The Review 

Look both ways before crossing the street, always chew before you swallow, don’t talk to strangers. These are the first basic lessons I learned from my parents. As I grew older I asked them questions: Why does it get so hot in the summer, why are some people so mean at school, what happens when we die? My parents battled through my lengthy questionnaires. I never argued with what they said, I simply accepted it as truth. Eventually, however, there came a time when I realized

By Kelli C. Trinoskey Next to my desk at work, there is a picture of me with my three daughters standing in front of stone formations of South Dakota’s Badlands. Gracy, Mollie and I stand in straightforward poses, smiling at the camera. Tess is off to our side, holding a giant dandelion puff, about to blow the seeds into the wind with a look of pure joy on her seven-year old face. The backdrop of rocks resemble drip sand castles, which could place us at our usual family vaca

Hi all! It’s Jay. I do a link roundup (almost) every Friday. If you encounter a link you think I might want to share, please tweet it at me or Chronically Lit. Image text: Chronically Lit’s Link Roundup: the best illness writing online The minute the nurse put the ultrasound wand on my belly she immediately changed her tune. Everything was urgent now, they called in an emergency surgeon, I was given pain medication, and they told my mom I had a softball sized cyst growing on

My father quit drinking in 2013 when he was sent home from his fire station, still intoxicated from the night prior. The department offered him a choice: enter a probation period and attend a set number of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, or be terminated. My mother raised the stakes when she told him to get sober or she would leave him. In true dramatic fashion, my father huffed, cursed his luck, and quit drinking on the spot, attending his AA meetings until they were no longe

By MacKenzie Dexter When I was fourteen, my spine was pinned with twenty-two screws and pinched with two ten-inch rods to correct my scoliosis that had curved my body at a sixty-four degree angle. I was a teenager, anxiously awaiting for womanhood to arrive wrapped in a pink bow sprinkled with Midol.  I was excited about this pivotal moment in my life that finally gave me a reason to wear a bra. And then, the surgery happened. My mother tied a stiff blue hospital gown around

I lived with my disability for five years before I found it existed. The comments started in high school. When I was in class and a friend would have to relay the teacher’s words back to me, when I tried to talk on the phone and couldn’t make out the other person’s words, when the fire alarm went off at school and I couldn’t hear the high-pitched buzzing: “Mary, you’re deaf.” Technically, I’m not deaf. My hearing loss is moderate, though growing more severe every day. It’s se

by Noah Kirby Water would be nice, you think. But the nurse wasn’t asking you, she was asking your father. He lies there dying of cancer, but all you can think of is how thirsty you are; how nice it would be to drink anything, especially water. Your dad croaks no, and the nurse leaves. He doesn’t have much strength, and so your family doesn’t speak much. You’re all worried that the simple act of hearing may be too hard for him. Him, your father, the farmer. Him, weak? Your fa