{PDF EPUB} a Body Undone Living on After Great Pain by Christina Crosby a Body Undone: Living on After Great Pain by Christina Crosby
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Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} A Body Undone Living on After Great Pain by Christina Crosby A Body Undone: Living on After Great Pain by Christina Crosby. Completing the CAPTCHA proves you are a human and gives you temporary access to the web property. What can I do to prevent this in the future? If you are on a personal connection, like at home, you can run an anti-virus scan on your device to make sure it is not infected with malware. If you are at an office or shared network, you can ask the network administrator to run a scan across the network looking for misconfigured or infected devices. Another way to prevent getting this page in the future is to use Privacy Pass. You may need to download version 2.0 now from the Chrome Web Store. Cloudflare Ray ID: 6605c6b41bd3323c • Your IP : 116.202.236.252 • Performance & security by Cloudflare. A Body Undone: Living on After Great Pain by Christina Crosby. Our systems have detected unusual traffic activity from your network. Please complete this reCAPTCHA to demonstrate that it's you making the requests and not a robot. If you are having trouble seeing or completing this challenge, this page may help. If you continue to experience issues, you can contact JSTOR support. Block Reference: #c961e830-cec8-11eb-994c-3d6ed1e259e0 VID: #(null) IP: 116.202.236.252 Date and time: Wed, 16 Jun 2021 17:32:13 GMT. CHRISTINA CROSBY: “A BODY, UNDONE” Christina Crosby is a feminist, a lesbian, and a scholar of gender and sexuality, but the concept of embodiment—what it means to be in and of one’s body—was not just something she thought about, but something she lived . As a child in rural Pennsylvania, she played, strong and coordinated, alongside her brother and competed fiercely with him—she even sometimes imagined herself his twin. In high school and college, she played field hockey and basketball, and began running after she graduated in 1974. At age 40, she turned to biking, and the year she turned 50 was hoping to reach over 1,000 miles, riding spring through fall. She reveled in the muscular body created through a lifetime of sport, and took pleasure in choosing tight leather pants and a silky sleeveless top when stepping out of an evening. “Embodied life was then an affirmation of fully realized pleasures integrated with a rich intellectual life,” she writes. Mobility is just one issued faced by those with damage to the central nervous system, says Professor of English Christina Crosby. Photo by John Van Vlack. All that came crashing to a halt on October 1, 2003. As the Wesleyan English professor rode her bicycle in the dimming light that evening, a fallen branch caught in the spokes of her wheel just as she crested a hill, flinging the bike sideways. Crosby’s chin hit the pavement, which both smashed her face and broke her neck, leaving her with “quadri-plegia”—the medical definition for paralysis below the shoulders that involves all four limbs. Because her spinal cord was scraped, not severed (making the injury “incomplete”), she has recovered weak but functional arm strength and limited use of her hands. Suddenly hers was—as the title of her newly released memoir says— A Body, Undone . An accomplished writer and a lover of prose, who urges her students to use language precisely, Crosby found herself struggling for words to explain her body and her life. She writes: “How was I to describe this pain, lost in a body so foreign to me I would translate it into speech in only the most primitive way?” But over the years since Crosby’s accident, the words have come and gathered into a memoir. The book is a series of direct and revealing essays that tell a story of pain and grief, but also of passionate love, the support of a vibrant community, and her driving desire to live. Crosby brings all of her gifts to bear—a brilliant mind, an unflinching ability to analyze and report on her physical life, including even the “bowel program” necessitated by compromised bowels, her love of sex both before and after the accident, and the frustration of trying to connect with her much-loved dog when she came home in a wheelchair that scared poor Babe. Crosby’s story starts in rural Penn-sylvania, where her father was a professor at Juniata College, a small liberal arts school run by the Church of the Brethren. She went on to undergraduate work at Swarthmore College before earning a PhD in English at Brown University. Crosby landed at Wesleyan in 1982. By the time of her crash, she was the chair of the faculty, preparing for a meeting with the trustees. She had published a book on Victorian society and “the woman question,” and had won a major teaching award. In her office one of the only wall hangings is the certificate from that honor. In the six years before the accident, Crosby had been in a relationship with Janet Jakobsen, a Barnard College professor of women’s, gender and sexuality studies and the director of the Barnard Center for Research on Women. Their love remains a defining force in Crosby’s life today and continues to sustain her. When Crosby awoke from sedation after the accident to find herself paralyzed, a cruel fate decreed that she knew better than most what that meant. Her beloved only sibling Jeff had been living with multiple sclerosis for decades at the time of her accident. Crosby had watched his erect, handsome body change over time. First he used a cane, and then a convenient, light, folding wheelchair. Then, as he lost arm function, he needed a power chair. First he sat up straight, but gradually slumped forward as muscles in his midsection wasted away. By the time she broke her neck, Jeff was already quadriplegic. “In an instant,” Crosby writes, “at the symbolic age of 50 . my childhood fantasy of being his twin seemed malevolently realized.” But, no. Jeff’s body continued to fail. He lived long enough for the siblings to sit side-by-side in their wheelchairs, and to exchange emails about bodily functions—a conversation Crosby never imagined she would have with her brother. He died in 2010. Crosby, like her brother before her, found joy and connection in the support of a loving community. In a culture where we like to see ourselves as independent, self-sufficient, Crosby insists on interdependence. The necessity of the support of people from Wesleyan, both in the immediate aftermath of her accident and in the years since, is clearly detailed in the book. At the time of the crash, Jakobsen was in New York. On the train ride north she worried that her love lay suffering alone. But when she arrived at Hartford Hospital she found Wesleyan’s then-president Doug Bennet and his wife, Midge, in the waiting room. Crosby writes, quoting Midge, “We’ve been able to see her. They asked, ‘Are you her parents?’ and I just lied.” At that, Jakobsen burst into tears. The couple would be sustained by the love of the whole Wesleyan community—so importantly represented by Doug and Midge at the moment of crisis—through meals, rides to therapy, and good wishes through the two full years of rehabilitation required before Crosby could return to work half-time. Even so many years since her accident, help continues to be crucial. Simple chores—going to the departmental office in the building next door to collect your mail—take on a different level of challenge when one must negotiate multiple floors, elevators, and tight turns in a wheelchair. Margaret Neale adds three hours a week to her full-time job in the Office of Financial Aid to help Crosby prepare for classes and manage the details of a complex life. Liz Tinker, administrative assistant in the English Department, will bring Crosby her mail rather than having her go from one building to another. If the ramp on the specially modified van Crosby drives fails to go up or down, it is often Tinker who goes outside (in the rain, of course) to help Crosby get to where she needs to go. But Tinker is quick to say that Crosby doesn’t complain. “She has so inspired me in how she has dealt with this incredible tragedy that would put anyone else to. .” Tinker’s voice trails off as she struggles for the right word. “She is so insistent on doing everything possible by herself. She hates to ask for help, but also relies on us when she needs to. There is nothing that I or anyone else in the department wouldn’t do for her.” During a recent interview in her office, both Crosby’s continuing challenges and the progress she has made since the initial injury are obvious. Dressed in all black (“Maybe I am in permanent mourning,” she writes.), but for a bright scarf and geometric earrings, she has mobility in her arms such that she can gesture as she speaks. But her hands are slightly gnarled in on themselves and she writes by using voice recognition software. One might wonder why Crosby has chosen to tell the story. Why dig deeply into intimate bodily functions and excruciating pain? In a way the book reads almost as therapy, exploring impossible-to-solve dilemmas and outright contradictions. Immediately after the accident, for example, Crosby tells us that Jakobsen reported to their friends that she had “suffered no loss of [her] ‘personhood,’’’ but Crosby nonetheless feels alien, even unrecognizable, because, she says, “My sense of a coherent self has been so deeply affronted.” Her 50 years of life before the accident and her desire to remember the bodymind she so long had mean that “forgetting is impossible,” yet she also recognizes that “forgetting is also imperiously necessary.