Seeing and Not Doing

"I see it. My brain just doesn't tell me to do anything about it." - My son, explaining why he kept running into things during his first walk in the hospital corridor after he awoke from a coma.

Day 249. For the first Saturday in several weeks, I did not ride my bike. I did, however, navigate several miles along the Feng Shui path. It was healing and restorative but lacking in cardiovascular rigor. I suspect I will take a compensatory ride tomorrow.

Can there be anything better than having a 20-year-old in your household? It makes the madness of those toddler years utterly worth it. The vastness of the young adult mind is astounding. Such novelty of thought. Such vigor of opinion. Such random association. Such production of verbal certainty. Such rejection of anything attributable to persons over thirty. Today I opted to abandon all self esteem and simply hang on for the ride. My psyche is all the better for it.

My son and a close friend of his were killing time at our house as they waited for it to be fashionably late enough to be seen out on a Saturday night. I joined their conversation - a luxury apparently awarded to parents for surviving their child's teen years. Somehow we ended up telling Mo stories about the hospital stay following my son's ski accident. He has no memory of the accident and many days afterward, so we have to rely on my historical accuracy.

We laughingly recounted the grievous irony of being bathed by and receiving occupational therapy from a drop dead gorgeous therapist and having absolutely no recollection of it. Shared the curious anecdote in which he never could tell the doctors his actual age, grade, or name of his school (he stubbornly reported that he was 10 rather than 14, in the fifth grade, and attended his elementary school rather than the middle school where he was in eighth grade. My theory is that fifth grade must have been a spectacularly good year). We recalled that he was shaken from the coma by the neurosurgeon shouting at him, "Do you SKI or SNOWBOARD!?" So much for the sweet motherly murmurings I had been uttering in his ear for 24 hours.

The tales led to one of the strange byproducts of his brain trauma, which we learned is extremely unpredictable and unique to each individual patient. Soon after regaining consciousness, the nurses emphasized the necessity of getting up and practicing walking around, in order to restore balance and coordination. They showed me how to utilize what was essentially a short leash to steady and stabilize my son as we took our first forays into the hospital halls. We had not progressed more than a few yards when our path was impeded by an IV pole. My son walked right into it. I shortened the leash (an utterly counterintuitive act for this adventurous mom) and we proceeded slowly down the hall. Before long a food cart similarly blocked our way, and my son kept walking as though it wasn't there, bumping it and then looking confused and irritated.

At that point I became concerned about his vision, and asked, "Do you see that cart in front of you? Did you see that IV pole?" He replied, "I see it. My brain just doesn't tell me to do anything about it." I considered this to be a significant piece of diagnostic data, and described what was happening to his doctor. His answer was the same frustrating reply given the entire first week following the accident: "Brain injuries are tricky. We just need to wait and see what comes back as the swelling goes down."

Neurosurgeons are not known for their social skills. I learned that they are receptive to parents who actually know the correct terminology for parts of the brain, including the visual processing center. We had a discussion about the likelihood that there was a temporary disconnect between the part of the brain that receives visual input and the part that interprets what is seen and makes decisions about a required action. Fortunately, my son's brain healed the disconnect in a manner of weeks. Unfortunately, this wasn't before his youngest cousin (and biggest fan!) got stepped on a few times.

As I reflected upon the memory, it occurred to me that a similar disconnect may occur in all of us at various times in our lives. Perhaps this stems from our tendency to avoid seeing Reality; we become absorbed in the noise and distraction and fail to see things as they are. I know that I am guilty of seeing things and not doing anything about them. It may be something as simple as noting a stray shopping cart in the parking lot and not wheeling it to the safety of the cart rack. Or failing to recycle something because it is inconvenient to rinse out. Or not walking the short distance to work because of the heat, or the cold, or the press of time. It may be something larger, like not speaking out in the presence of injustice, or cruelty, or misinformation. Or ignoring that persistent voice inside me that says, "Step out. Risk. Love. Connect."

My disconnect cannot be attributed to brain injury. Most likely, it derives from ego, or laziness, or living outside the here-and-now. I believe I am learning how to heal from the malaise of seeing and not doing. Ironically, the solution is the same one that began my son's journey to recovery. I have to Wake Up.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc