Brain Poking

I just read the most fascinating, heartbreaking and disturbing article. The commentary detailed the historical context of the prefrontal lobotomy or as originally coined the leucotomy. I have been aware, and to some extent self-educated about the rise and fall of the lobotomy cult however, I have never quite read personal accounts like this one. I suppose the reading or hearing about the scientific perspective (severing or uncoupling of the brain's emotional centers) of this procedure is less painful (no pun intended) than reading the emotional narratives of those affected by this “surgery.”

Not only was it the personal stories, but also the parallel-dichotomy that existed between those affected by the “procedure” and the physicians and researches that elevated the “cure all.” From the historical standpoint the initiative for the lobotomy came as a result of the 19th century uncertainty of how to treat or help the mentally ill population.

Okay, so let’s reason for a moment that in the early 1890’s the “insane” and those with incurable “madness” were in fact overcrowding the asylums. And well, let me even go so far as to say that the mad people also were demonstrating socially erratic behavior. To add more emphasis, let us also consider that perhaps the behavior was so bizarre that families and local villagers would scurry into their drafty homes with fear and panic, and lock the doors only to cautiously peer through the windows in order to observe the devil possessed populace. The fear and terror was probably so entrenched that the villagers considered aloud if they too could possibly “catch” the illness, after all the black plague nearly wiped out an entire country. So it is with this dramatic, yet perhaps all too real scenario that we are able to evoke the images of not only those struggling with an illness, but also the naivety and trepidation of those residing in this era.

The experimentation, and superficial desire to help advance science resulted in the invention and subsequent persuasion of the medical community to believe that aimlessly poking around in your brain could be a great idea. The evolution of the lobotomy resulted from a German physiologist experimentations that led to an asylum director in Switzerland which then links to a Portuguese neuropsychiatrist. This Portuguese fella then borrowed from the work of various researchers to (this is where this gets so good) get shot in the spinal column by a non-lobotomized patient (karma really does suck) and then he went on to win the Nobel Prize for his “medical innovations in neurosurgery.” But the story doesn’t and there. It was a clinical neurologist (a one Walter Freeman) that popularized the procedure in the United States.

I understand that hindsight is always far more clear then objective evaluations while “in the moment,” but from what I can construe the historical literature is very clear in that every single one of these scientists were vehemently met with opposition to this procedure. The literature illustrates that there were those within the medical community as well every day folk that believed this was wrong and far more dangerous than ol’ snake oil salesman Freeman led them to believe.

In spite of the protest Dr. Freeman embarked on a United States tour de crazy that allowed him to astonish the American populist with the following breathtaking feats.

The procedure would begin with the patient being clothed in a white ceremonial gown.

Electro shock would gently lull the patient to sleep while the “doctor” would insert his innovative ice pick (specially created to quickly and efficiently sever the thalamo-cortical fibers) into the patients eyeball orbit.

Once “in” Freeman would sway his ice pick in a “to and fro” or back and forth motion to ensure all tissue was severed.

Then, rinse and repeat on the opposing eyeball orbit/PFC area.

This entire life changing procedure was done within as little as 10 minutes.

The most astonishing events occurred when Freeman used his “skillz” to astound witnesses by performing two-handed lobotomies, or by demonstrating the operation in a production line manner.

Freeman once lobotomized 25 women in a single day.

All of Freeman’s selfless work and implementation of a miracle cure was frequently featured in local newspapers, television and major magazines.

And all the while Freeman left women, children and men without the necessary brain functions to be a “whole person.”

I can’t judge this man’s intentions. But what I can say is he was not so much unlike his patients or any person past, present or future – searching for acceptance, accolades, love, respect, understanding and peace. You see, Freeman’s story however horrific and cold it may seem, is the chronicled life of a man perhaps desiring to help others only to be swept away in the excitement of a miracle cure and the pride of his achievements.

The most heartbreaking or poetically interesting part of this story was Dr. Freeman. With the availability of anti-psychotic medication Freeman’s procedure became obsolete. So as the phone calls became fewer and fewer and the fanfare disappeared. Freeman sold his home and traveled the United States in a camper making contact with previous patients to prove (or alleviate guilt) that his procedures had succeeded.

Be leery of brain poking!

Fatigue and Mania

As I meddled through many o’ blogs I developed some random, yet stirring thoughts.

This night insomnia and I battle it out again, but I always prevail even if only with 4 hours of sleep.


People are weird. Simple, I know but also profound within its simplicity (let it sink in a while)

I will now accept that I am really quite nosy

Captain crunch is delicious at 1:30 in the morning.

Most people are so cliché

The lack of punctuation can often imply more

Girls can be Jedi’s

Unprovoked kindness is exquisite

Wit and humor is sexy (add a dash of sarcasm and confidence and ..well…….swoon)

Imperfect Perfection

We all spend a great deal of our life (at least the portion of our life where we are cognitively aware of our individual existence) worrying, ruminating and even performing based on our perception of what others may or may not think of us. Somewhere around our third decade of life we begin gain the insight that everyone (ourselves included) had always been doing nothing more than “performing” to satisfy our own neurotic desires.

What does this mean?

Is perception really reality?

And if so, what does it take to alter our “reality” in order to evoke a prudent change?

Is it love, acceptance, the ability to empathize with humanity?

Whatever the answer, these existential queries led me to the subsequent introspection, or vice-versa. .

I heard a very touching monologue in a movie I recently watched. The premise of said movie was based on the true account of a screenwriter. The main character, a man in his early thirties was experiencing what we call depersonalization disorder, or a form of dissociation. Depersonalization is exactly what it sounds like; the feeling as though an individual is disconnected from themselves emotionally, like watching themselves in a movie. The primary concern is that the individual is still very much cognitive of their situation. Much akin to the axiom that ‘if one thinks they are “crazy” they are most likely not “crazy.” The crass, and at times clever account of this man’s life was mildly entertaining but it was the admirable and deeply romantic love story that moved me.

The love that was portrayed in this film was a charming demonstration of what unconditional love should represent. More specifically, this monologue (as emoted by the female lead) is an amiable description of unconditional, wholehearted, passionate, very real love.

“I want to know that if I lost all my limbs, we'd still be together forever. When you say my name it would always sound safe. When we go out I would put on perfume and you would put on cologne and we would sit next to each other and just smell each other. I would know that you could always make me smile when I was tired and I would never be scared to tell you anything. And if I liked one of your favorite shirts you would let me wear it every day just so I could smell you when you’re not with me. I want a love just like my grandmother and grandfather; you see my grandmother has arthritis and can’t bend over to paint her toenails so my grandfather does it for her and never complains, even though he has arthritis too."

Beautiful!!

Pickle on the crap sandwich that is my day

After working with people all day I often come home feeling weak. Not just physically weak, but emotionally and mentally weak as well. And the soul sucking, disturbed and selfish behaviors of those I work with don’t alleviate the weakness either. This profession can be very rewarding and fulfilling, given the right set of circumstances. Let say everyone you work with, other professionals, supervisors, and administrative personnel have a healthy emotional life and are well balanced; well then the daily job itself can be joyful and wonderful. But really what world do we live in? Most of us who join the ranks of the "great thinkers" and leaders are often just as crazy if not crazier then most. And this is the juxtaposition, cross roads and humble awakening that every professional will face at some painful point.

There is no glamour in this profession. No, in fact the day to day work of what we do is time consuming, thought provoking and often heartbreaking. People are often so misguided, lost and although many report the desire to “do better” (whatever that means) ultimately, when it comes down to the truth of the issue most people want anyone to listen without judgment and tell them what they are doing is in fact, "okay." “Just do that more” or “don’t do that anymore” these simple, yet very accurate statements seem to be the realistic total of what people need to hear. Why then, are so many people so BLIND to their destruction? How can people continue to repeat the same action over and over again and expect different results? Why is blame so easy? At what point or chaotic life occurrence do others finally look into the mirror and face the TRUTH?

Some need to be told that life is not a conspiracy to “break them” or “ruin their lives.” I would say that they need to be told that good intentions are not a road to Pleasantville, but rather more often than not, hell. One's egregious errors in judgment are not someone else’s fault. Self-responsibility is just that, an issue of the SELF!! If you open your big fat mouth and say inappropriate things to others you ARE responsible for your words. It was your ailing brain that fired the neuron that told you complaining, negativity and accusations are the right things to say. You said the words, willingly, without hesitation and if you’re honest with yourself, you did so with some kind of disturbing up pleasure. And now that the deed is done you find you have maneuvered yourself into a tight little corner and it seems that they only way out is to shovel loads of bull all over everyone else in an attempt to deflect from you. I suppose this is a well crafted plan if all others involved were lobotomized monkeys. Oh but you see, your evil plan may have worked in the past with dim-witted lowlifes, morons and brainless drug addicts and now the players are wise to your games. What, you may ask yourself, what will happen? Perhaps some last ditch efforts to avoid the obvious? Trite statements made in passing? Pathetic accusations made against those who worked to once protect you? It seems you will face judgment soon, but not soon enough to fully appreciate the ever so tangled and twisted heap of mess you have once again littered along the path of mankind.

I have no more pity left for you. You have used all of your second chances. Yes, you will now be held to be responsible for your choices and from where I sit it will be painful. My observation of your obtuse choices are from afar but yet just close enough to let you see me shake my head in disgust as I turn to walk away.

The brain is an interesting organ....

The brain is an interesting organ. Let’s see, my serotonin could be whacked out, perhaps I’m tired, oh or maybe I’ve slipped into a mildly delusional state where my hemispheric operation is clouded. I suppose I feel aggressively melancholy. In some ways I have chosen not to make a choice, which really is a choice but an indolent and feeble choice nevertheless.

 

Frequent shifts in emotion can be a normal experience.

 

As I drove home this evening I observed an older man on a motorcycle. I methodically watched as he weaved in and out of traffic with an almost whimsical ease. His long gray hair, partially covered in a weathered bandana, fluttered as the wind blew around his face. And then for a moment my soul longed for the freedom he must have felt. For a few moments, all logic, caution and fear that normally accompanies my perspective about motorcycle ownership, was gone. I was, for a few, brief moments with this man, feeling his exhilaration, excitement, freedom and peace of being alone united with the elements and riding into the sunset. Well, maybe not into the sunset, but at least into the evening as the sun lowered into the west, which leads me to a reoccurring thought I have from time to time. And it’s not really a thought but more of an emotion, mixed with memory and sprinkled with sensory stimulation. Certain times of the year, during specific segments of the day, always when I am outside I have an experience so pleasant and calming I delight with inescapable peace. Often the simple act of watching the foliage on an old oak tree sway in the warm, sweet summer breeze can hearken me back to a childhood memory of playing hide and seek till dusk with childhood friends. Or the smell of a humid, summer evening, I call to mind memories of young adulthood when the possibility and hope of my future seemed so eternal and electrifying. It’s these fleeting moments that leave me in a reverie, tranquil and lost in thought. Really life is all about these moments, the small but memory laden moments. I have a thousand of these “moments” and with each step I take towards a greater appreciation for my life I also gather more of these and I suppose at the end of the day this is the emotional refuge that I take cover. Maybe this is joy, the fruit that bears on the tree of a rich spiritual life.