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A review by foggy_rosamund
Sanatorium by Abi Palmer
5.0
I bought this book on a whim, but I was hooked as soon as I took it out of the envelope. I read it in almost one sitting. Written in short snapshots of prose, this book is not quite a poem and not quite an essay, similar to the work of Maggie Nelson or Amy Berkowitz. The author spends a month at the titular Sanatorium in Budapest, where she bathes in sulfurous water and undergoes various therapies to help her regain movement and strength. She lives with a connective tissue disorder and arthritis, and experiences chronic pain. I found her story completely gripping. She overlaps the realities of living with a disabled body with the life of the mind and soul, and explores all this through water: the relief she finds in bathing, the pressure of hydrotherapy, the freedom of movement in a swimming pool. She brings to life the joy of swimming for a disabled person, and the difficulties that surround actually entering the water. Her book captures her acute struggles and her moments of relief, with humour, passion and depth. Though I do not have the same conditions as Abi Palmer, her experiences are familiar to me, and I found a lot of solace and gained a sense of companionship through reading this book.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
Merged review:
I bought this book on a whim, but I was hooked as soon as I took it out of the envelope. I read it in almost one sitting. Written in short snapshots of prose, this book is not quite a poem and not quite an essay, similar to the work of Maggie Nelson or Amy Berkowitz. The author spends a month at the titular Sanatorium in Budapest, where she bathes in sulfurous water and undergoes various therapies to help her regain movement and strength. She lives with a connective tissue disorder and arthritis, and experiences chronic pain. I found her story completely gripping. She overlaps the realities of living with a disabled body with the life of the mind and soul, and explores all this through water: the relief she finds in bathing, the pressure of hydrotherapy, the freedom of movement in a swimming pool. She brings to life the joy of swimming for a disabled person, and the difficulties that surround actually entering the water. Her book captures her acute struggles and her moments of relief, with humour, passion and depth. Though I do not have the same conditions as Abi Palmer, her experiences are familiar to me, and I found a lot of solace and gained a sense of companionship through reading this book.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
Merged review:
I bought this book on a whim, but I was hooked as soon as I took it out of the envelope. I read it in almost one sitting. Written in short snapshots of prose, this book is not quite a poem and not quite an essay, similar to the work of Maggie Nelson or Amy Berkowitz. The author spends a month at the titular Sanatorium in Budapest, where she bathes in sulfurous water and undergoes various therapies to help her regain movement and strength. She lives with a connective tissue disorder and arthritis, and experiences chronic pain. I found her story completely gripping. She overlaps the realities of living with a disabled body with the life of the mind and soul, and explores all this through water: the relief she finds in bathing, the pressure of hydrotherapy, the freedom of movement in a swimming pool. She brings to life the joy of swimming for a disabled person, and the difficulties that surround actually entering the water. Her book captures her acute struggles and her moments of relief, with humour, passion and depth. Though I do not have the same conditions as Abi Palmer, her experiences are familiar to me, and I found a lot of solace and gained a sense of companionship through reading this book.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.