Unwell Women by Elinor Cleghorn: a book review and my own story of those who did not have ears to hear.

When I came across this history of women’s health in the medical field, I first thought, why not? Then as I listened to the book, I thought, why of course all these things happened. It is a male dominated world after all and these is nothing more normal than men trying to keep women out of their “dominant” fields. Why should I want to read a book that makes man the enemy once again?

For nearly thirty some years, I have been working hard at my notions and thoughts about men. Once I heard a story through the grapevine vine about one of my brothers hearing my mother and her sister “rag” on their husbands. Oh how easy it is to pick up on the negative nancy, bitter complaining, murmuring ways of the past. Are men really to blame for all the fall outs in my family. Or is it the age old problem begun way back in the garden of eden, where one blames the other?

So my story in the medical field has nothing to do with my husband and just has a few minor details about men being “not so intelligent” in the way they handled my case. Yet, there was a moment when a female physician put a note in my charts that angered me much also.

How do we move from bitterness about the past to gratitude in the present? This is something that has been on my mind for a long while now. There are two women in my life who have shaped my thoughts about this. And a few men also that I realize had the total opposite thought process. It is amazing how grief and deep wounds can leave a gaping hole that does not allow one any ounce of empathy for another person’s wounds. And when we color our world with our own grief we are unable to see that other people are aching alos.

After reading the book over two months ago, we had another season of grieving in our lives. First my uncle, then my sister in law. Though the time seemed to drag on in our mourning, finding God’s grace in the midst of us was not hard. The orchestration of my uncle’s memorial service and graveside sermonette was so God blessed that I could not ignore the presence of the Almighty. Then the passing of my sister in law here during harvest season was another God timed event for the home going of His beloved. When we focus too much on the past, our eyes are not opened to the Presence of God here in the present moment.

Another prayer shawl was worked off the hook during this time of grieving. I found the “trinity” stitch online and decided to use up the abundance of pink that is in that tote. I also decided that my living spaces are much too eclectic in color and some solid color pillows would help ancor the room a little more into the colors that are present within the afghans that I love. So I tore apart two pillows to make one. The box weave sweater stitch seemed like the best texture pillow to add to the view from here.

“Unwell” is not a book that I would choose to read on my own. It was in my recommended by others list on my audio app. Yeah, I would probably not choose it again. Sorry. It was just way too depressing and not very world encompassing. The setting was mostly UK and USA which makes it seem even worse considering these are the affluent countries in the world. Yet I suppose what have we to consider byt the curse upon women from Gemesis chapter three about bearing children?

In my color scan of the room, I finally decided that oatmeal / buffalo, ivory and burgundy are the most frequently used. Maybe I should be more thoughtful in the blankets that I crochet, to find colors that fit into my home better. I do remember that my grandmother’s crocheted items all had an element of orange to them. And honestly, claret / burgundy / cranberry has been in my life a long time. My boyfriend (now husband) had a burgundy car when we were dating. Our first sofa that we recovered was done in a dark wine color. The third or fourth large afghan that I crocheted was that color. And the remnant’s of that yarn are what is in the pillow above.

While my allergies and asthma are still a threat to my wellbeing, I refuse to think of myself as unwell. Just being alive often means that life has it’s good days and bad days. We made a beef stew the other day loaded with roots and veggies. I am allergic to potatoes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have carrots, parsnips, rutabagas and cabbage. It was so good! Parsley, salt, pepper, and a little Worstershire made it perfect for topping with some herb and butter dumplings. My saliva still waters at the thought of it.

I realized that this fall once again, the smell of canning and harvest is missing from the house. The bone broth smelled up the house for the weekend, but it’s just not the same as canned apples, seasoned tomato sauce, or spicy salsa. Yet I am okay that harfest passed me by this year. My energy level for such activities is just=not what it used to be.

At this moment, I am well. My allergies give me a constant tickle in the sinuses as the weather turns colder and the leaves begin to fall. However, I was able to work an hour or so at a time to get the greenhouse ready for all those pretty flowers. And while I could write about all that it would not fit in this blog. So as well as I can be, fall settles into the air, the ground, and the world around us. The fields are being harvested and I already pulled the gladiolus out of the ground. My nine bulbs have become 21! And will be stored in the cereal box wrapped in newpaper until next year.

I’m glad to be done with another book review that I was not to fond of reading. Life often means living without perfection. And being in perfect health… well, not many of us have that.