Corpus - conversations about medicine and life

“Grandma”: a story

5 August 2019 2 Comments

Georgia MacKenzie

Spending time with her grandkids was one of Barbara’s favourite activities. And so her heart swelled with love, as she glanced in her rear view mirror, to see four pairs of eyes and four small faces grinning back at her.

“All belted up?”

“Yes!”

They sat two-by-two, with the two youngest in the front tier and the two eldest at the back. Two sets of fairy wings. One tutu. One pirate sword.

They pulled out of the driveway and off into the streets, zipping through the lines of traffic, off swiftly to their destination. Off to try another café.

Grandma might not have been the most athletic, or the most agile, but she definitely came close to being the most wise. Her house was filled floor to ceiling with piles upon piles of books. And oh how she loved those books. Filled with adventures and romance and the collective wisdom of so many authors. Wisps of spiderweb blurred the line between book and floor. But if you dared to move one, she would know.

“There’s a system. Don’t mess with the system.”

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Real live zombies: “Walking Corpse Syndrome”

5 August 2019 2 Comments

Brett Waggoner

There are many people today who enjoy zombie films and television series like The Walking Dead. If you are one of those people, a certain question may have crossed your mind more than once: What would it be like to walk around dead? You may be surprised to know that there are a small group of people who have got closer to this experience than you might think possible. Are these people really brain-eating zombies? No, they are not. Rather, they are people who have suffered from a rare psychological disorder called Cotard’s Syndrome.

People diagnosed with Cotard’s Syndrome (also known as the Walking Corpse Syndrome) hold to the delusion that they are dead or no longer exist. Patients who have this delusion also report that their internal organs (heart, intestines, brain, etc) are gone. Some even report that they can smell their flesh rotting. If being absolutely convinced you are dead isn’t bad enough, they usually suffer from depression or schizophrenia before the delusion that they are dead sets in. Cotard’s Syndrome can be considered a nihilistic delusion, which is another way of saying that people who suffer from the delusion feel that there is no purpose or meaning to life.

Feminism on the high seas

5 August 2019 1 Comment

Nicola Wilson-Jones

As I contemplate returning to competitive surfing, apprehension comes to the surface. I expect to wait all day, only to be told at dusk that female divisions will surf the following day and perhaps not until the day after that. I expect to compete with little support while male members of the clan are sought out and cheered on. I expect to read newspaper reports that make little mention of female divisions in surfing. And I expect to be judged always by men because there are still very few women on the judging panels of surfing competitions.

As part of the 2017 International Women’s Day celebrations at the Sydney Opera House, Geena Davis shared her extensive research about the representation of women and lack of female characters in a presentation called ‘The power of our media: How film and TV can help us achieve gender parity’. Davis implored creators to “add women on screen, behind the scenes as policy makers. Include women.”

Likewise in the world of sports. In surfing, though it may appear that women are present, the question needs to be asked: Are event organisers bringing a conscious practice to their craft in support of gender equality?

“I’m on my way, Nan”: a story

1 July 2019 Leave a Comment

Drew Davey

Ngaia has come home.

“Nan first,” she says. “I’m on my way, Nan”

She has thick waves of hair, naturally parted. Her eyes are as dark as the soil that she walks on, oblivious to the million pieces that shatter underneath her every step. A forgotten smile paints itself on her freckled face, rose-pink lips stretching to each corner, forming a number of creases on either side and an indentation on the right side of her cheek. A smile that was lost for so many years. A smile that should’ve come sooner. Regret sinks in.

Before she knows it, she’s at the river. It seems to have carved its way through the greenery even more deeply than she had remembered. She offers a reflection to the towering giants that sit along its bank. They hug the earth in such a way that they can move their limbs in every direction, picking and choosing to let the sun in. It’s like a game to them. A rustling against one another that resonates all through the forest. A welcome back performance. Just for her.

The invisible cyclist

1 July 2019 1 Comment

Joe Baker

The Invisible Gorilla by Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons challenges many preconceptions about our certainties of the world. The subtitle, And Other Ways Our Intuitions Deceive Us, describes what the book is all about: how we can be lured into a false sense of believing ourselves correct in many aspects of our lives. The authors describe the fragility of memory; how recall seems to us like an unedited video, but is instead a continuously updated and altered process with errors added all the time. We should never be certain of past events unless there is robust corroboration. Professors admanant they knew exactly where they were when the Twin Towers were attacked were mistaken. Eye-witness testimonies taken very soon after events can differ remarkably. The examples go on.

After reading The Invisible Gorilla I now preface every statement involving memory with a comment along the lines of “As far as I recall”. So when I say that, as far as I recall, the last thing I remember before regaining conciousness in the Emergency Department was seeing a car heading straight towards me and thinking “I’m not certain that car should be there,” I might be mistaken. However this is the image that still wakes and haunts me in the early lonely hours.

Time-jumping: facing dementia and death

1 July 2019 5 Comments

Samantha Montgomerie

We like to think of time as linear. Seconds building on seconds, forming the minutes, hours and days that track the path of our lives. Dementia and death fracture this line.

Time jumps.

My terminally ill father slipped into dementia in his final months. He suffered a recurring delusion that he could travel back in time.

“A jumper.”

His wide eyes would shine with his conviction. He would arrive at some train station back in time – naked, cold, and anxious about finding his way home. He would struggle through the night, trying to track back, wandering the corridors to find the right path home. We felt helpless in our inability to calm him. At times it was easier to bring the jersey he asked for, to warm him as he faced snow flurries in 1930s France.