The Experience Of Disability As Expressed Through Literature and the Arts
Johanna Shapiro, Ph.D. University of California College of Medicine April 21, 2001
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The Experience Of Disability As Expressed Through Literature and the Arts Johanna Shapiro, Ph.D. University of California College of Medicine April 21, 2001 Why Literature? Students Must Learn Technical And Informational Knowledge Whe here
Johanna Shapiro, Ph.D. University of California College of Medicine April 21, 2001
the lived life of the patient
patient’s experience
(How Can We Best Understand the Patient’s Reality?)
personal experience are eliminated in favor of abstractions, generalizations, systems of classification and diagnosis Narrative: emphasis is on particulars of individual experience
Whose Point Of View and
is subjective, therefore suspect; patient’s voice disappears from the medical record
voice are essential; multiplicity of voices in clinical encounter recognized
in professional relationships
engagement and presence in professional relationships
The H The Handicapp pped ed
missin ing le legs 5. At At Cr Creation, Of th the ampute tee God God tol told th the deaf, Are e away s somewher ere “O “Only y you
Winn nning a a sec ecret et race. e. The The so song g of the he st stone.” 2. . The The bl blind man an has al has always st stood
Dare not
Bef efore e an n eno enormous blackboard, What the e dumb Wait iting fo for the fir first Have e been t een told to keep s keep sec ecret et Scr crawl o
f lig light, That hat fine 7.When the e epi epilep eptic Dus Dusty c chalk. Fall lls in in a fit fit, He is ascend ending ng 3. 3. Here To To the he he heav aven of ear arth. The repeti titions of
the stutte tutterer, The There The flick flickering o
f the stars.
ilip Dacey
f illu illusion, The The par aralytic al alone moves. All ll els lse is is still. ill.
Fin inge gers, Fis ists, Ga Gabrie riel’s Win Wings gs
My voice, plucked from the air, clasped in the interpreter’s hands: fists bloom, close, pulse of hothouse flowers; supple fingerpuppet dancers move to unsounded strains Watching the deaf girl listen, I think there is more to words than sound ever knows, brimming handfuls of speech tempered by secondhand grace. The word, unutterably, made flesh: Fingers flutter, hover, fold, The whisk of Gabriel’s wings.
Strok roke P Patient nt
So Someone cam came e in to ask ask how
you
nly I y I co coul uldn dn’t quite h hear t r the word rds, I t I thoug ught he w e was as ask asking ng who
who are y you? so so I I st star arted t to say say my y nam name’s e’s Jo Jorda dan
nly I y I nev never er got p
t th the vow
I’m I’m Jo Joe just ust Jo Joe call ll me me Joe th then I s sto topped to th to think maybe aybe I I real eally am am some meone e els lse maybe aybe al all t this n s nev ever er hap appened my friend l look
trange to to me till ill I fe felt lt h his is h hand— his is hand t took k min mine an and m d my y hand and sh shook.
OCHEL ELLE R RATNE ATNER
Spastics
They are not beautiful, young, and strong when it strikes,
but wizened in wombs like everyone else, like monkeys, like fish, like worms, creepy-crawlies from yesterday’s rocks tomorrow will step on. Hence presidents, and most parents, don’t have to worry. No one in congress will die of it. No one else. Don’t worry. They just hang on, drooling, stupid from watching too much TV, born-that-way senile, rarely marry, expected to make it with Jesus, never really make it at all, don’t know how, some can’t feed themselves, fool with, well—Even some sappy saint said they look young because pure.
I have e come come to to rea realize h e how
torted a and unrep representative th the e succe ccess s stori tories rea really y are… re…if we we fa fail, it t is ou
r probl roblem, ou
r persona
ty defect, o t, our ur weakne ness…T …To
phasiz ize in indiv ivid idual pe l perso sonal q al qualit alities as th the e rea reason
for succe ccess i in ov
ercoming dif ifficult lties is is se self lf-serving for th for the e in indiv ivid idual an l and so socie iety.
IRENE After the third stroke, her words fell off to a few soft syllables. When I enter the room and enter those red-rimmed eyes that can’t help looking toward the left, she cocks her jaw and her cheekbones swell. With what looks like weakness, she wobbles her left hand to my wrist, but that grip is the grip of a woman who clings by a root to the face of a cliff. When she speaks, her words are small stones and loosened particles
that tumble to their deaths before my ear is quick or close enough to save them. Irene, tell me again, I say, after the words in her bits of chopped breath are gone. But George takes his cap from my desk and puts it on his head, and says Her gulps don’t make no sense.
Prot
t Your
Prote
you
self from
this, s, th the si sight
the l lumpish sh wom
an i in plate ate glass ass lab aboring to to push sh herse self al alon
in h n her c coat, , in n the s sun. n. She l look
s to be a a wom
an of
a certa tain ag age, a a nice w wom
an, but f t for
with th too too much p pai ain in h her f fac ace to to be ou
tdoor
look
away ay, th then sw swiftl tly b bac ack, to to se see her str struggle with th th the c chai air
tside th the heavy avy ban ank d door
her pac ackages upright in he her l r lap w with he h her t r teeth. She star starts ts to to mutte tter, h how
th things s ar are. For
an instan stant you
allow
self to to feel her d dread ad, h her effor
t not
to becom
an anoth
crazy azy crying on
a Be Berkeley str street. t. She i is s not
at you
you
self to to be, but w t what y at you
see you
are, reflec ected ed i in the world’s unyiel elding s g surface ces. You
know
that at you
an n neve ver l leave ave h her, n now
“Close your eyes now,” the blind man said to me. I did it. I closed them just like he said. “Are they closed?” he said. “Don’t fudge.” “They’re closed,” I said. “Keep them that way,” he said. He said, “Don’t stop now. Draw.” So we kept on with it. His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now. Then he said, “I think that’s it. I think you got it,” he said. “Take a look. What do you think?” But I had my eyes closed. I thought I’d keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do. “Well?” he said. “Are you still looking?” My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything. “It’s really something,” I said.