November Shell Exchange

Welcome to the November 2022 Shell Exchange!

Midway through each month, I drop a list of recommended reads. I try to feature winning hermit crab essays (🦀) when possible. But those charming crabbies aren’t always easy to find. So I also make it a point to share pieces on invisible illness.

If you come across an essay I don’t mention that you feel warrants attention, drop the link in the comments, and I’ll add it to the rotation next month.

1. When the Uber Driver Asks, Do You Have Any Kids? by Wendy Elizabeth Wallace from Brevity

“Other Me’s thighs aren’t sticking to the plastic seat protector, because she is not replaying being seventeen and learning about a genetic disorder with the spiky name Stargardt’s, then spending years in and out of eye clinics as more and more vision slips away, being told to wait just a bit longer, that there will probably be a treatment soon that might be able to help. Soon. Maybe. Wait. These aren’t her memories, because her eyes are healthy, undamaged, perfect.”

2. The Moving Target of Being by Suzanne Scanlon from Granta

“These character descriptions have much in common with the work of the students in my creative-writing classes. There are consistencies, recurring themes: dysthymia is used over and over again. I was told I had chronic depression, or major depression, or bipolar disorder, but dysthymia is the diagnosis that is repeated throughout the records.”

3. How Do You Escape if Your Body is the Prison? by Wynter K. Miller from Electric Lit

“Like any number of inescapable experiences—trauma, embarrassment, disappointment, fear—illness is one that society marginalizes. The implicit message, reinforced by a pervasive culture of silence, is that pain is private—shameful.”

4. Why Does Chronic Pain Hurt So Much? by Keiran Setiya from The Atlantic

“My primary-care doctor guessed that I had a urinary-tract infection. But the test came back negative—as did more elaborate tests, including a cystoscopy in which an apparently teenage urologist inserted an old-fashioned cystoscope through my urethra in agonizing increments, like a telescopic radio antenna. It certainly felt like something was wrong, but the doctor found no visible lesion or infection.”