“what this heart might look like — in a girl”: a review of i’m probably betraying my body by linda harris dolan
In her candid new poetry chapbook, i’m probably betraying my body (Bottlecap Press, 2024), linda harris dolan grieves the loss of her father to congenital heart disease while navigating her own recent diagnosis with the condition that killed him. As dolan works through her grief over her father and the ramifications of her own diagnosis, she delves into her family history, the social and medical aspects of invisible illness, and the poetics of the sick body. What does it mean to be a “good” or “bad” sick body, and who gets to decide which of those you are?
The heartbeat of i’m probably betraying my body is the voices of dolan’s family members who have lived with congenital heart disease. Throughout the chapbook, she creates space for them to speak directly to the reader; “you can’t have your cup of tea,” for example, takes the form of a monologue by her Uncle Billy as he narrates the night he learned he had made it off the waiting list for a heart transplant. In “dad used to say,” dolan recalls the voice of her father from beyond the grave, repeating some of his most frequent sayings, such as “every day is a good day for me. / some days are just gooder than others” and “of course i need you. as long as i have breath in my body / i need you.” She calls back to these lines in “peace that passeth,” the poem about his final days, spoken by her to him: “so i don’t need the sleep, so long as you breathe, i don’t need to eat, so long as you breathe. [. . .] i don’t need the doctors, or forecasts, or me. so long as i can walk in a room where you breathe.”
Her father’s presence is strong throughout i’m probably betraying my body; even after his death, it hardly fades. dolan visits his grave in “our floor,” after she receives her own diagnosis of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Her uncle’s, grandfather’s, and father’s stories echo through her own. dolan’s nonlinear chapbook structure captures the cyclical nature of her family’s story, the way past, present, and future blend together.
Most of the family members highlighted in i’m probably betraying my body are men, but dolan being a woman makes a difference in her clinical and social experience of heart disease. According to Harvard, there is still a significant “heart disease gender gap”: While “the overall prevalence of coronary artery disease is lower in women, and they tend to develop heart problems at older ages,” gender nonetheless “has contributed to disparities in cardiovascular care.” When compared to men exhibiting similar symptoms, women receive slower treatment, fewer tests, and fewer referrals to specialists. Women have also been historically under-represented in clinical trials about heart disease. dolan addresses this in the poem “mostly men,” writing “they don’t have the studies, they don’t have / the national research to show / what this heart might look like — / in a girl.”
Historic medical bias against women and those with invisible illnesses generates tension between dolan and the medical system, as well as between dolan and her own body. “people say shit like, your body will tell you. / people say shit like, your doctors will tell you,” she writes in “people make bad decisions all the time.” “but what if i didn’t stress enough in that stress test, shifted / that sassafras too slow, oxygenated too deeply, forgot to tell them / twelve of my leaves just turned meteor?” As someone who lives with chronic migraines, I related strongly to these words. I’ve often mulled over these kinds of questions while sitting in the waiting room at my neurologist. When the doctors ask me how I’m feeling today, should I tell the truth: that today is a good pain day, perhaps only a 2 or 3 on a scale of 1–10? Or will that lead to them taking me less seriously when I say that I need a higher dosage of pain medication, that what we are doing now is not working? What makes a body that is sick enough, or sick enough in the “right” way? And what if that is not how we always view our bodies, but we must play this part in order to receive the help we need? How does the invisibility of our illness complicate this even further?
As dolan becomes acquainted with her new diagnosis, she must navigate changes to the fabric of her daily life, such as monitoring her salt intake and modifying some of her clothing, as well as endless trips to the doctor and a shifting relationship with her husband. For those of us living with chronic conditions, it can feel like these small, daily frustrations are piling up endlessly. We’re constantly re-envisioning and remaking our futures in chronically ill bodies. dolan resolves that only she can determine how she will navigate life in her own body — even if, in some sense, she may be “betraying” it. The value of bodily autonomy means that disabled and chronically ill people are the ones who determine how we will live through our pain, what new futures we will seek, where we set our boundaries and where we leap over them — because, after all, nobody lives in these bodies but us. In the chapbook’s poignant final image, dolan stands at the beach with her arms thrown wide, the waves washing over her feet. “i want to surf, i want yoga, i want to run and feel my body / pushed against some limit, some sweat,” she writes. “[. . .] years of sitting on the couch. all this grief. / the ocean, the waves. // risk infection, risk the surgery, risk malfunction, risk the shocks. / the ocean, the waves.”
i’m probably betraying my body is a frank, vulnerable, and dynamic exploration of invisible illness and grief. Nobody but dolan could tell this story, and nobody but dolan could tell it like this. I will be eagerly awaiting her debut full-length collection.
“what this heart might look like — in a girl”: a review of i’m probably betraying my body by linda… was originally published in ANMLY on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.