100 Books Like Strangers Assume My Girlfriend Is My Nurse

A humorous take on what it's like to be a disabled adult. I highly recommend this book to anyone. It discusses how to interact with someone with a disability and dives deep into diversity and how to communicate effectively with adults. Having read this book has made my journey with cerebral palsy much easier and I would definitely say that it has made me look at life in more humorous ways.

I know this book’s journalist co-author, so I may be a bit biased. But I’ve also had scary grizzly encounters—many during my arctic traverse—and few books capture the terror as does this account of a twenty-five-year-old blinded permanently in a bear attack.

Dan Bigley had not embarked on a grand adventure; he was on a trail through the woods, returning from a day of salmon fishing. Like me, Dan used to take troubled kids into the outdoors, so I easily identify with him. His true adventure, and true courage, shows in how he mended his life and even gave it new meaning.

After five reconstructive surgeries, he reconnected with a woman he’d fallen for just before the trauma and resumed his role as a caring member of his community.  

There’s something special about Kate Bowler. At 35, diagnosed with cancer, she started questioning our culture of positivity that emphasizes can-do achievement.

Her insights are beautiful, and her buoyant humor is icing on the cake. I feel like we’re soul sisters, my friend Kate and me (we’ve never met). Her words resonate with my belief that life is a mix of beauty and bummers, and sometimes there is even beauty within the bummers. I believe we should show up for life and appreciate all of it. So, I’m drawn to Kate Bowler’s account of how her hard-won uncertainty has shifted her perspective.

I’d like to thank this humorist for making brain surgery fascinating and bizarrely funny.

I couldn’t put it down. I was fascinated with how incredibly dark and awful it was, and yet he made me laugh. 

Normally, I could never read intense, graphic, bloody descriptions of early, risky, experimental brain surgery in the 1930s, when it was a frighteningly new technology. However, the author under the knife was one of the most sarcastic humorists of his time, so the resulting memoir is riveting, thrilling, shocking, horrifying, compelling, and weirdly humorous all the way along. I discovered there are no nerves inside the brain, and you have to be awake during brain surgery.

This writer recorded every scrape, every sound, everything. It is totally horrific, completely amazing, and highly recommended. 

This book at times feels like poetry and written with such profundity.

Grappling with deep physical pain, Jen Soriano, a daughter of a neurosurgeon, comes upon a hard truth about the origins of her physical pain; a history of generational trauma and her family’s absorption of a painful history of colonization of the Phillipines.

This poignant memoir helped me understand, at a personal level, how the body starts to give up when we carry the emotional wounds of the past, how neurodivergence intersects with historical trauma, and reminds us that freedom from pain is indeed possible.

As a trauma psychologist, it was both humbling and enlightening to receive the author’s personal accounts of intergenerational trauma and intergenerational healing.

This book gripped me with a host of difficult questions and sorrowful insights into women’s health, racism, science, and medical systems in the USA. It reveals the impact of a previously unknown woman, Henrietta Lacks, who died in 1951, and whose cervical cancer cells were taken without her consent, and then, without any acknowledgement, used by researchers and laboratories to develop numerous treatments, drugs, and experiments.

It made me confront hard questions about class, race, gender, medical ethics, profit, and confidentiality. It is a brutal and detailed read, enhanced by the involvement of her family story, as they later discovered the theft and were to confront her immortality. A must-read by a plucky author. 

I must have been around thirteen or fourteen when I first read Brain on Fire. It changed me completely, giving me a new appreciation for life, health, and memory.

Cahalan’s account of her month of hospitalizations, diagnosis, and stigma sparked my passion for reading life stories, writing with empathy, and being more open about my own mental health struggles.

Patrick is the Ninja of Nose Breathing! He is one of those special people who learned how to pick himself up by his own bootstraps! He healed himself of asthma and has helped thousands of others do the same. His first book, The Oxygen Advantage, was a game-changer. And his most recent book, The Breathing Cure takes the Oxygen Advantage to the next level! It is packed with practical teachings and filled with evidence-based exercises and resources guaranteed to help you improve a host of health issues, including stress, anxiety and panic disorders, snoring, Insomnia, lower back pain, high blood pressure, even diabetes, Epilepsy, and more!

Jim Downs offers an essential corrective to the view of emancipation as a kind of liberal or progressive “triumphalist narrative.” Downs approaches the illness and death that the freed people suffered during and after the Civil War as a major public health crisis. He does not question the historical necessity or the morality of emancipation, but he shows that the disruptions and chaos that attended emancipation—often exacerbated by federal policy—also resulted in immeasurable human suffering and countless deaths. Historians have long recognized that emancipation was a messy affair. But what I find especially compelling is that Downs raises the question of whether the hardship caused by federal emancipation policy was intrinsic to that policy (however unintentional) or incidental—what we might call today “collateral damage.”

The sordid history of women’s bodies and the institution of medicine is a focal point of dread for me. This is a terse study of the long history of misogyny in the medical field. It powerfully illustrates how women’s bodies have acted as sites for gender-based power struggles, along with the compounding overlay of class and race.

This book angered and inspired me, as the history it portrays is shockingly relevant to today’s discourse on reproductive rights. It’s scary as hell.