The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks

Oliver Sacks, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat. New York: Harper & Row, 1970. paperback, 243 pps., incl. biography.

Dear Oliver Sacks,

You are the person I would most like to have tea with on a calm uncluttered California afternoon sitting on your veranda sharing the silence that embraces both of us. You are my hero. You remind me intensely of my humanity-- my intense unwavering humanity-- in the midst of dealing with the professional robots who would rather work to reduce me to deficits and lapses that they can pigeon-hole into stereotypes. I suppose that dealing with the authentic self that is me and more than me is riskier. I am not at all gracious nor grateful for their "help." I have lived quite well over the past six and a half years without their "insight, wisdom, knowledge." For like you, I have learned and relearned that the clinical without the human being is dead, empty stuff. I am weary of these professional robots who cannot hear me when I tell them that my brain damage did not kill off my memory. My memory ranked in the 99th percentile when tested at the rehab hospital six months after my motor vehicle accident. My ability to multi-task has bit the dust, my vision and perception are somewhat skewed, and I've been told that I am now highly distractible. But my memory is intact and I do not need the professional robots to extoll the virtues of writing things down nor of following a written checklist.

Oliver, if I can be so brazen as to refer to you by your first name in this blog post, you declared to the world in this book that the oft-cited axiom that the brain-damaged have only the concrete at their [our] disposal simply is not true. I needed the concrete during the first several months of living with my rearranged brain. I had to teach myself to write in sentences again-- I did this through the internet-- and when I was able to read, I turned to factual books rather than the fantasies that I previously had enjoyed. But brains do heal somewhat and after a time I was able to revel in the abstract once again. You have taught me to focus and build on my strengths rather than to batter away at my difficulties which in fact may not be ameliorable. Oliver, I am so sick of people blindly repeating the phrase, "The brain re-wires itself!" They don't really know what they are talking about, do they? Some of my wires re-connected but not to where they were originally. Dirt roads replaced freeways. Others grew but didn't connect anywhere, thus my central nervous system tremor is one of the prices of recovery. I have named my post-head injury brain Briella. Briella-- still brilliant but a bit sideways. Now I can describe who I used to be in halting unsure words. For a time, I could not even do that. I had to learn my self over again. You remind me not to leave my self behind. For indeed, we are more than our pathologies, labels, problems, diagnoses. So much more!

When I re-read this book, I found again a reunion with friends. I could love Rebecca and Mr. MacGregor and the others. I touched them through your pages. I held my breath as I witnessed Madeleine J. reaching for a bagel. I watched transfigured as she sketched and then made models of what she perceived through her treasured hands, once thought of as "lumps." I was there in your office as you helped Dr. P. put on his shoe. How fortunate your patients are to have had you! I recognized bits of my own difficulties in some of their stories.

Thank you, Oliver Sacks for writing about your patients in such a humane accessible way. My world is a brighter, kinder place with you in it. I take my tea with a bit of lemon sometimes, but no milk or sugar or honey. I'll be up sometime after lunch. Looking forward to it!

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Ghost Train to the Eastern Star by Paul Theroux

Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star. New York: Mariner Books, 2008. large paperback, 496 pps.

I've been engaged in reading as much Paul Theroux as I can get my hands on over the last several months and am now just pausing long enough to write the reviews. Ghost Train is the repeat of a trip which Theroux took as a younger man in The Great Railway Bazaar. He left from London (now on a second wife) and trained his way through to India (this time with a detour around Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan), The Far East, Japan, and back via Russia. He also had to take an occasional bus and a couple of plane flights. Along the way, Theroux mixes with the local folks, stays in hostels and hotels, and reads. As in his other accounts of his travels, Theroux has a gift of mixing history of a place with literary works and stories told by people he meets along the way.

Theroux is quick to point out what has changed and what hasn't. Several Indian cities have become meccas for IT, manufacturing, and call centers. The call centers themselves I found interesting. The Indians who work there take on American sounding names and are tutored extensively so that they "sound" like native speakers rather than like Indians. Often it is a college graduate making less than 4000 U.S.D. a year providing customer/tech support India relies on cheap labour in order to be competitive. In India, Theroux comes across many people who dislike Bush 43 especially in relation to the war over in the Middle East. There is abject poverty in India also which he describes without romance or rancor. There are bits also about Buddhism, Islam, and Hinduism. There are riots and bombing in Ceylon. Over in Thailand, there is a movement among fundamentalist Moslems to establish their own country in the south. Everyone certainly seems to be fighting these days, that is for sure.

Theroux also recounts bits of history while he is visiting Myanmer (Burma), Cambodia, and Vietnam. The behind-the-scenes decisions of politicians (Bush 43, Nixon in particular) were a fascinating glimpse into some of the background behind military actions. He describes in detail his tour of the killing fields, the genocide commited upon the orders of Pol Pot and exactly who helped that corrupt murderer to attain and stay in power. India, China, and Russia all continue to support Pol Pot (each for their own reasons). Theroux also talks about Vietnam and how the Viennese are faring these days. Although he leaves out the prison terms being bantered around for such offenses as e-mailing a relative in the U.S.A. from an internet cafe, he does address the war in Vietnam quite well.

There are throngs of people in the larger cities in Japan. Theroux takes some time there to go cross country skiing in the less populated north and to enjoy the use of two bathhouses before setting off for a final train trek through Siberia and China back through Poland and Germany to England. On the trains themselves, berths (sleeping compartments) are almost always shared and food bought at train stations from the locals is usually safer than what is offered in the dining cars. There is a bit of reflection in this book not present in his earlier journey across Asia. I enjoyed in particular Theroux's musings on invisibility and ageing.

sapphoq reviews says: This book comes highly recommended to the armchair traveler who likes a true sense of place along with an interweaving of history and a sprinkling of literature.

First a lousy poem

No apologies for merging with the stillness,
no regrets for eating the sun.

No tears for a broken heart,
no recompense for a broken brain.

No recognition or awards for greatness,
no publicity for mediocrity.

No affection for privacy panels,
no love for ignorant neighbors.

No sympathy for Georgie Reyers,
no condemnation for Lucien.

No reason will be given for this lousy pretend poem,
no explanation for sudden clapping of hands.

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Shambala Meditation

At a friend's urging, I attended a public meditation session held at a Shambala Center. Shambala Centers are located worldwide and they offer public meditation sessions, meditation instruction, and classes in buddhism.

After shedding my boots and leaving them in the vestibule, friend and I waited in "the waiting room" for another meditation session to end. The waiting room was pleasant and well-appointed with a comfy couch and chairs, literature and magazines related to Buddhism, a selection of herbal teas, and some fresh fruit. The session before ours ended. I was temporarily startled by the presence of my shrink, who bowed to me and left with the others.

We entered the meditation room. There was an option of chair or cushion. I chose cushion and sat, arranging my jacket next to me. There was a small altar up front which I liked. The group leader for that session began with a small explanation that teachers were available if anyone wished, and an overview of the next 90 minutes. First the sitting meditation, then a walking, then a sitting. Then a sharing period where folks could say what they wished-- as long as it wasn't in direct response to what another had shared. And a five minute sitting meditation to finish.

During my sitting meditation, I was taken back to the Grand Canyon and the flight of small birds among the cliffs and sparse vegetation. I practiced gently stopping these thoughts and letting them go. It wasn't forced and I was much relaxed. The walking meditation was a tad more difficult. I was concentrating on the idea of not falling-- as walking without shoes remains a difficult thing for me. It was with relief that I sat back down again at the leader's direction. I will not share the discussion here, nor who the other attendees were. I will say that the sharing was deep as the strictures of others' potential responding to what anyone said were observed. After the five minute ending meditation, we adjourned to the waiting room for herbal tea and fruit.

Two folks discovered that their wallet and daypack were missing from the vestibule. That made me at once glad that I had elected to bring my jacket inside the meditation room with me. When a third person discovered that her bicycle was also missing, it was realized that this wasn't a case of "the janitor moving these things to the lost-and-found box." I felt badly that a thief had entered the vestibule during the meditation session itself and taken these things.

The meditation experience itself was charming, however the theft gave me pause. I am hesitant to return to that particular center. I watch lots of crime shows on teevee. My imagination flashed pictures of us tied up in the meditation room and being ordered to hand over our money and jewelry, being held up with a loaded gun in my face, stolen cars from the parking lot. I am considering starting a womens' meditation group around here.

And one more thing: I am fairly certain that I cannot be a Buddhist. There is nothing about me that is passive in nature. I am too programmed to fight back and I understand the necessity of war in our current world. Until I lose the feeling of wanting to butcher those who planned 9/11, I will remain as I am-- a happy atheist with discordian and pastafarian leanings.

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Shambhala website: http://www.shambhala.org/

Taking Off Pounds Sensibly

After gaining five pounds in two weeks, I decided that enough was enough. My weight gain has been steady since early adulthood-- at least 10 pounds a year. Gathering up my courage and my bulkiest clothing off I went to a meeting of TOPS, or Take Off Pounds Sensibly.

I was warmly greeted, given a membership packet, had a before picture taken and measurements taken, then shown to the weigh-in room. I registered at 213 pounds, the heaviest I've been in my life. My first reaction-- these people are crazy!-- quickly melted into "What I've been doing hasn't worked, so I may as well try this." I am an O.A. drop-out and the purveyor of many fine diet ideas, none of which have worked for me. (I cannot afford the more expensive commercialized programs around).

After weigh-ins, the main meeting began. First the KOPS folks stood up to recite a pledge-- KOPS stands for Keeping Off Pounds Sensibly, followed by the TOPS folks. Then we had roll call. We could announce whether we gained, lost, or stayed the same weight that week. Folks clapped for the maintainers and losers, chanted "tomorrow starts another week" for the gainers. At my name, I announced that I had gained five pounds in two weeks.

After the roll call, there were the raffles-- for the biggest loser, for those who lost, and for the KOPS folk. Then, a member did a presentation. And finally the 50/50. The meeting dispersed with lots of friendly goodbyes. I was given a telephone list for support. A couple of the members who have seen me walking with the dog greeted me. "Now you know where your friends live in your neighborhood," one of them said. There were smiles all around. For the first time, I felt hopeful about getting to a healthy weight and being able to maintain that weight.

Yes, I did go back the next week. I was indeed the biggest loser there that week-- seven pounds. Hooray for me! As I continue to strive to adjust my relationship with food, I am confident that my goal of getting down to a healthy weight is doable. And I feel pretty good about that.

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Website for TOPS: http://www.tops.org/default.aspx