My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist's Personal Journey (11 page)

I was consciously alert and my perception was that I was in the flow. Everything in my visual world blended together, and with every pixel radiating energy we all flowed
en masse,
together as
one.
It was impossible for me to distinguish the physical boundaries between objects because everything radiated with similar energy. It's probably comparable to when people take off their glasses or put eye drops into their eyes - the edges become softer.

In this state of mind, I could not perceive three-dimensionally. Nothing stood out as being closer or farther away. If there was a person standing in a doorway, I could not distinguish their presence until they moved. It took activity for me to know that I should pay special attention to any particular patch of molecules. In addition, color did not register to my brain as color. I simply couldn't distinguish it.

Prior to this morning when I had experienced myself as a solid, I had possessed the ability to experience loss -either physical loss via death or injury, or emotional loss through heartache. But in this shifted perception, it was impossible for me to perceive either physical or emotional loss because I was not capable of experiencing separation or individuality. Despite my neurological trauma, an unforgettable sense of peace pervaded my entire being and I felt calm.

Although I rejoiced in my perception of connection to all that is, I shuddered at the awareness that I was no longer a normal human being. How on earth would I exist as a member of the human race with this heightened perception that we are each a part of it all, and that the life force energy within each of us contains the power of the universe? How could I fit in with our society when I walk the earth with no fear? I was, by anyone's standard, no longer normal. In my own unique way, I had become severely mentally ill. And I must say, there was both freedom and challenge for me in recognizing that our perception of the external world, and our relationship to it, is a product of our neurological circuitry. For all those years of my life, I really had been a figment of my own imagination!

When the time keeper in my left hemisphere shut down, the natural temporal cadence of my life s-l-o-w-e-d to the pace of a snail. As my perception of time shifted, I fell out of sync with the beehive that bustled around me. My consciousness drifted into a time warp, rendering me incapable of communicating or functioning at either the accustomed or acceptable pace of social exchange. I now existed in a world between worlds. I could no longer relate to people outside of me, and yet my life had not been extinguished. I was not only an oddity to those around me, but on the inside, I was an oddity to myself.

I felt so detached from my ability to move my body with any oomph that I truly believed I would never be able to get this collection of cells to perform again. Wasn't it interesting that although I could not walk or talk, understand language, read or write, or even roll my body over, I knew that I was okay? The now off-line intellectual mind of my left hemisphere no longer inhibited my innate awareness that I was the miraculous power of life. I knew I was different now

- but never once did my right mind indicate that I was "less than" what I had been before. I was simply a being of light radiating life into the world. Regardless of whether or not I had a body or brain that could connect me to the world of others, I saw myself as a cellular masterpiece. In the absence of my left hemisphere's negative judgment, I perceived myself as perfect, whole, and beautiful just the way I was.

You may be wondering how it is that I still remember everything that happened. I remind you that although I was mentally disabled, I was not unconscious. Our consciousness is created by numerous programs that are running at the same time. Each program adds a new dimension to our ability to perceive things in the three-dimensional world. Although I had lost my left hemisphere consciousness containing my ego center and ability to see my
self
as a single and solid entity separate from you, I retained both the consciousness of my right mind and the consciousness of the cells making up my body. Although one set of programs was no longer functioning - the one that reminded me moment by moment of who I was and where I lived, etc., the other parts of me remained alert and continued processing instantaneous information. In the absence of my traditional left hemispheric domination over my right mind, other parts of my brain emerged. Programs that had been inhibited were now free to run and I was no longer fettered to my previous interpretation of perception. With this shift away from my left hemisphere consciousness and the character I had been, my right hemisphere character emerged with new insight.

To hear others tell the story, however, I was quite a mess that day. I was like a newborn unable to make sense of the sensory stimulation in the physical space around me. It was obvious that I perceived incoming stimulation as painful. Sound streaming in through my ears blasted my brain senseless so that when people spoke, I could not distinguish their voices from the underlying clatter of the environment. From my perspective, everyone clamored
en masse
and resonated like a discordant pack of restless animals. Inside my head, I felt as though my ears were no longer tightly connected to my brain, and I sensed that important information was seeping out between the cracks.

I wanted to communicate:
Yelling louder does not help me understand you any better! Don't be afraid of me. Come closer to me. Bring me your gentle spirit. Speak more slowly. Enunciate more clearly. Again! Please, try again! S-l-o-w down. Be kind to me. Be a safe place for me. See that I am a wounded animal, not a stupid animal. I am vulnerable and confused. Whatever my age, whatever my credentials, reach for me. Respect me. I am in here. Come find me.

Earlier that morning, I never entertained the possibility that I was orchestrating my rescue so that I would live out the rest of my days completely disabled. Yet, at the core of my being, my conscious mind felt so detached from my physical body that I sincerely believed I would never be able to fit the energy of me back inside this skin, nor ever be able to reengage the intricate networks of my body's cellular and molecular tapestry. I felt suspended between two worlds, caught between two perfectly opposite planes of reality. For me, hell existed inside the pain of this wounded body as it failed miserably in any attempt to interact with the external world, while heaven existed in a consciousness that soared in eternal bliss. And yet, somewhere deep within me, there was a jubilant being, thrilled that I had survived!

Once my physicians were satisfied that I was no longer a medical emergency, they moved me up to the Neurological Intensive Care Unit. All I knew was that I had a roommate to my right, my feet faced the door, and my left side was close to a wall. Past that, I didn't have much awareness except for my head and right arm, which both continued to ache.

I experienced people as concentrated packages of energy. Doctors and nurses were massive conglomerations of powerful beams of energy that came and went. I felt rushed by an outer world that did not understand how to communicate with me. Because I could not speak or understand language, I sat silently on the sideline of life. I wish I had a dollar for every time I was given a neurological exam in that first 48 hours. Folks buzzed in, probed, prodded, and repeatedly sought neurological information. My energy was drained by these ongoing activities. I would have appreciated it if they would have consolidated their efforts and shared the information.

With this shift into my right hemisphere, I became empathic to what others felt. Although I could not understand the words they spoke, I could read volumes from their facial expression and body language. I paid very close attention to how energy dynamics affected me. I realized that some people brought me energy while others took it away. One nurse was very attentive to my needs: Was I warm enough? Did I need water? Was I in pain? Naturally, I felt safe in her care. She made eye contact and was clearly providing me with a healing space. A different nurse, who never made eye contact, shuffled her feet as though she were in pain. This woman brought me a tray with milk and jello, but neglected to realize that my hands and fingers could not open the containers. I desperately wanted to consume something, but she was oblivious to my needs. She raised her voice when she spoke to me, not realizing that I wasn't deaf. Under the circumstances, her lack of willingness to connect with me scared me. I did not feel safe in her care.

Dr. David Greer was a kind and gentle young man. He was genuinely sympathetic to my situation and took the time to pause during his busy routine to lean down near my face and speak softly to me. He touched my arm to reassure me that I would be okay. Although I could not understand his words, it was clear to me that Dr. Greer was watching over me. He understood that I was not stupid but that I was impaired. He treated me with respect. I'll always be grateful for his kindness.

On that first day, my condition progressed and improved rapidly in some areas, but not at all in others. Although recovery would take years, certain parts of my brain were still intact and eagerly engaged in trying to decipher the billions of bits of data making up the present moment. The most notable difference between my pre- and post-stroke cognitive experience was the dramatic silence that had taken up residency inside my head. It wasn't that I could not think anymore, I just didn't think in the same way. Communication with the external world was out. Language with linear processing was out. But thinking in pictures was in. Gathering glimpses of information, moment by moment, and then taking time to ponder the experience, was in.

One of my doctors asked me the question, "Who is the President of the United States?" In order for me to process this question and come up with an answer, I had to first realize that a question was being asked of me. Once I realized someone wanted my attention, I needed them to repeat the question so I could focus on the sounds being spoken, and then I had to pay really close attention to the movement of their lips. Because it was very difficult for my ears to distinguish a single voice from background noise, I needed the question to be repeated slowly and enunciated clearly. I needed calm, clear communication. I may have had a dense expression on my face and appeared ignorant, but my mind was very busy concentrating on the acquisition of new information. My responses came slowly. Much too slowly for the real world.

Paying attention to what someone was saying took an enormous amount of effort, and I found it to be tiring. First, I had to pay attention with my eyes and ears, neither of which were working normally. My brain had to capture the sound and then match that sound up with a specific lip movement. Then, it had to search and see if there was any meaning for those combinations of sounds stored anywhere in my wounded brain. Once I got one word figured out then I had to search for combinations of words, and with an impaired mind, that took hours!

The effort it took for me to pay attention to what someone was saying was like the effort it takes to pay attention to someone who is speaking on a cell phone with a bad connection. You have to work so hard to hear what the person is saying that you may become impatient, frustrated, and hang up the phone. That's the kind of effort it took for me to hear a voice in a noisy background. It took a tremendous amount of willingness and determination on my part, and infinite patience on the part of the speaker.

For my information processing, I took the sounds of the key words and repeated them over and over again in my brain so that I would not forget what they sounded like. Then I would go on a process of exploration to identify a meaning that matched the sound of those words.
President, President, what is a President? What does that mean?
Once I had a concept (picture) of what a President was then I moved on to the sound United States.
United States, United States, what is a United States? What does that mean?
Once I found the file for United States, again, it was a picture in my mind. Then I had to put together the two images - that of a President and that of the United States. But my doctor was not asking me anything that was really about the United States or about a President. He was asking me to identify a specific man, and that was a completely different file. Because my brain could not get from "President" and "United States" to "Bill Clinton," I gave up - but only after hours of probing and exhausting mental gymnastics.

My ability to cognate was erroneously assessed by how quickly I could recall information, rather than by how my mind strategized to recover the information it held. After all the effort I had put into the task of trying to find the answer to the initial question, it ended up that there were too many associations for me to pick through. Since I was thinking in pictures, I had to start with a single image and then expand upon it. I could not start with the general and find the more specific without exploring the billions of possibilities - which was draining. Perhaps if they had asked me a question about Bill Clinton specifically, then I would have found an image of Bill and then been able to expand from there. If they had asked me, "Who is Bill Clinton married to?," then I would have found an image of Bill Clinton, an image of matrimony and then hopefully an image of Hillary standing by her man. When using pictures to navigate my way back into language, it was impossible to go from a general file to a specific detail.