Monday, February 18, 2019

Sick: A Memoir by Porochista Khakpour

That is Porochista Khakpour (@PKhakpour) pictured on the cover of her new book, Sick: A Memoir. If you’ve been following her on social media or know someone who has, then most likely you’ve seen her post about the struggle to diagnose and treat her illness(es). Among pictures of her poodle and writer friends she has shared photos of herself much like the one on the front cover, lying in a hospital bed with tubes running along her arms. I was peripherally aware of her situation (coming from a graduate creative writing program), but I did not experience her story in real time as so many of her friends and followers did.
What I have experienced vicariously through friends and family is the state of healthcare in the United States that Khakpour documents meticulously throughout her narrative. In particular, the systemic disbelief, dismissal, and disregard for women experiencing chronic illness and pain. Healthcare in our country is expensive, not only in terms of money but also time and energy. The years Khakpour had to put in with numerous hospital visits, doctors, and specialists (including New Age alternatives) before receiving the correct diagnosis are harrowing. Much like Sinclair’s The Jungle or Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique, Khakpour is reporting on the reality we all experience, but fail to acknowledge to our own detriment.

For this reason alone, Sick is must read. But it’s also an intensely personal narrative, one that isn’t afraid to be honest. The author is far from perfect, going so far to admit at one point that she makes herself sick with her choices and behavior, and I immediately wanted to thank her online for that passage. Each of us is guilty of taking poor care of ourselves, whether physically or emotionally or some elaborate combination that also damages our relationships or our futures. Our culture and communities (and complex systemic factors therein) enable these choices and this behavior, which is further complicated by our need to live fully. Experiencing the mistakes and recklessness of life often conflicts with our responsibility to be the best caretakers of our own health. In this respect, Khakpour is being more courageous than most authors I can name in terms of owning her own role in how she has suffered through a lifetime of illness. She herself says that she sets a bad example and shouldn’t be followed. Many people in my life and I would say the same, making this the kind of self accounting we all need.

There’s no happy ending to the book. She allows that the story is maybe in the middle of being told, and the ending may not be as pleasant as she intended in the original book proposal. But her memoir is also a triumph because it speaks a truth we must hear. Her book diagnoses the sickness of a country that is not providing proper healthcare to its women nor providing an environment of support and acceptance for people of color. And she wrote it with the unflinching examination at what a difficult and even sometimes ugly account it is of illness, addiction, and suffering.

Please contribute to Khakpour's crowdfund if you are able. She details in her book and online how immensely expensive it is to treat late stage Lyme Disease, so every contribution matters. As a reader who borrowed a copy from my public library, the least I could do was donate the full retail value of her book. If you're reading this, and you read her memoir, then this is a simple, significant good you can do.
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