<i>Multimorbid</i> (Rebecca Wood) - Wordgathering

Reviewed by Brett Stuckel

The cross-stitched cover of Rebecca Wood’s Multimorbid weaves questions. What does multimorbid mean? What are those flowers circling the title? Poppies, the flowers of eternal sleep? The cover pulled me into a memento-mori moment, and I had to know more.

The medical term multimorbid is closely related to comorbid. A person is either multimorbid or comorbid if they have multiple long-term medical conditions. They are comorbid if their multiple conditions stem from a central condition. In contrast, they are multimorbid if their multiple conditions are independent, without a shared central condition.

Whether multimorbid or comorbid, a person’s multiple long-term conditions are stitched together. For Wood of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, as stated in “on me in me,” her multimorbid conditions are: “Generalized Anxiety Disorder / Autoimmune Thyroiditis / Multiple Sclerosis / Major Depressive Disorder / Ulcerative Colitis / Inflammatory Arthritis” (11).

Such tight yet varying conditions have made it challenging for Wood—and many others—to find effective care. Leading primary care providers have advocated improvements, notably Barbara Starfield, MD, MPH, who applied the fiber metaphor in Threads and Yarns: Weaving the Tapestry of Comorbidity (2006). Starfield says, “Those who make their living by focusing on diseases resist understanding that health is a pattern. Without grasping the pattern, management is at best an approximation of adequate care.” This inadequate care remains an issue and is a core theme of Multimorbid.

Wood’s collection is divided into seven sections of poems. The seven sections reminded me of days of the week, each with a different, often unpredictable set of spoons. And despite the daily variation, the collection’s theme moves from pain, frustration, and confusion toward acceptance, DIY care, and hope. (Note: The sections are not numbered but rather separated by quoted messages to Wood from unnamed sources. I will identify the sections numerically for ease.)

In the first section, “Care Team” shares Wood’s frustration with the lack of caregiver collaboration to address multiple conditions:

but nobody’s interacting
without my introduction.
They speak from their silos
only to me. (10)

The doctors have not yet spun their threads of care into Starfield’s yarn, let alone woven a pattern. So Wood begins her own patternmaking, often with engaging rhythms and rhymes:

I monitor my monthly bloodwork
for anomalies
no one but me is positioned to see. (10)

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In the second section, frustration spreads beyond the doctors. In “Mask of Well,” Wood struggles with two fears: her own fear of her progressive illness, and an unnamed other’s ableist fears of her disabilities. She is caught between hiding her disability and losing affection. She says, “I want to bare my face and feel reassurance” but “To take off this mask is to risk being left.” (14) The problem remains unsolved, calling for further exploration.

Isolation and worry continue through this five-poem section. Though a nascent balance appears in its final poem, “Language of Alone,” which stood out to me with its turn toward self-compassion, maybe even hope, and also play, stating Wood is “Alone but not lonely” (20).
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In the third section, the first poem, “Small Screen Safety,” reveals intimate isolation and the development of sexual self-compassion, while acknowledging dissonance and dearth:

safe in fantasy
serving this moment
not what I want (22)

The hinted self-compassion is accepted in “There is Grief in Fatigue,” revealing a new joy in self-care. This grows through the third section. Wood identifies a new struggle in the final poem “Illness Survival Skills”: anxiety from not receiving nor learning mental healthcare in balance with physical care. I liked how Wood uses the language of the body to describe the mental state:

Self-critical congestion
unable to breathe beyond the
belief I am
failure (27)

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Existing themes weave tighter in the fourth section. First, in fitting style, with “Mindful Adaptive Practice Pantoum.” Then, in “What Part of me is Hungry,” with continued body metaphors to focus on the emotional pain of the sensitivity loss of multiple sclerosis. And third, in “Traces,” which further reflects the growing desire for physical feeling. Insufficient medical treatment leads to self-treatment through “functional rhythm” skin-picking, “soothing” yet leaving “Smoothie bowl coconut / shards of skin” (32). After, Wood calls upon her body to “Heal my sole,” affirms the connection between mental and physical via “Heel my soul,” and beseeches the unknown to “Heal my soul” (33).
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The first prose of the collection opens the fifth section. “‘Somewhat obese but otherwise well’” describes a triennial colonoscopy and its results, which contain the prose poem’s title. It provides patient perspective that reminds doctors: Be careful! The inconsiderate phrase, the shameful note in documentation can shape the “body as something to hide” (36). Even though someday the negativity may be offset (at times) by self-compassion. Wood moves in that direction, stating, “It might seem like a low bar for the healthy, but I can choose to see my body as just sick or I can choose to see my body as somewhat well and that feels like grace.” (37)
–
The growth of self-compassion in the fifth section leads to a new emotional state in the sixth, in which Wood has crafted self-care. In “Soul Smells Comfort,” her ways are shared. Not as how-tos or shoulds, but as proof, or simply a note to remember on a future bad day:

Breath to heart to belly to memory
pungent smell of marigolds
soul entangled smell of green
mingle of sunlight and decay
tomato plant stems
staking my soul to this body

Rooting this body into rest, into earth
into alive (44)

In “Multimorbidities,” which it seems safe enough to call the title poem, Wood addresses the concerns of all seeking improved, interwoven care: She provides an etymological description of multimorbidity. Distinguishes multimorbidity from comorbidity. Twists the common metaphor of collecting seashells into a fitting description of living with multiple long-term conditions in a body-positive, self-compassionate, far-from-perfect style. Shows the common fault of screen-staring medical systems: “Bodymind pulled apart into sections / sorted on pages of / examination expositions” (45). Acknowledges that imperfect medicine is still essential; affirms that she is more than her medical records: “My magic muted by / Morbid curiosity of clinicians” (46).
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Which leads us to the seventh section, a single prose poem, “It Is Working.” Expanding further, Wood returns to specifics and describes conditions not being addressed by healthcare: “I am losing feeling in my hands, my face and my torso. I am helpless as sensation flows out of me and I am inundated with anger.” (48) She describes self-care of these conditions through cross-stitching—its beauty, its slowing, its rhythm, the aura of truth in words stitched. Then, when she tells a doctor of the new conditions, she must wait frustratingly long for more info: “Urgent means ‘in two weeks.’” (49) She describes the wait; despite grace and self-compassion, fear remains.

In the final prose stanza, she self-treats her new loss of physical feeling: “I use the needle, thread still dangling, to self-administer a pin prick test. Only slightly less official than when the neurologist uses a safety pin from her pocket to poke me in her otherwise sterile exam room.” And with that, while waiting for effective treatment, she returns to “Carefully crafting consistent practice of hope.” (50)
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Multimorbidity. I now know a snapshot of Wood’s multimorbidity. With such variation, I do not know Wood’s current multimorbidity. I am more aware of my own multimorbidity, and feel lucky for the collaboration I’ve received. I do not know the pattern within anyone who shares that they are multimorbid, but I am willing to listen and learn. I am thankful Multimorbid has reminded me that we contain multitudes, each multitude urgent to share.

Title: Multimorbid
Author: Rebecca Wood
Publisher: kith books
Year: 2026

Reference

Starfield B. Threads and yarns: weaving the tapestry of comorbidity. Ann Fam Med 2006 Mar-Apr; 4(2): 101-3.

Read Rebecca Wood’s Creative Nonfiction, “Electromagnetic Ghost Communication,” in this issue of Wordgathering.

About the Reviewer

Brett Stuckel’s debut poetry collection Neurocabin was published by Spuyten Duyvil in December 2025. His poems have appeared in Wordgathering, Rogue Agent, and elsewhere. He is online at www.brettstuckel.com and offline in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.