoscope 2019;129(1):49-57 Available from: doi:10 1002/ lary 27312

9 Wolter NE, Wolter JK, James AL, Ostrow O, McKinnon NK, Everett T, et al Button battery taping prevents oesophageal injury Journal of Paediatrics and Child Health 2022;58(8):1337–44. Available from: doi:10.1111/jpc.15978.

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