The Needle Crown

The Crown of Needles

by Madi A. 02/2026

Long before she understood, her body was speaking for her, collapsing under a ritual she was born to follow.

They were a typical French Catholic family.  Faith was a very strong trait in both the maternal and paternal lines. They lived near a Catholic church, which was central to their weekly lives. 

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, the family would dress in their Sunday best, eat a breakfast prepared by the mother, and walk over to the church just across the parking lot. As long as they left a few minutes before the hour, they were on time, sitting in their “ritual pew” towards the front on the right side. It was strange how each parishioner had their own seat, making it obvious whenever someone was absent.  

As far as she can remember, as long as she completed the Our Father, she was good. However, most Sundays, she would lose consciousness a few hymns before that prayer.  Her father would pick up her limp body and carry her home to rest.  By the time the rest of the family returned, she was usually well on her way to starting the day's activities.  She remembers pondering her falls from the weeks before, wondering how she could collapse without ever hitting her head or injuring herself on the hard wooden pew.

When she was young, her mother had a doctor check her for a possible medical cause.  She even had a hospital stay where they checked her from head to toes. The doctors performed an Electroencephalogram (EEG), in which fine, sterile needle electrodes were inserted under the skin of her scalp to provide a precise, continuous electrical signal. As a seven-year-old girl, that EEG test resonated forever. Relatives remembered her as the cousin who wore a needle crown while she was in the hospital. This test lingered in her nightmares and family stories, even becoming a joke as they grew older and understood the particulars of the procedure.

Needless to say, it was terrifying for a young girl.  The only outcome she remembers was the suggestion that her mother cut her hair.  Because her hair was very thick and reached down to her waist, the doctor suggested it might be drawing too much energy from her and causing her to faint. Off to the hairstylist they went, and the young girl returned with a shoulder-length bob. 

The following Sunday, she fainted again. This continued well into her teens. As she was no longer a child, her father transitioned from carrying her home to sitting her up on the pew until she regained consciousness.  She would sit through the end of the Mass, feeling as though the entire congregation was watching her through a public performance.

It wasn't only at church; she also fainted at school.  It usually happened during Oh Canada or the morning prayer.  Her mother would be called, and would walk over to the school, which was a walkway behind the church. Most times, it was just a brief pause until everything was back to normal.  

By the time she was in her late teens, it had become very apparent that Mass was a daunting task, one that felt increasingly more burdensome than it was worth to her.  She never doubted her faith, but she grew deeply reluctant of the institution of the church. It made her feel weak.  The church became a place of public scrutiny and physical failure, while her faith remained internal and safe.

Over the years, she analyzed the doctor’s theory that her long hair was drawing out too much energy, realizing it was just a medical folklore. She saw the irony in the crown of needles echoing the crown of thorns that was taught in religion. Furthermore, standing at attention, whether in church or at school, was a common requirement, and she learned of the physical conditions known as Lock Knee Syndrome or Orthostatic Stress, which are common explanations for fainting.  Even though the EEG was a traumatic experience, she understood it was a primary test performed for diagnosing epilepsy and other brain activity conditions.

Five decades passed before the pieces fell into place. The girl who fainted wasn't suffering from a physical condition or a lack of energy, but from an emotional weight she didn't have the words to describe. Her daily struggle with panic led her to seek professional guidance, where she finally discovered that her anxiety didn't start in adulthood; it had been her constant, silent companion since those Sunday mornings at the ritual pew.  

Anxiety is still a huge part of her daily life, but she has learned to read the physical signs and adjust accordingly. Sometimes it is a deep breath, cold water on her wrists and neck, or simply moving from a standing to sitting position before the world tilts.  She often thinks that had she known the lingo as a child, had she known what to call the storm inside, her life story would have been very different.