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This page returns to entirely gray and white panels. 1. Lynn writes, “So many things change when you get into the thick of things caregiving. You leave your phone on overnight. Hospital number goes in your contacts. You learn to switch text notifications off at night.” Lynn as an adult is in bed, lying on her side and propped up on her elbow looking at her phone. The light from the screen is the only in the room, blaring in Lynn’s face. She is wearing glasses. She is reading a text that says, “hey lady! we’re at the turf - care to join? we’re in the clown lounge.” 2. “It’s possible for weird ailments to appear out of nowhere from the stress of it all.” Lynn is leaning against a wall clutching her shoulder and grimacing in pain. She calls out, “Ow! God!” She labels with an arrow that she is experiencing “frozen shoulder.” 3. “You learn what mouth swabs are.” A large cotton swab, that resembles a marshmallow on a stick more than a Q-tip, takes up the panel. The background is blank.” Dialogue from the next panel bleeds into this one. 4. Lynn continues narrating, “You might find yourself getting impatient with family members that are starting to show signs of dementia, especially the ones that are used to controlling everything.” Lynn’s dad, mostly bald and looking upset, asks, “Why wasn’t I told her surgery was this morning?” (This quote bubble overlaps the last panel.) From off-panel, Lynn responds, “But. Dad, I totally…” Lynn writes, “If this happens count to ten. Explain things as many times as it takes, even in the face of anger and frustration. Find ways to include them and smooth their feathers. Because if you don’t you may say things you regret later. Trust me on this.” A full page spread of Lynn’s dad sitting next to Lorraine’s hospital bed. He is holding a cup of coffee and looking at her to his side, so we can’t see his expression. There is a partially eaten cookie on the arm of his chair. Lorraine is gasping. Her hand is obscuring most of her face, but she looks to be in discomfort. One panel of a white board that does not take up the full page; the rest is a white background. The board reads, “Care team: Jeff - RN. Date: Dec 12. Patient: Lorraine. Notes: HOH. Family space: Hang in there, Mom! (heart)”
This page returns to entirely gray and white panels. 1. Lynn writes, “So many things change when you get into the thick of things caregiving. You leave your phone on overnight. Hospital number goes in your contacts. You learn to switch text notifications off at night.” Lynn as an adult is in bed, lying on her side and propped up on her elbow looking at her phone. The light from the screen is the only in the room, blaring in Lynn’s face. She is wearing glasses. She is reading a text that says, “hey lady! we’re at the turf - care to join? we’re in the clown lounge.” 2. “It’s possible for weird ailments to appear out of nowhere from the stress of it all.” Lynn is leaning against a wall clutching her shoulder and grimacing in pain. She calls out, “Ow! God!” She labels with an arrow that she is experiencing “frozen shoulder.” 3. “You learn what mouth swabs are.” A large cotton swab, that resembles a marshmallow on a stick more than a Q-tip, takes up the panel. The background is blank.” Dialogue from the next panel bleeds into this one. 4. Lynn continues narrating, “You might find yourself getting impatient with family members that are starting to show signs of dementia, especially the ones that are used to controlling everything.” Lynn’s dad, mostly bald and looking upset, asks, “Why wasn’t I told her surgery was this morning?” (This quote bubble overlaps the last panel.) From off-panel, Lynn responds, “But. Dad, I totally…” Lynn writes, “If this happens count to ten. Explain things as many times as it takes, even in the face of anger and frustration. Find ways to include them and smooth their feathers. Because if you don’t you may say things you regret later. Trust me on this.” A full page spread of Lynn’s dad sitting next to Lorraine’s hospital bed. He is holding a cup of coffee and looking at her to his side, so we can’t see his expression. There is a partially eaten cookie on the arm of his chair. Lorraine is gasping. Her hand is obscuring most of her face, but she looks to be in discomfort. One panel of a white board that does not take up the full page; the rest is a white background. The board reads, “Care team: Jeff - RN. Date: Dec 12. Patient: Lorraine. Notes: HOH. Family space: Hang in there, Mom! (heart)”

Author: Lynn Von Sien
Lynn Von Sien is a graphic memoirist living and working in northern Minnesota. Lynn holds a B.S. in Design from the University of Minnesota ('87). She has been awarded an Arrowhead Regional Arts Council Grant (2021), and a Minnesota State Arts Board grant (2023). Her soon to be complete graphic memoir Snow Emergency Route is a tragicomic account of caregiving her terminally ill adoptive mom.
Website: https://linktr.ee/LynnVonSien
Tags: Graphic Medicine, Graphic Memoir, memoir, non-fiction
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