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What greater level of pain could she stand? After a while, she realized that breathing slowly and rhythmically was keeping her from collapsing on the floor in a heap. She marveled that she could think so clearly even while feeling pain that was off any chart she could imagine.

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She wondered whether this kind of pain could kill her. She should be there by now. I need help. Whatever she gave me last week is not working. What the fuck are they doing over there? Turning slowly, keeping one hip pinned to the countertop — the physical connection grounding her — she picked up her I-Phone and shakily pressed contacts.

Searching for Dr. Kishkinov, she touched the number and listened for the dial tone.

Every movement was slow and calculated. Ruby kept breathing slowly, pressing her sacrum into the countertop, hoping that somehow, the doctor would help her through this: explain what was going on; take care of her in some way; help her to see a way out. She was depending on this doctor but at some level knew that she would be disappointed. Ruby remembered that at the last appointment Dr.

Kishkinov had been rather offhand, telling her to get in touch in about six weeks and to let her know how she was doing with the medication but not really. Kishkinov apparently could not be located. Ruby sank down onto her knees, nearly dropping the phone. I have to fix this. When the spasms and shocks returned with even more vengeance than before, she sat up, on the floor now, her back against the cabinet and realized that she was fully on her own.

No one was going to help her. She might get a higher dose and it might help, but this situation was worse than anything she had faced before. But she had never been struck down in this way before. Ramping up her breath again, she thought back to the first moment she had felt this strange disease surface. She was with Garrett, the brilliantly tattooed senior Ph. Hehad clearly marked Ruby as his next conquest — to work his irresistible charms on this sweet, but somewhat lost, graduate student. Leaning towards her, he threw his arm around her, pulled her in close and kissed her cheek.

A sharp shock ran down her face. She pulled away and looked at him shaking her head from side to side. Now, collapsed against the cabinet, Ruby, afraid of what would happen if she touched her face to wipe away the tears, discarded the usual panaceas one by one. None of these things would make things right. Her mother was gone. Dead and buried with so much unfinished business, so many questions. Graduate school was clearly not working.

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Her fifth cranial nerve had now come alive attacking her mercilessly, reducing her to a useless pile of flesh. She was more alone than she ever could have imagined. Okay, Miss Emily, explain to me how this Tri-geminal Neuralgia bullshit is optional. But here I am. In spite of herself, her desperation led her to reconstruct the yoga meditation they had done in the workshop.

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Ruby's Imagine

It seemed completely obvious to her that her belly was the only part of her body that she had any issues with. That summer day, in the dark, warm room on her yoga mat, her concerns seemed blissfully cosmetic. Now, laying down on the kitchen floor, she ramped up her breath so that she heard her inhales and exhales rhythmically filling and emptying her belly.

Why are you attacking me like this? Instead of breathing into her belly, she gingerly sent breath up the left side of her face starting with her jaw, then up toward her temple, behind her eye, and then back toward the side of her skull behind her ear. She was breathing into what felt like the disgustingly filthy, dark red Persian rug she had found rolled up on the curb down the street that was now on her living room floor.

She could see the rug as though under a microscope, small bugs, dust balls, hair, crumbs, and all the other detritus. Get that filth out!

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She drew in a long breath and vacuumed the shit up and then opened her mouth softly and exhaled it out. She felt waves of nausea ride over her, puss balls of foul sludge working their way loose and riding her breath out of her body. She began to feel anger, not just anger, but rage. This pain was directing her deep inside. Got it. Where do you come from? Well, do you remember what happened when you got up there? In the end Ruby and Mamaloose stay put. When they go to bed it is raining and windy.

When Ruby wakes up she goes to check on her grandmother downstairs only to find out that water has come into the house and it is rising. Ruby and Mamaloose take refuge upstairs and then they go up into the attic.


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Part of the roof is ripped away, and as they huddle together in a corner, not knowing if the next gust of wind is going to cause the house to collapse, Mamaloose finally tells Ruby the true story of her family. To say that Ruby is shocked is an understatement. In this remarkable book we meet a young woman who has not had an easy life, and yet she is a gentle, warm and loving person, a person who can hear the current of nature and understand it.

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Her perception of the world is unique and powerful in its simplicity, and the way in which she opens her heart to others is truly inspiring. They will fear for her, and commiserate with her as she struggles to come to terms with the family secrets that Mamaloose has kept hidden for long. This is the story of a girl, and a hurricane, and a place, but it also a story that explores connections. How are we part of a bigger picture?


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What do we need to do to protect and love that bigger picture? This is a book readers of all ages will appreciate and grow to love. Review Written by Marya Jansen-Gruber. All Rights Reserved. Purchase on. Search LookingGlassReview.