No Man’s Land (Beyond Regular Communication)
[Could be “no woman’s land” and “no child’s land” – and all of the other animals, plants (I was just told of  Stefano Mancuso’s work), and what we, in an easy way, call “nature.”
A lot of people do try their best to do their very best. This is not what this is about.]



We speak, like on a freeway, we honk, wave, flash our lights and move forward, until… we don’t.
It is NOT “the road less traveled” – it is just “something” less talked about. Something we cannot “just discuss” – even friends listen without necessarily getting it, so yes doctors and nurses, surprisingly even less.


Beyond the words, beyond the diagnostics, the visual evidence, the charts and the scales, there is something else.


That is where I am, and what I want to address as pointedly/directly as possible.
I have heard a great many stories of patients going from doctor to doctor, from specialist to specialist, and the great many tests performed.
In my eyes, there is a very clear place that has to do with the fact that
whatever one describes is not properly heard.
Is it a lack of communication skills, the amount of time allocated for the exchanges, the poverty of the means to assess “what is wrong” and the fact that the symptoms may be too complex to fit a regular exchange in a doctor’s office?

To be continued – there is much more to this.


For those who many be interested in this: the Glasgow Coma Scale rates me a 15 (Mild) but because of a so-called   “Complicated Head Injury,” I end up in the Moderate category.
What’s good about this? It allows me to acknowledge as per French rabbi Delphine Horvilleur’s recent book title, “comment ça va pas?” – how is it not going?.
Maybe all we need is some kind recognition, the details to be elaborated somehow, IF the right context exists somewhere, for that kind of  exchange/communication.

LET IT BE ALWAYS BEYOND THE REACH
like an asymptote, but with fellow passengers onboard
ACKNOWLEDGING “THAT”

At some point, speaking leads nowhere.
Communication has reached its limit.

It is not about speaking different languages but there is a limit to what words can convey.
When the symptoms change from hour to hour, and the “how-are-you” assumes a response, to coin an answer leads to something that is clearly not valid anymore, and a waste of time.

How do we point to air, to what is too subtle for words/speech?

“Being, presence… ” is all that is needed.
But of course, like with most important things in life, those words are only pointing fingers, not the “thing itself.”

None of this is a call for help, nor is it any kind of alarm.
It is just another reflection about a particular state.


While I can write, I write – there may be a time when writing is no longer available.
Am I trying to be ahead of my time? I remember thinking very clearly that “the true avant-garde is death” – that’s what I thought  in my twenties
This is not the topic here.


It has to do with the fact that there is a possibility that what one calls “brain fog” appears, and remains.
I had a few hours of it today & I wondered how thick it would get. And how persistent it would be.
But here I am, typing all of this down: the panic may not be warranted, but my concern is as thick as the isolation I found myself caught by.

It is not a matter of politeness.


Part of this thick haze consists of the distance between the medical words (the diagnostics) I hear, and the subtle yet concrete fluctuating sensations I am feeling.
All of this comes and goes, and I remain. For now.

What do we do after a major crisis? We are here but we are also somewhere else.
What remains is a state where simple answers do not exist anymore.
Someone asks “how are you,” and it is absolutely impossible to answer – cf. below Robert Frost on voting.

Language as a whole seems to belong to a “universe of scoundrels.” Not that anyone has any bad intentions, but non-conscious exchanges – when normalcy is assumed (which is most of the time) – turns the limping into some kind of consolation dance.

Insouciance” or “what-me-worry” was left behind.

This poem by Henri Michaux has been with me for a great many years.
Its refrain, “and he went back to sleep,” is echoing in me.

Much revolves around sleep, and avoidance.
Do we ever face anything else besides what we cannot escape?
The present is the only “stuff/embrace” we may handle…

A quiet man by Henri Michaux –  (my emphasis)
[English Translation by Marton]

Extending his hands out of bed, Plume was surprised not to meet the wall. “Well, he thought, the ants must have eaten it …” and he fell asleep again.

Shortly after, his wife grabbed him and shook him: “Look, she says, lazy you! while you were busy sleeping we were robbed of our house. “Indeed, an immaculate sky stretched on all sides. “Well, the thing is done.” he thought.

Soon after, a noise was heard. It was a train coming at them at full speed. “From its hurried look, he thought, it will surely arrive before we do” and again he fell asleep.

Then, the cold woke him up. He was soaked in blood. A few pieces of his wife were lying next to him. “With blood, he thought,  a great many conflicts always arise; if this train could have not passed, I would be very happy. But since it has already passed … “and he went back to sleep.
– Well, said the judge, how do you explain that your wife injured herself to the point that she was found divided into eight pieces, without you, who were nearby, being able to make a gesture to prevent it, without you even having noticed it. That’s the mystery. Everything lies there.
– On that path, I cannot help him, thought Plume, and he fell back asleep.
– The execution will take place tomorrow. Accused, do you have something to add?
– Excuse me, he said, I have not followed the case. And he went back to sleep.


Original
Un homme paisible par Henri Michaux(mon emphase)

Étendant les mains hors du lit, Plume fut étonné de ne pas rencontrer le mur. ” Tiens, pensa-t-il, les fourmis l’auront mangé… ” et il se rendormit.

Peu apres, sa femme l’attrapa et le secoua: “Regarde, dit-elle, fainéant! pendant que tu étais occupé à dormir on nous a volé notre maison.” En effet, un ciel intact s’étendait de tous côtés. “Bah, la chose est faite.” pensa-t-il.

Peu après, un bruit se fit entendre. C’était un train qui arrivait sur eux à toute allure. ” De l’air pressé qu’il a, pensa-t-il, il arrivera sûrement avant nous ” et il se rendormit.
Ensuite, le froid le réveilla. Il était tout trempé de sang. Quelques morceaux de sa femme gisaient près de lui. ” Avec le sang, pensa-t-il, surgissent toujours quantité de désagréments; si ce train pouvait n’être pas passé, j’en serais fort heureux. Mais puisqu’il est déjà passé… ” et il se rendormit.
– Voyons, disait le juge, comment expliquez-vous que votre femme se soit blessée au point qu’on l’ait trouvée partagée en huit morceaux, sans que vous, qui étiez à côté, ayez pu faire un geste pour l’en empêcher, sans même vous en être aperçu. Voilà le mystère. Toute l’affaire est là-dedans.
– Sur ce chemin, je ne peux pas l’aider, pensa Plume, et il se rendormit.
– L’exécution aura lieu demain. Accusé, avez-vous quelque chose à ajouter?
– Excusez-moi, dit-il, je n’ai pas suivi l’affaire. Et il se rendormit.

Référence: Henri Michaux, Un certain Plume, dans Plume précédé de Lointain intérieur, Paris, Gallimard, 1963, pp.139-140.

And then there are those who may wonder whether someone who is “still alive” after a while, has still something to say, and whether all of this “ordeal-writing” was useless.


Various sensations/symptoms are called “sequels?”
At which point do I say “enough/basta” with any of this.
FYI tinnitus is called acouphènes in French (“une belle jambe”).


I know I don’t know, do I?


The words “bleeding heart” came to my mind during the night. What does that mean?


Some don’t know when they will die, and others also don’t know, but the time-frames, the scales are different.


Having doctors who are also           friends…

“Reality” should always be in quotes.  — Buckminster Fuller

… makes the unknown much more manageable.

The doctor’s words to me:
“These are typical findings after an area of traumatic hemorrhage in the brain.
The “encephalomalacia” is essentially an area of “scar” where the hemorrhage was. No major concern. Perhaps some small, limited risk of seizure, but not enough to warrant seizure meds.
The enhancement seen after the IV contrast is a bit curious. Possibly just healing from trauma, but as mentioned, a small possibility of a dural arteriovenous fistula (dAVF). These are typically more minor irregularities of the blood vessels, not as significant as the AVM that you had years ago, but if you continue to have a pulsatile tinnitus (sounds in your ear) a catheter cerebral angiogram like you had years ago for the AVM (catheter threaded through femoral artery in groin or radial artery in wrist to inject dye) could be considered. Mike.”

One writes to make a difference, or simply to try to distinguish, not extinguish…
As each moment passes, one attempts to leave one trace, so each moment, in its particular uniqueness, is noticed — “I bore witness to myself.”

As much as the miracle of healing can take place – and we cannot take credit for that – there are points of no return.
What happened is what happened.
Overall though, I am where I am and you are where you are.
In that sense, we do not really communicate. As Artaud said: “we are (only) making signals through the flames.”
That difference is paramount. And unbridgeable: tears are not enough.
In this culture of denial, the dictatorship of positivity reigns; nobody has actually any room for what is conveniently summarized as “negativity” & real difference.

The questions continue… of course they mean well, but there is a irreconcilable chasm between what is asked and the immensity of what I could answer, if I could answer anything.
To summarize, just yesterday I was asked whether everything will soon heal; I answered that with blood in one’s head – as Michaux says in one of his Plume stories – all kinds of unpleasant things may happen.

What do I know?!

Brain sensations… sometimes pressure by the eye, sometimes by the ear, hearing the blood flow with every heartbeat. How curious!
A wonderful brain surgeon will check my CTscans! He saved my life in 2008!


Some kind of “antechamber?”
At the very least, I had time to prepare myself… you will say.
It is with calm that a final “curtain” may drop. Without any drama.
People will go back to their busy lives because that’s what life is about: being busy.

Missed opportunities for concrete information.

They mean well, but it is not what was needed:
– my mother was given a Kleenex when she was interviewed by the Shoah Foundation. The interviewer was a therapist, unaware of the history and the geography of WWII genocied in Hungary.
– a well-meaning nurse offered me the same Kleenex as she was “debriefing” me on the damage done (cf. below). I needed facts, not some office-compassion.

What I feel is typically physical and fleeting (various sensations around the brain); what doctors see is different.
Finally, almost two months later, a nurse (why not a doctor?) tells me by comparing three CT scans, how the impact of the fall, through the helmet, generated some blood inside my brain.

It is visible… and yet, no one knows exactly how this will manifest itself in the future.

“Talk to your GP if you notice something new.”

The good news is that the blood has not expanded. The not-so-great news is that the blood is still there and what remains prevents some part of the brain to function – my understanding in a quick summary that typically doesn’t spell out the ramifications: “either you will know if something is not right, or you won’t.”

“And by the way, the book on brain injury you were given may not be that relevant to you” – a guessing game, or is it the advice given to a child with something some adults (somewhere) may understand in a deeper way. Or have I reached the limits of science/medicine and no one wants to acknowledge that?
Is this what they could be saying: “I am sorry, we would like to help you further, but we just don’t know.”

The arrow points to the area with blood.


The fantastic news following one more clavicle X-Ray is that I can go back to the pool – we swimmers are used to fighting against the elements! If I die, it may be in the water!