The Necessities and Benefits of Past, Present, and Future

Most would be quick to argue that author Floyd Skloot is by no means in an advantageous position—at least in regards to his mental and physical functional capacities, as well as his placement in the eye of public opinion and social hierarchy. Indeed, the author himself states that “in this social dimension…I remain a grave cripple and, apparently, a figure of contempt” (Skloot 199). What may not be as apparent, however, is how valuable such a seemingly unfavorable state is/has been for him. Though Skloot admits, “I have lost trust in my body” (46), and underlines his tenuous grasp on both his external and internal environments [“…the least pattern of noises distracts me and shatters concentration” (13); “I sometimes experience myself as disintegrating” (50); “[t]he means I use to compensate for my lack of integration separate me futher from the ‘natural man’” (53)], he emphasizes the many benefits he has reaped from the confines imposed upon him by his brain damage.
Ironic as it may sound, Skloot points time and again to instances wherein the limits established by his neurological degradation have allowed him to discover (and utilize) previously inaccessible depths of his own person. He emphasizes not only a consequential “new freedom to express…emotions” which allowed him to deepen his relationship with his older brother and daughter, but also a liberation in being “forced our of the mind, forced away from my customary cerebral mode of encounter… and into body, into heart…rewoven” (22). Skloot, unlike the majority of neurotypically functioning individuals who do not “have to think about how they work, or concentrate on most their functions” (48), must maintain a deliberate and intentional awareness. Rigorous and exhausting as it is, such awareness of self (even if that self is not entirely trustworthy in its stability) is immediately calls to mind the mechanisms of meditation—designed specifically to call one back to his/her self, to draw the mind away from the constant barrage of complex and incessant thought, to embrace simplicity. Ask anyone who has ever tried and they’ll probably tell you that meditation is not the easiest thing in the world to do. Jumping off to a thought about the future, the past, an idea, a feeling, a distraction is so difficult to avoid that being present is usually not achieved for longer than a few moments in a day. Of course, if one does not have the type of brain damage that Skloot has, he/she can get away with a constant circumvention of the present moment, an avoidance of being aware of oneself and one’s actions, an evasion of self-monitoring procedures. For Skloot, however, for his very physical (and, arguably, psychological) survival, he must be in a constant state of this self-monitoring so rarely entered (and freely overlooked) by others. As he describes, “for me to maintain balance, I must summon consciousness back to the fore in the process of movement” (50), “my balance disorder tends to show itself when I am caught off guard or most relaxed…” (52).
Of course this is still a challenge—as much as it would be for anyone, given the general difficulty of staying in the present or being self-aware; as Skloot is quick to point out, “the vigilance required to manage it is more debilitating than the symptom itself” (52). Yet to see his state only as a hindrance would be to vastly overlook the gift it continuously provides him. Skloot himself points to the “Zen of illness” (198) he has found in the midst of such disorder, a wonderful illustration of Frankl’s concept of spiritual elasticity [as Skloot later quotes: “man must cultivate flexibility to swing over to another value group if…[it] alone offers the possibility of actualizing values…temper[ing] his efforts to the chances that are offered” (198)]. Inherent in Skloot’s development of coping mechanisms is an embrace of simplicity, mandated by his brain-damage and manifested by a focus on the “eternal presence” (239), that would arguably not have been possible for him prior to his viral infection. In his words, “the sense of misalignment also leads to a letting go of many things that were important before. Symbolically, you have to free your hands for other purposes, such as catching yourself when you fall” (51). Thus there are many more advantages to his illness than are probably apparent at first glance.
It is important to remember, though, that either extreme is unfavorable: just as never being able to be present has far reaching advantages and consequences, Skloot’s mother’s absolute mental deterioration, wherein she becomes nothing but the present moment and cannot formulate a past or a future or any form of consistency, is by no means a positive experience for anyone involved—though Skloot does emphasize the softening of her character that had never before been possible. Yet again, then, we have the example of an attempt at striking a critical balance—in this case, between different points in time (past, present, future), all of which contribute a unique vantage point to an individual who accesses them. Yet again, also, there is the echo of Sacks in the notion that no individual parts account for a whole person, but rather the integration of parts lead to the realization of self. Thus it is not a single moment, or a single category of time, that gives a person their temporal awareness/identity; rather, it is the agglomeration of moments (those that have happened, those that are happening, those that will happen) that comprise this chronological perception.

Meditation, Mindfulness

Many things here. Let’s begin with that wild construction of a new “amnesia genre”! Lethem says,

I had in mind fiction that, moreso than just presenting a character who’d suffered from memory loss, entered into an amnesiac state at some level of the narrative itself—and invited the reader to do the same. Fiction that made something of the white spaces that are fiction’s native habitat or somehow induced a dreamy state of loss of identity’s grip. (xvi)

So: Lethem’s seeking art that merges form with content- a style that evokes the neurological disorders addressed within! What Sacks continually struggles with is conveying to his audience the evocative experience of sensory alteration (no means an easy feat!)- he was moving in the same direction as Lethem’s collected authors- disclosing information until the “proper” time, attempting to somehow bridge that strange gap between the patient and the outsider. How do the various author’s achieve this neurological effect? I certainly felt the same creeping anxiety and unsettling calmness reflected by the patients within the pages.

Here, Lethem’s also stating that there’s something intrinsic to the properties of storytelling, or narratives, that shapes them towards expressing neurological disorders, specifically amnesia. White spaces are “fiction’s native habitat”, Lethem says, as if the writer’s task of summoning something up from nothing (an exaggeration) parallels the patients own clawing for a constructed past. Neurological disorders hint at the strange borders of our perceptions of reality. Is what’s there really there? And should it then be almost expected that illusions should best represent such conditions? After all, in such states, what is an illusion? (Forgive muddled speech here, hopefully the thought is vaguely conveyed?

In some ways, the methods of these authors are almost opposed to Skloot’s own work. They’re attempting to alter language, reality, etc. to attempt to capture that alien, anxious, exhausted sensation that comes with these forms of amnesia. Skloot, conversely, is trying furiously to, if you will, meet us rather than force us to meet him. He battles to construct linear, logically coherent thoughts. The whole book is his exhaustive, laborious attempt at capturing “normative” thought.

It’s interesting. Skloot speaks of the therapeutic benefits that come from constructing his narrative. The book is really another extensive conversation with his wife before bed. And yes- traditionally humans understand one another through narrative-

But then the difficult question rears up of... and I’m still struggling with this- how “rational”, logical thought... how LANGUAGE... should factor into Skloot’s life. Language, oftentimes, seems embedded in rational thought; it functions through a series of causes and effect- language is a map that illustrates the trajectory from point a to be to c. In this regard, it’s stunning that Skloot can write as well as he can (albeit, as he repeats, with great difficulty). However, so much of Skloot’s current life seems to illustrate a necessary retreat from such formal, structured manners of thought. Is writing a positive, “safe” way of experiencing these difficult processes (he notes that none can catch his mistakes), or is it still a clasping on to an antiquated part of life (a bustling city that he should move out of). Now: Obviously he’s receiving great joy and success from his writing, though he does remark of its pain... I suppose I’m simply attempting to make note of the necessity for acceptance spoken of throughout Skloot’s work. Which spins into the fact that...

Some of the most striking characteristics of Skloot’s experience are the potential positive ramifications that came from his illness. A doctor reminds Skloot early on that he should not equate intelligence with (and I forget the exact words here) brain/reasoning functionality. In discarding balance, memory, and reason, Skloot is allowed access to a level of awesome mindfulness and equanimity. In one of the books most stirring passages, he relates,

Since I cannot presume that I will remember anything, I must live fully in the present. Since I cannot presume that I will understand anything, I must feel and experience my life in the moment and not always press to formulate ideas about it. Since I cannot escape my body and the limits it as imposed on me, I must learn to be at home in it. Since I can do so little, it is good to live in a place where there is so little to do. And since I cannot presume that I will master anything I do, I must relinquish mastery as a goal and seek harmony instead. (28)

The process seems almost like enforced meditation- a narrowing down of one’s perceptions and abilities so as to reach a supreme level of condensed concentration. By being so immersed in himself, by acknowledging that he “cannot escape his body” he’s able to, well, somewhat escape. Just a little. He makes his way with the necessitated drive towards harmony, towards acceptance and mindfulness; the whole experience brings up connections to dozens of different spiritual practices.

Skloots speaks of the beauty that comes from a lack of necessity to formulate ideas about the moments he exists in. Yet, in doing so, he writes, formulating ideas. His communication upends some of the revelation spoken of earlier. Perhaps, like all things, reflection, the fight towards “rationalism”, must be balanced.

And again we reach the question: what is health? What is illness? How can we gauge the functionality, the success, of a person’s life? Especially when language and narrative (used successfully as a neurological communication device in the Vintage Amnesia, yes) can be such a source of... at times... strained rigidity?

There’s something up with language, with narrative, and communicating the neurological experience to oneself and others... right now I feel as if I’m circling over it like a buzzard.

The mind is not the brain, but what the brain does

So many details, descriptions and definitions stood out to me from Skloot’s first five essays that as I read I already knew that composing a comprehensive post would most likely not happen. Dysfunctional Mentation. “Kickback”. Dyscalculic. Labyrinthine. I truly enjoyed reading a book written from the perspective of the “other side of the examination table.” I realized that the best way to fully understand—or at least try to relate—another’s illness is to have them explain it as they have come to understand it; using their own language, their own carefully developed examples and metaphors—all derived from living day to day with deficits and obstacles of the Self affecting the mind, the body and, in the case of Skloot, every breath, thought and movement. It is through the marriage of narrative, science and metaphor that we are able to really feel—in the purest sense of the word, that is understand—what and how this “insult to the brain” has manifested itself in the body and mind of a previously well-balanced and not only successful but ambitious individual.
I found that through the combination of quotes from neuroscientists and doctors and from poets and of course the author’s words, I was able to understand the neurological side of Skloot’s brain damage in a more complete way than say I understood Zasetsky’s injury. I felt this way because the person living with this altered mind and body was explaining to me as they had come to understand and live with it. The problem for Skloot is easy to understand: it is in the processing of functions and the crucial ‘putting together’ or integrating of these necessary processes that has been affected. He explains this several times in his essays and relates it to the many and varied difficulties he experiences. “Walked as if made of wood” created a distinct image of my head and called to mind others from real life instantly.
Many things left me wondering and longing for class to meet Mondays instead of just Wednesdays! Skloot earlier on describes his brain as porous, riddled. This choice of words left a big impression on me—to think of the brain as porous makes complete sense for his specific injury and subsequent memory, balance and visual recall difficulties, to name just a few. I thought his experience of being easily overloaded when reading a menu in a busy and loud restaurant or of getting exhausted after eating very spicy food was very interesting and, like many other phenomena he describes, thinking that I could sometimes relate in my own way. It goes without saying that, as Skloot himself explains on page 33, that it is too easy for one to relate to his blink of an eye memory loss or sudden confusion, and that although this experience definitely helped me grasp the possibility and feeling better, I cannot truly imagine. To simply offer up some details I found confusing and significant: Cell understudies on page 15? Skloot’s mishaps with pouring liquids into inverted bowls and using incorrect hand gestures? I found these things so interesting in that they perfectly demonstrated the loss of integration.

Nice Writing, Skloot

“I do not mistake my wife for a hat,” Skloot says on page 40 of his book In The Shadow of Memory. Indeed, this is clear in the frequently iterated descriptions of his disabilities caused by brain damage. His specific accounts of individual occurrences provide a much-appreciated insight into his world, in a way that is different from the other narratives we have read. While the connection between Skloot’s situation and Zasetsky is stated obviously in the text, (“ “I was lost in time and space, it seemed; I felt myself, my mind, to be incoherent and my world to be in fragments.”), it is the tone and grace of Skloot’s prose that sets him apart. His writing is amazingly eloquent; I found myself transcribing quote after quote into my personal journals for remembering. Ethereal observations such as, “I have been resouled,” as well as blunt explanations like, “I know that I knew what I no longer know” have equal power in relaying Skloot’s exact experience. The prose itself is a balancing act between literary eloquence, accessibility and neurological descriptions that reads perfectly in the form of a good story. This feat is more extraordinary when considering both the heightening in emotion and the lapse in memory that Skloot describes as primary afflictions. The decay of his short-term memory leads to difficulties again similar to Zasetsky’s as far as writing is concerned, though definitely less extreme. Paired with his proneness to emotional overreaction, Skloot’s essays could have very possibly read like a angry tirade, if he managed to write at all. Yet he is able to write about his “insult to the brain” more collectedly than any other author we have read thus far. There is not so much irritation as with Zasetsky, not the keen contemplation of Luria, and certainly not the manic involvement of Sacks. The difficulties he describes sound very frustrating, worthy of anger, defeat, sadness, annoyance, etc., yet he writes in a way that is almost anecdotal, that is, lightly, cleanly, and with a balanced sense of humor. There is no sign of frustration in his prose, though there are descriptions of times he did feel that way. In some cases he sounds almost nonchalant or nostalgic. In any case, Skloot has certainly found more peace with his illness than any other, which I applaud.