Illness and Medical Practices Essay Assignment

Some of the themes in Squatter and The Yellow Wall Paper include culture, language, illness representation, emigration, marriage, and family life of couples. Throughout the two texts, disease is represented as part of daily life but also as something that is undesirable. For instance, John who is a doctor sees his wife’s depression as part of the daily stresses. In Squatter, influenza is seen as a minor inconvenience preventing a cricket player from playing. In the Yellow Wall Paper, John is incredibly pragmatic. He despises superstition and has no time for religion, and he openly mocks any discussion of abstract concepts that cannot be quantified or measured.Illness and Medical Practices Essay Assignment

John is a doctor, so maybe that’s one of the reasons I do not recover more quickly. You see, he doesn’t think I’m ill! What can one do then? What should one do if their trusted physician—who also happens to be their husband—confirms to friends and family that their sole issue is a momentary tense sorrow with a hint of hysteria? My brother, who is also a well-regarded doctor, makes the same claim. I thus take phosphates or phosphites, whichever it may be, as well as tonics, travels, and air, and exercise, and I am under strict orders not to “work” till I feel better.

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I think profoundly when I am by myself. Personally, I believe that engaging work that is both fascinating and evolving would be advantageous to me. But what is one to do? I did write for a time despite them, but I find it really exhausting to have to be so secretive about it or else face severe opposition. John insists that thinking about my situation is the absolute worst thing I can do, but I have to confess that it always leaves me feeling awful. I periodically imagine about what my condition might be like if I had more stimulation and society instead of opposition. I will ignore it and carry on my conversation regarding the house. The most beautiful place! It is absolutely remote and set back from the road three kilometers from the village. It reminds me of settings in English literature since there are hedges, walls, locking gates, and numerous small individual buildings for the gardeners and inhabitants.

There is a mouth-watering garden! I have never seen a garden this wide and as shady, with so many walks edged by boxes, and so many tall arbors with chairs covered in grapes. Greenhouses were also there, but they are all now damaged. The house has been vacant for years; I assume there was some legal difficulty with the heirs and coheirs.Illness and Medical Practices Essay Assignment

I worry that will ruin my ghostliness, but I don’t care because I can sense that the house is unusual. One moonlit evening, I even told John as much, but he dismissed it as a draught and closed the window.

He claimed that I was the only reason we came here and that I was to have the best rest and the most air possible. He said, “Your food somewhat depends on your appetite, and your exercise depends on your strength; but air you can inhale constantly.” Thus, we occupied the nursery at the top of the building. There are several windows that look in all directions, a lot of air, and sunlight in this room, which almost completely fills the floor. Given that the playroom, gym, and nursery all have bars on their windows and things inserted into the walls, I would guess that the playroom and gym were built last. The paper and paint appear to have been employed in a boys’ school. The paper is torn off in huge patches all around the head of my bed, as far as I can see, and at a fantastic location on the other side of the room low below. Never in my life have I seen a worse paper.

The sluggish, reluctant curves unexpectedly commit suicide when you look at them from a distance; they either plummet off at ridiculous angles or obliterate themselves in unfathomable paradoxes. It is noticeable enough to anger people on a constant basis and spur investigation. It is a burning ugly yellow that the slowly moving daylight has oddly subdued. The color is revolting, almost nauseating. It has a sickly sulphur hue in some spots and an orange hue that is both dull and vibrant in others.

Why the kids hated it makes sense. I would hate this room if I had to spend a lot of time in it. John is approaching, so I must put this away because he detests the idea of me writing anything. We have remained here for the past two weeks now since that first day, but I haven’t felt like blogging. The only thing stopping me from writing as much as I want in this awful nursery, where I am currently seated by the window, is a lack of strength. When things are critical, John is gone all day and occasionally even into the night. I am glad my predicament is not terrible. However, these nervous issues are incredibly upsetting. John is unaware of how much pain I actually endure.

It is just nervousness, of course. I do find it more difficult to carry out my commitments as a result. I wanted to provide John such relief and comfort, yet immediately I feel like a burden. Nobody could ever fathom how much labor goes into the meager tasks I am able to perform, such as dressing, entertaining, and placing orders. Mary is fortunate to have such a wonderful mother. What a cute baby! But because being near him makes me feel so worried, I cannot. John probably has never had anxiety in his life. He emphasizes the wallpaper on the wall so much. Initially, he had planned to re-paper the room, but he changed his mind when he realized that I was allowing my emotions to get the best of me and that succumbing to such thoughts was the worst thing a worried patient could do.Illness and Medical Practices Essay Assignment

The hefty bedstead, the barred windows, the gate at the top of the stairs, and so on would come once the wall paper was replaced, according to him. You know the home is working out well for you, he said, and honestly, sweetheart, I don’t care to renovate the house simply to rent it out for three months. The downstairs has such lovely rooms, so please do let us go there. He then held me in his arms, calling me a “blessed little goose,” and offered to walk down to the cellar and whitewash it as well if I so desired. However, he has a point about the beds, windows, and other things.

References

Squatter   

The Yellow Wall Paper

The Yellow Wallpaper

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.

A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.

Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?

John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.

John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.

John is a physician, and PERHAPS—(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)—PERHAPS that is one reason I do not get well faster.

You see he does not believe I am sick!

And what can one do?

If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—what is one to do?

My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.

So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to “work” until I am well again.

Personally, I disagree with their ideas.

Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good.

But what is one to do?Illness and Medical Practices Essay Assignment

I did write for a while in spite of them; but it DOES exhaust me a good deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.

I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.

So I will let it alone and talk about the house.

The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and people.

There is a DELICIOUS garden! I never saw such a garden—large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.

There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.

There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and coheirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.

That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don’t care—there is something strange about the house—I can feel it.

I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt was a DRAUGHT, and shut the window.

I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.

But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control myself—before him, at least, and that makes me very tired.

I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.

He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another.

He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction.

I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.

He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the nursery at the top of the house.

It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then playroom and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.

The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had used it. It is stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.

One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.

It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard of contradictions.

The color is repellent, almost revolting; a smouldering unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.

It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others.

No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long.

There comes John, and I must put this away,—he hates to have me write a word.

We have been here two weeks, and I haven’t felt like writing before, since that first day.

I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of strength.

John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are serious.

I am glad my case is not serious!

But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.

John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no REASON to suffer, and that satisfies him.

Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do my duty in any way!

I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and here I am a comparative burden already!

Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am able,—to dress and entertain, and order things.

It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby!

And yet I CANNOT be with him, it makes me so nervous.

I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about this wall-paper!

At first he meant to repaper the room, but afterwards he said that I was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.

He said that after the wall-paper was changed it would be the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at the head of the stairs, and so on.

“You know the place is doing you good,” he said, “and really, dear, I don’t care to renovate the house just for a three months’ rental.”

“Then do let us go downstairs,” I said, “there are such pretty rooms there.”

Then he took me in his arms and called me a blessed little goose, and said he would go down to the cellar, if I wished, and have it whitewashed into the bargain.

But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things.

It is an airy and comfortable room as any one need wish, and, of course, I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable just for a whim.

I’m really getting quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid paper.

Out of one window I can see the garden, those mysterious deepshaded arbors, the riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees.

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Out of another I get a lovely view of the bay and a little private wharf belonging to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded lane that runs down there from the house. I always fancy I see people walking in these numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not to give way to fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative power and habit of story-making, a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the tendency. So I try.Illness and Medical Practices Essay Assignment

I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to write a little it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.

But I find I get pretty tired when I try.

It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship about my work. When I get really well, John says we will ask Cousin Henry and Julia down for a long visit; but he says he would as soon put fireworks in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating people about now.

I wish I could get well faster.

But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it KNEW what a vicious influence it had!

There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down.

I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breadths didn’t match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the other.

I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and we all know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture than most children could find in a toy store.Illness and Medical Practices Essay Assignment