A friend of a friend had warned me about British understatement. Specifically, she had mentioned professors and grading. She said if a professor says “Good,” they mean C-worthy. If they say “Very good,” then you’re headed for a B. If they say “Very good indeed,” then congratulations, that was A-range work. In addition to this warning about British understatement in the academic context, I’d long thought that calling the conflict in Northern Ireland the Troubles was a particularly understated manner of addressing a decades long conflict that involved numerous bombings and deaths and nearly killed a Prime Minister. The newest addition to my collection is “unforeseen circumstances”, something my uncle said on Sunday.
I’ll have to back up a bit first. About a week ago my uncle began behaving oddly. He missed an appointment of some importance, and that was totally out of character for him. Also, he was acting in a way I can only describe as drunk, or, well, his ability to communicate seemed in the near inebriated range – very simple conversation only. Tuesday and Wednesday evening family were advising that he see a doctor and offered to call an ambulance, but he repeatedly refused. We didn’t know what was wrong, but imagined some sort of mental illness, depression or schizophrenia were high on the list. Little accounted for the sudden and dramatic change in behavior that we could understand. Prior to this, he went out, he ran errands, he was a healthy functioning adult. Skipping over some of the details, by Friday evening I was calling an ambulance because of his erratic behavior. Three cheers for the London Ambulance Service by the way.
In the small hours of Saturday morning my uncle was transferred from our local hospital to a much larger hospital in central London. That afternoon he had surgery. A cousin and I were at the hospital. When my uncle came out of surgery, he had what my cousin described as half a Mr. T haircut. There was a semicircle, an arc really, where they had operated. The doctors had removed “a collection of blood in his brain”.
Essentially, it was like the doctors had flipped a switch. The uncle of Friday night was despondent. He was hollowed out, his personality had disappeared, what made him him was gone. My uncle Saturday evening bore no resemblance to my uncle on Friday night. The despondent mood was gone completely. He was talking, laughing, and joking. It was less than 24 hours between my calling the ambulance and my uncle being himself again – 180 degree turnabout in under a day.
What was an odd and unsettling experience for me was profoundly and utterly bizarre for him. He said he could not remember Tuesday to Saturday pre-surgery. In effect, his memory of the past week begins being aware he is in hospital, not knowing where and not knowing why. Imagine stopping time now, and waking up a week later in a hospital bed. Unforeseen circumstance indeed.
I do not know what perspective the doctors and nurses in the neurosurgery ward must have on the world, but the entire episode reminded me of a discussion of free will at Missives from Marx (here and here). Particularly my uncle’s refusing to see a doctor early last week, which he only sort of half remembers. Who was that? I can connect his body to his behavior last week, but I can’t connect his mind, so once again, who was that? That fake uncle, that uncle imposter.
So, Damocles’ sword hangs over all our heads. I learned this in a way I had no appreciation of before I’d been to a neurosurgery ward. You’re a blood clot away from not being you anymore. Not in terms of having to learn to walk and talk again, that’s somehow easier to deal with intellectually. Death and being in a persistent vegetative state are also easier to deal with intellectually. That all falls into the taking away stuff you can do category. But I hadn’t considered who you are as being one of the things you can do. Who you are seemed more intrinsically connected to your you-ness. Your identity is also wrapped up in your brain – which now writing that seems totally obvious. Of course your identity is in your brain, where else would it be? I guess seeing it demonstrated so clearly, so starkly, right before my eyes in 24 hours is what struck me, and prompted this post. That and “unforeseen circumstances”.
Happy endings, knock on wood, my uncle is out of the high dependency unit and will be transferred to a local hospital later this week. Hopefully, he’ll make a full recovery. A strange beginning to 2010, but I’ll take eventual discharge from the hospital and full recovery any day. Three cheers for the NHS too by the way.