MarieSager's blog

One of thefirst things we read in this course was a poem on the brain by Emily Dickinson.Having always liked her works, I was pleased that she could be used not only indiscussions on literature and poetry, but also in relation toneuroscience.   However, afterhearing the content of her poem, my first thought was not on her stanzas, buton herself as a writer.  In mymind, I remember thinking, “But Emily Dickinson was crazy!” Yet, it was herethat I began to wonder if, maybe, her words maintained value (or were even more valuable!) because she was a littleloopy. 

I first discovered The Diving Bell andthe Butterfly when mentioned during the first weeks of classes.  Professor Grobstein spoke of the novel(which is now a movie as well) with a description of the situation andtechnique it was written under. This description immediately caught my attention, for the author,Jean-Dominque Bauby, wrote the novel using only his left eye.  Indeed, his left eye is the only bodypart Bauby can move and control. After suffering a stroke when he was forty-three years old, Bauby nowlives with “locked in syndrome.” As a result of his limite

Today, some people lightly throw around the phrase “panic attack.” When feeling stressed or nervous, they may say, “Oh my goodness, I’m about to have a panic attack.” Though in this case used as an exaggeration, for many, panic attacks are a serious issue. For instance, one woman experiencing a panic

Hell Week at Bryn Mawr means different things to different people, but one key activity is intricately linked to the week: drinking. While participating in Hell Week, one sees a number of students experience alcohol related “injuries,” particularly the phenomenon known as black-outs. Indeed, after-party breakfasts (or should I say lunches?) are often filled with conversations centering around events that the previously drunk person cannot recall and remember. However, black-outs are not isolated to the Bryn Mawr campus. They occur in colleges worldwide and to individuals of all ages who

“Sing now, O Muse, of the recessive mutation on my fifth chromosome! Sing how it bloomed two and a half centuries ago on the slopes of mount Olympus…Sing how it passed down through nine generations, gathering invisibly within the polluted pool of the Stephanides family. And sing how Providence … sent the gene flying again…” (p 4).

            Out of nowhere, while sitting in class the other day, a yawn escaped from my mouth. “Oh no,” I thought to myself, “I just yawned in the middle of class and my professor saw me! And I’m not even bored or tired…it just… happened!”