user: Q: “You either change of life or you change of man” When I was married, my wife had a very complicated life to handle outside. She was always stressed from her studies, pressure and job, so she would go out, most oftenly with me, to places and times we shouldn’t have been. She would just decide, in the middle of the night, even as early as 2 in the morning that we should just race the city, see places… She always had those cravings to do stuff at strange times, getting to sport events with me at the other bit of the country… This crazy kind of life got us in a big lot of troubles. People trying rape her, attack us and much many more. it was happening too often and I often had to be quite violent to these people so she stays in one piece. I had to fix a lot of crap in order for her to live fully her fantasy. But I was more worried for her than me and I wanted us settle down, calm and have children we could raise peacefully. There was that one night where, we both came back very late from a sport competition, we had to travel dangerous roads very late at night sometimes by bus, foot and other times subway. At one point that night, two drug addicts tried to rape her, so I did what I had to do, but still I didn’t kill them. Then I shoved her and I really mean shove, inside a taxi, got in there too and asked it back home. When I arrived, she was denying the danger, denying anything wrong with her way to behave. So I really snapped, I just pulled my ring and chains away, threw them on the table in front of her and I told her the sentence I mentionned up there. I was harsh on her that night in my words and symbol but I just couldn’t take that way anymore What happens to the couple after the story? - not enough information - they settle down - they divorce - they have children
A: not enough information


Q: I have a chronic illness, and so I received quite a few sterling gems in the months between onset and accurate diagnosis. I had one GP — let’s call him Dr Douche. I promise, it’s the kindest way I could describe him. “The jacket means I know things.” He came up with wilder and wilder theories as to why I was sick, and kept getting sicker. It should be said beforehand that few of these theories were embodied. He was sure it was something in my ladybrains that was preventing proper function of the rest of me. Dr Douche said so much weird, wild, and just-plain-unbelievable crap over the course of my diagnosis that someday I may create a novel that incorporates it all. But this here has to be the blue ribbon winner. I was describing a symptom to him: every time I got up in the morning, when I first stood, my heart would pound, my heart rate would accelerate, and I’d feel dizzy. After a few probing questions — (only in the morning? — no, but it’s worst in the morning)… “Maybe,” he said sensitively, “you’re afraid.” “Of standing?” I asked, just to be sure. “You think I’m afraid of… standing up.” Maybe he meant there was some kind of existential fear, like, we’re all afraid, it’s a big old universe out there, and he wanted some comfort and reassurance. Nope. The man genuinely thought I had such a profound fear of verticality, that I was having a near-panic in response to being upright. POTS, folks. It was POTS. Literally THE most common sign/symptom/syndrome of autonomic dysfunction. The most common one. He could’ve confirmed right there in the office with a poor man’s tilt table test, if he knew to… Mayo Clinic had to confirm with expensive instruments because he’d never heard of a disease that affects 1/100 teenagers and between 1–3 million people in the United States! Would’ve done better with this Doctor. When did the man find his true diagnosis? - before talking to Dr. Douche - after going to Mayo Clinic - not enough information - after talking to Dr. Douche
A: after going to Mayo Clinic


Q: It was a dream, then a place, then a memory. My father built it near the Suwannee River. I like to think it was in the heart of Florida, because it was, and is, in my heart. Its name was Dogland. Some people say you can know others if you know the central incidents that shaped their lives. But an incident is an island in time, and to know the effect of the island on those who land there, you must know something about the river they have traveled. And I must warn you before we begin, I don't know that river well. I visit that time and place like a ghost with poor vision and little memory. I look up the river and see fog rolling in. I look down the river, and the brightness of the approaching day blinds me. I see shapes moving behind me and beyond me, but who they are and what they do, I cannot say. I will tell what I know is true, and I will invent what I believe is true, and that, I think, is all you can ask any storyteller to do. I learned the Nix family history from the stories Pa told. Even at the age of four, I suspected that Pa's stories might not be perfectly true. When Pa said we Nixes came to North America as indentured servants working our way out of debtor's prison, Grandma Bette would make a face and say he couldn't know that. When he said we Nixes had Lakota and Ojibwe blood in our veins, Grandma Bette would say she wasn't prejudiced, but it simply wasn't so: she and Pa and his brothers and sisters were dark because her people were Black Dutch, from a part of Holland where everyone had black hair and black eyes. And then Grandma Bette wouldn't say a word for half an hour or more, a very long time for Grandma Bette to be quiet. Where is the Suwannee River? - In Holland - In England - not enough information - In Florida
A: not enough information


Q: In my early 20s, I was a one-on-one aide for a couple of teenagers with cerebral palsy. With the first one, I was hired by and worked for the family. I picked the teen up from school every day and took care of him until he was in bed for the night. When he passed away, I took a job with the local school district. My client at the school had spastic quadriplegia. He could talk and was actually very smart, but he had no control over his arms or legs. He couldn’t walk. He was never going to walk. The law requires that special education students be put in the least restrictive classroom environment possible. Since this kid was smart and could communicate well, and wasn’t a discipline problem, he had all regular classes. His only accommodation was a one-on-one aide (me), and he was allowed to be late to classes without consequence because we sometimes had to stop in a special room, get him out of his chair, and stretch his legs a little. Basically ten minutes of physical therapy, two or three times per day. Anyway, since this kid was legally required to take all the classes a normal student his age would take, he had to take Physical Education (gym). And, legally, his aide (me) had to accommodate his participation in every class as much as possible, including gym. Most gym classes began with the students doing laps around the track, then participating in a team sport. He couldn’t do the team sport, but, according to the lawyers involved, he should participate in the “laps around the track” part of gym. So I had to push this kid in a wheelchair around the track for about 15 minutes each day, until the other kids were all done and off doing the next activity. Then he and I were able to leave gym class and go do some physical therapy in his own little room just for that. Because, you know… lawyers and rules. Who rides around in a wheelchair in the story? - The client. - not enough information - The lawyer. - The aide.


assistant: A: The client.