McSweeney’s List (6 May 2026)
WHAT FEAR AWAKENS
Let's take a short time warp back to Monday of last week. It was a lovely day, the hope of spring was shining brightly, and I was sure we'd seen the last frost warning of the season. (More disappointed than surprised, my flowers are in for the night as I write this, because, well, weather.) The only glitch in the matrix or fly in the soup, whichever you prefer, was that I’d been having some weird chest pains for a few days.
I had no salient cause for concern: no cardiac medical history personally, or familially. I would simply make an appointment with my GP, and fa la la, no worries. But I began to wonder if that was really the responsible thing to do. I thought of the woman I knew, who at 36, dropped dead at the park with her kids one regular afternoon, and wondered if she’d felt something she’d discounted. I heard the story of a woman who did go to the doctor when she felt something strange, was told to come back in two weeks for a follow-up, but was dead in only one. It blinked brightly in my mind that I would rather be told I was overreacting than to tough it out and die.
That morning, I told my boss that I wouldn't be in on Tuesday, because I was going to the ER. I'd finish out the day, and go later. Conveniently, I work for a GP, so I was able to get a quick once over right away. He told me what I already knew: if I was a man, he could say for sure that I wasn't having a cardiac event. The tricky part is that heart attack symptoms in women are entirely different, and fairly nebulous.
For women, symptoms include shoulder pain, jaw pain, fatigue, cold sweats, upset stomach, nausea, light headedness, dizziness, the sensation of indigestion or heartburn. I've also seen symptom lists that include anxiety, and the sense that something isn't right. Now, I can discount the anxiety, as I run pretty high pitched in that regard. Right then I was calm, and aware that the responsible thing to do was get this checked.
I've seen a man have a heart attack, and it was very obvious what was happening: he clutched his chest in sudden pain, and said he was having a heart attack, before briefly wondering if he was having a panic attack, though he never had before. He had to sit down. He didn't let go of his chest. He'd recently been told by a doctor that he had the heart of an athlete, but a birth defect was hiding beneath the good cardio.
Needless to say, my boss's assessment didn't comfort me. I knew I wouldn't be relieved until a doctor could tell me that the weird left hand chest pains I had were harmless. And if they weren't harmless, a hospital was the right place to be.
I hadn't been to the ER for myself in about 20 years, so I wasn't making the decision lightly, nor was I in a panic. It just needed doing. After work, I fed my cat, stocked my bag for a wait, and made my way to St. Mary's. I name drop them because they've been consistently fantastic to every sick person I know who's gone, they happily serve you in your chosen language, and they’re pretty quick to boot.
Within minutes, I was in triage, getting blood drawn. The nurse found my vein on the first time (never happens), while he hummed The Simpsons intro. Whatever was to come, I was in the right place, and I was grateful for it. Whisked back for an EKG before I'd even registered, I was relieved by how fast things were moving, and how competent and caring everyone was.
A relatively short time later, the doctor told me that so far, everything looked good, but she wanted to be sure, and I appreciated that. She did a quick ultrasound, and sent me for a chest X-ray. If that was all clear, I’d be on my way. I went back to waiting; reading, phone playing, and people watching. On the phone, I whispered to my daughter about the people: one who simply laid down on the floor in front of triage, one who was scrolling videos with his phone volume at full blast because he was apparently unaware that others existed, a mentally unstable woman who complained to nurses that the security guard was harassing her (he wasn't; she was behaving badly). I debated whether I would bus home or spoil myself with an Uber, and what I would eat once my stress dropped and stopped obfuscating my hunger.
Called to another room, they set up an IV pick, prepping me for a CT scan. “But I thought I was getting ready to go…?” I said. The tech looked at me. “No one told you?” And I went cold. “No.” “Well they're just double checking”, he said, and I was suddenly alert. I told him that I understood, but I was trying to be strong. What I understood right then was that they had found something, and now they had to see what it was.
In short order, just before 1 AM, a woman came to get me with a wheelchair to take me for the scan. She asked if I needed a blanket, and I declined, saying I didn't even know I needed the chair. And now I'm crying in a hallway with a woman who has definitely seen real tragedy more often than she cares to remember. She brought me tissues, told me that everything unfolds as it should. I looked at the crosses on her bracelet, and the steadiness in her eyes. She was right, of course, but I was petrified. The kind of scared that made me wish for rollercoasters, heights, and airplanes, if only this would stop.
Coming out of the scan, a juicy spider was perched on the edge of the machine, right near my face. I'm a friend to spiders, and took it as a sign, though I couldn't say in which direction. I wondered if he could get superpowers from the machine; I wondered if he could give me superpowers to get through this.
Back in the waiting room, I lost my marbles. My cork was officially popped, and my brain and emotions were fizzing everywhere. I cried, I chanted, I cursed. After 7 hours of not even thinking about vaping, I went out into the night to huff furiously, aware of the irony. See, by then I was convinced it wasn't my heart, and I was actually riddled with cancer. Could it be treated? What were my odds? My boyfriend texted that whatever the outcome, we would get through it together. In my head, I moved up my move in date to not miss another minute. I asked myself how fair it was to allow My Love and his fab kids to get any closer to a woman who would surely desert them in short order by dropping dead. As for my own daughter, I'd have to compact the million little things I’d intended to share with her over the course of a very long life, into a miniseries. Thinking about her pain broke my heart.
I realized that the reason we love stories (books, movies), is because even when a character dies, we get to keep watching everyone else's stories unfold. The character who dies though -- pouf. No more stories for them; everything just ends where it ends.
Shit, can I finish my novel in time?
Maybe I’d work for a little longer. The work I do feels important, but not so important that I can't take a break to fix things, and then, if there was no fixing, I would certainly quit and spend my time differently. Does “differently” mean that I would spend my days chasing art and beauty, baking bread, laughing, and at peace? Or would my depressive nature and chronic existential crisis take over, leaving me obsessed and crying, etching dreadful memories for those around me?
Would I quit my last bad habits, or would they be vital dopamine releasing distractions grounding me as I floated in a sea of surreality? Were video games really a waste of time, or pockets of joy?
I've wondered about these things before (note the depressive nature, obsessive tendencies, and lifelong bittersweet romance with the nature of existence). In that increasingly empty waiting room, edging towards 24 hours awake, the questions and concerns weren't theoretical, they were super saturated acid trip realities. I bad-tripped pretty hard. I thanked God for letting me see spring, for letting me find the spot in the parking lot where the wind howled, the universe playing a concert just for me as I stood, grateful for the air in my lungs.
Around 4 AM, I went to the triage nurse, told her I was scared, and asked if I could sit with her. She smiled and told me to think positively, and I smiled inside, knowing that was my line, wondering if I could muster it. She assured me that they were just ruling out a pulmonary embolism. I wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or simply comforting me, but she seemed trustworthy. She advised me to try to sleep; the results wouldn't come for hours yet.
I was comforted, and I did sleep; knocking out for 2 hours in the waiting room. I awoke feeling more capable, but still quite raw. At 6 AM, the doctor gave me the all clear, and I could've hugged her. I told her she'd made my life. “Does it still hurt?” she asked. And I told her that it did, but I no longer cared. It could be any variety of harmless things, but as long as it wasn't important, I could easily ignore it.
Leaving, I thanked everyone: the doctor, the tech, the sweet triage nurse, the patient security guard who'd watched me gradually unravel. The sun was rising, I had joy in my heart, and Krishna Das on my headphones.
The week before, journalist Sharyn Alfonsi accepted the Ridenhour prize for courage at the National Press Club in Washington DC. She said: “Fear is a funny thing – it can paralyze you, or it can point you to exactly what needs to be protected.” I certainly felt clarity about my priorities, and gratitude on steroids, but I still wasn't sure I could've overcome paralysis had the shit hit the fan. I needed sleep; I needed food; I needed juice. It felt very much like I'd been tripping for hours, and I needed to put myself back together.
More than a week later, and I'm still processing. It feels like I've gotten bonus time, or a near death life lesson sans actual danger. It feels like right behind my conscious thought, my brain is reorganizing what I want the rest of this life to be. Focusing on my quiet joys, and the people I'm lucky enough to love is really all that matters right now, and maybe ever.
While I don't have a tidy bow to tie this up with, I am struck by the feeling that wake up calls that snap us back to ourselves and the things we cherish come in strange forms. In fact, if you were waiting for a sign – to reassess, pivot, recommit, or walk away – you can borrow mine.
TONIGHT! SWEET 16
The 16th edition of the HTMlles festival is starting soon! Join us for a series of events from May 6 to June 7, and celebrate the festival opening with us on May 6!
Following Shared Movements, this edition of HTMlles, entitled On a Human Scale, brings together artists, curators, researchers, and cultural workers whose practices engage with the everyday realities of our lives with technology. Rather than focusing on innovation as an end in itself, the festival highlights practices rooted in lived experience, care, and collective agency.
Through exhibitions, performances, screenings, workshops, residencies, and public gatherings, the program explores how technologies interact with memory, bodies, environments, and forms of belonging.
Check the entire calendar here! The whole shebang pops off with an exhibition showcasing works by Fili Gibbons, Hailey Guzik, Lee Wilkins, Marion Schneider, Nada El-Omari, and Dounia Bouzidi. Don't miss it!
PARTY LIKE ITS THE LATE 20TH CENTURY
Backstreet’s Back, alright! This Saturday, 90’s Dance Party celebrates the most iconic boy band of the decade with a larger than life edition at Ausgang.
Wear your best Millennium-era fashion and channel Nick, Brian, Kevin, Howie and AJ for a night full of boy band, girl band and teen pop anthems: Britney Spears, Spice Girls, Vengaboys, Aqua, NSYNC, S Club 7, Christina Aguilera, 5ive, BWitched, and more.
As usual, we’ll deliver over 4 hours of non-stop hits from the decade that gave us Titanic, the Power Rangers and Mario Kart. Get ready to sweat to the best eurodance (What Is Love! Sandstorm! Freed From Desire!), iconic R&B (Mariah Carey! Destiny’s Child! Montell Jordan!), alternative bangers (Green Day! No Doubt! Oasis!), and infectious hip-hop (The Fugees! 2Pac! Dr. Dre!).
Don’t miss the Spring Edition of Montreal’s most explosive 90’s Dance Party!
DRESS CODE: 90’s (Grunge, Hip Hop, Girl Band)
WHAT: 90’s Dance Party - Larger Than Life Edition
WHERE: Ausgang Plaza, 6524 Rue St. Hubert St., Montreal, H2S 2M3
WHEN: Saturday, May 9 @ 930 PM
METRO: Beaubien (Orange)
TICKETS: LePointDeVente
JAZZING UP YOUR MOM
Let’s Celebrate Moms with Music!
Whether you bring your mom, your bonus mom, you are the mom, or you miss your mom, this brunch is a great place to be this mother's day.
Have a wonderful vegan brunch with the vibes turned up to eleven, as jazz band Phil So Good plays live from 12 PM.
Whether you’re coming for a full brunch or a relaxed lunch, stop by and let the music do the rest.
WHAT: Mother's Day Brunch with Live Jazz
WHERE: Aux Vivres, 4631 St. Laurent Blvd., Montreal, H2T 1R2
WHEN: Sunday, May 10 @ 12 PM
METRO: Laurier (Orange)
DETAILS: Facebook
LIGHT UP YOUR EVENING
Ready for a creative session using paper, light, and folds?
This is a social, craft activity where you'll create with your hands and enjoy instruction from Social Crafts MTL.
During this guided experience, you'll design and build your own paper lamp, working step-by-step with paper to create a sculptural and luminous piece!
What we'll use:
Paper 120gmm
LED Strip light
Guidance throughout the process
Glue, scissors, rulers, string, and other tools
All materials to build a paper lamp are included. No previous experience required; it is a guided activity.
(This event takes place at the superfab Dr. Lemco’s Creative Club. Never been? Read my feature on the spot – and my interview with Dr. Lemco himself – here!)
WHAT: Paper Lamp Making
WHERE: Dr. Lemco's Creative Club,
5271 De Maisonneuve Blvd. W., Montreal, H4A 3K6
WHEN: Tuesday, June 12, 630 PM - 9 PM
METRO: Vendôme (Orange)
TICKETS: DrLemco
World’s Smallest Comedy Night has so many cool things happening, so here are their events this week in order!
What Do You Know? Like, Seriously…
Tonight! Come to Hurley's for Trivia Night, and get bonus laughter! Enjoy delicious pub fare, and get ready to show off your trivia skills. Grab your team, and enjoy this night of comedy, friendly competition, and great company!
This edition is hosted by The Quizzard himself, Zak Kik, featuring Vance Michel, Nazeer Khan, and Chris Venditto.
WHAT: Trivia Night at Hurley's
WHERE: Hurley's Irish Pub, 1225 Crescent St., Montreal, H3G 2B1
WHEN: Every Wednesday @ 8 PM
METRO: Lucien l'Allier (Orange) & Guy-Concordia (Green)
RSVP: Eventbrite
Classic Coke
Beat the Monday Blues with WSC’s OG offering, The World's Smallest Comedy Night!
Enjoy a showcase of the best comedians in the city, hot up-and-comers, national and international touring comics, and surprises!
This edition is hosted by Walter J. Lyng, featuring Sam Adamoz, Miguel McKenna, Charles Montgomery, Julie Santini, Carlin Potter, Dayna Lieberman, Manisha Bansal, Vance Michel, and Zak Kik.
WHAT: World's Smallest Comedy Night
WHERE: Hurley's Irish Pub, 1225 Crescent St., Montreal, H3G 2B1
WHEN: Every Monday, Doors @ 7 PM, Show @ 8 PM
METRO: Lucien l'Allier (Orange) & Guy-Concordia (Green)
TICKETS: Eventbrite
Dirty Monday
The Monday Night Dirty Mic is the place to be! Hosted by Vance Michel, every show is an unpredictable and unique experience as a hilarious collection of comedians from newbs to pros take the stage. See the best before anyone else, and catch seasoned locals doing their freshest funnies!
Comics: show-up, sign-up
WHAT: Monday Night Dirty Mic
WHERE: Hurley's Irish Pub, 1225 Crescent St., Montreal, H3G 2B1
WHEN: Every Monday, Sign-up @ 10 PM, Show @ 1030 PM
METRO: Lucien l'Allier (Orange) & Guy-Concordia (Green)
DETAILS: Facebook
