In this alchemy of anger and love, history and memoir, Christine McNair delves into various forms of toxicity in the body—from the effects of two life-threatening preeclampsia diagnoses to chronic illness, sexism in medicine, and the toll of societal expectations.
With catharsis and humour, Toxemia pieces together the complexities of identity, motherhood, and living in a body to share deeply recognizable raw truths through fragments, poems, and stories. McNair captures the wrenching feeling of loss of control in the face of an overwhelming medical diagnosis and the small, endless moments in life that underscore it: worrying about mortality in the middle of the night, revolving medical appointments, self-doubt, and all the ways in which illness interrupts.
Toxemia unravels the toxicities that haunt the human body from within and without. This hybrid work dips between the sacred and profane to expose—and hold —some of our greatest fears while reaching to mend what’s still possible to mend.
Christine McNair is the author of Charm (Book*hug, 2017) which won the 2018 Archibald Lampman award. Her first book Conflict (Book*hug, 2012) was a finalist for the City of Ottawa Book Award, the Archibald Lampman Award, and the ReLit Award, and shortlisted for the Robert Kroetsch Award for Innovative Poetry. Her chapbook pleasantries and other misdemeanours (Apt 9 press, 2013) was shortlisted for the bpNichol chapbook award.
Her non-fiction hybrid poetic memoir Toxemia came out with Book*hug in fall 2024.
A reformed book designer, McNair lives in Ottawa where she works as a book doctor.
I love the way this collection is broken down & brought together in a sort of grammar lesson. These strict formalities parallel the removed way patients are treated in our medical system. Like the story is second to the format, the patient’s experiences less important than the cycle of that system’s operation. The glimpses McNair gives into particular moments of her life, her family history, her memory, and the visceral intensity of fear draws us into incredibly horrifying moments with such astounding personal tenderness.
"The brain lit up and electric and a pressing sense of doom and headache in the bones that goes on and on and won't stop." This is how essayist / poet / book doctor / mother Christine McNair describes the physical and existential pain of gestational hypertension and preeclampsia. (Toxemia is an old word for what can happen once the body steps past preeclapsia into eclampsia.) Once the reader is suitably squirming with empathy for a woman at risk, McNair unpacks (lyrically, loopingly) a history of inquiry into the causes and treatments of the disorder. She wants medicine to help, but she also doesn't let it off the hook. A raw look at how medicine regards the birthing body.