compos mentis
When James was finally admitted to his hospital room last night, the nurse wanted to "know his patient" which is a common way to set a baseline for understanding the patient beyond the chart in the computer. All the nurses I have encountered over James's various hospital settings start out in the same way. He asked, "Tell me why you are here in your own words."
I heard James tell the narrative at least six times that day to various nurses and doctors. In each telling, instead of saying "I" he would say, "We."
We woke up and had breakfast. We felt nauseous and vomited. We had a fever of 101 and a headache. We called the visiting nurse and decided we needed to visit the ER.
Not one person remarked about the use of the pronoun we. He means: me and Jen. We.
I did not talk to him about it but I found it a little weird.
I am still digesting our day in the emergency room. I have been in the ER with James several times throughout our relationship. In fact, after knowing him for only two weeks, he dislocated his knee while doing a Pete Townshend impression in his bedroom when his parents were not home and I accompanied him in the ambulance to the hospital. It was the first time I met his parents when they drove to the hospital to pick him up. He was coherent throughout and once the doctors popped his knee back in, he was flying high from the rush of the pain medication and declared that he would walk home. Quite a date we had that day.
When he had an attack of hemiplegia migraines back in the mid-1990s, we visited the ER twice. He was confused due to the migraine and the neurological side effects but he was never incoherent or lacking control over his thoughts and emotions. Even in our time at Woodhull, when he was suffering through excruciating pain from the pressure of the brain abscess, he was never not himself.
I saw a different person in the ER this time. He was vulnerable and frightened. At times, he felt claustrophobic and wanted me to take him out of the hospital--let's go home--he would say to me and it was not a complaint but a true request for release. He was not really sure what was going on and I could hear my words in his explanations. We called the nurse. We decided we needed to visit the ER.
James and I were talking the other night about the blog. He thinks I should continue to write. James told me, "You are a writer. You should write a book now." Over the years, we have played with the idea of creating a book entitled, "The Half-Smiling Pioneer." Most of the time, we imagined that James would write it but sometimes, I would want to take on the project. The content changed slightly dependent on who we imagined was doing the writing but it was basically a novelish type of book about an artist. James thought that I should write the book and he would do the illustrations. He wants to do a project together.
At the time, I thought that sounded fun and sweet. Now, I feel a bit thoughtful about it.
As Imogen and I walked to the hospital from the subway today, we had a discussion about James's new status in our family. James mentioned to me that I cannot die now. It would be problematic. Imogen and I talked about the ghost in the machine--where exactly does the mind/spirit reside. She pointed to her head and I said, "That's just a big chunk of meat." She made a gesture as if she took her brain out, looked at it, and stuck it back in. "See what I mean?"--I told her--"nothing but a bit of flesh." Where and what is our mind. Where is James?
We also talked about James's lack of certain emotions. We both saw the animation film, Inside Out, about the various emotions that become personified in a girl's brain. Imogen told me that James lacks anger. I thought we could live with that absence except for that he is also expressing a loss of joy. Anger and Joy. Imogen acknowledged seeing moments of happiness and we both have witnessed the sorrow.
I felt slightly sick thinking that James may not return to his past self--to the depths of anger and joy that he knew previously. It lasted only a second. Babies do not necessarily express a nuanced joy and rooted anger and well, they are damn cute and lovable just the same. Do I truly need to have the expression of more complex and elegant emotions from James for him to be whole.
James likes to watch horrible television now in an uncritical way. It irks me. I am attempting to be patient and give him space. I cannot rush into critical assumptions of his mental capacity. He has time to watch Judge Judy.
I turned on Avro Part the other day when he was painting in the studio. Normally, James curates the music. Since I cleaned his studio in the snowstorm and unplugged his stereo set-up to wash the floors, I need to figure out how to reset everything. In the meantime, I turned on Spotify on my computer. It felt slightly wrong to hear my favorite violin pieces in his studio.
I feel like I am invading his mind too much. He is so open to suggestion and wants guidance. I want him to find himself but I notice him turning to me for inspiration.
It is a funny place to be in after being together for over 30 years.
Tomorrow is another day.
On the ambulance ride over to the ER, I had James memorize June 12, 2018. We used W.O.P.R. I said, "Today is June 12, 2018. You may think of it as a dozen eggs, 12--June 12. Picture the number 1 and 2 in your mind. June 12, 2018. We do not have pen and paper but write the date in your mind." I knew every doctor and nurse would ask him his name, date of birth, and today's date. When his room nurse asked the series of questions for the final time that day, I decided to confess. I told the nurse, "I made James memorize today's date in the ambulance because I knew you would all assess him." It was my slightly subversive joke on the doctors even though they had no knowledge of it. The nurse laughed and said, "You cheated!" I told him, "Well, you would have found me out the following day when he will not be able to recall the date." James protested from his bed, "I will too know, it will be June 13!"
I heard James tell the narrative at least six times that day to various nurses and doctors. In each telling, instead of saying "I" he would say, "We."
We woke up and had breakfast. We felt nauseous and vomited. We had a fever of 101 and a headache. We called the visiting nurse and decided we needed to visit the ER.
Not one person remarked about the use of the pronoun we. He means: me and Jen. We.
I did not talk to him about it but I found it a little weird.
I am still digesting our day in the emergency room. I have been in the ER with James several times throughout our relationship. In fact, after knowing him for only two weeks, he dislocated his knee while doing a Pete Townshend impression in his bedroom when his parents were not home and I accompanied him in the ambulance to the hospital. It was the first time I met his parents when they drove to the hospital to pick him up. He was coherent throughout and once the doctors popped his knee back in, he was flying high from the rush of the pain medication and declared that he would walk home. Quite a date we had that day.
When he had an attack of hemiplegia migraines back in the mid-1990s, we visited the ER twice. He was confused due to the migraine and the neurological side effects but he was never incoherent or lacking control over his thoughts and emotions. Even in our time at Woodhull, when he was suffering through excruciating pain from the pressure of the brain abscess, he was never not himself.
I saw a different person in the ER this time. He was vulnerable and frightened. At times, he felt claustrophobic and wanted me to take him out of the hospital--let's go home--he would say to me and it was not a complaint but a true request for release. He was not really sure what was going on and I could hear my words in his explanations. We called the nurse. We decided we needed to visit the ER.
James and I were talking the other night about the blog. He thinks I should continue to write. James told me, "You are a writer. You should write a book now." Over the years, we have played with the idea of creating a book entitled, "The Half-Smiling Pioneer." Most of the time, we imagined that James would write it but sometimes, I would want to take on the project. The content changed slightly dependent on who we imagined was doing the writing but it was basically a novelish type of book about an artist. James thought that I should write the book and he would do the illustrations. He wants to do a project together.
At the time, I thought that sounded fun and sweet. Now, I feel a bit thoughtful about it.
As Imogen and I walked to the hospital from the subway today, we had a discussion about James's new status in our family. James mentioned to me that I cannot die now. It would be problematic. Imogen and I talked about the ghost in the machine--where exactly does the mind/spirit reside. She pointed to her head and I said, "That's just a big chunk of meat." She made a gesture as if she took her brain out, looked at it, and stuck it back in. "See what I mean?"--I told her--"nothing but a bit of flesh." Where and what is our mind. Where is James?
We also talked about James's lack of certain emotions. We both saw the animation film, Inside Out, about the various emotions that become personified in a girl's brain. Imogen told me that James lacks anger. I thought we could live with that absence except for that he is also expressing a loss of joy. Anger and Joy. Imogen acknowledged seeing moments of happiness and we both have witnessed the sorrow.
I felt slightly sick thinking that James may not return to his past self--to the depths of anger and joy that he knew previously. It lasted only a second. Babies do not necessarily express a nuanced joy and rooted anger and well, they are damn cute and lovable just the same. Do I truly need to have the expression of more complex and elegant emotions from James for him to be whole.
James likes to watch horrible television now in an uncritical way. It irks me. I am attempting to be patient and give him space. I cannot rush into critical assumptions of his mental capacity. He has time to watch Judge Judy.
I turned on Avro Part the other day when he was painting in the studio. Normally, James curates the music. Since I cleaned his studio in the snowstorm and unplugged his stereo set-up to wash the floors, I need to figure out how to reset everything. In the meantime, I turned on Spotify on my computer. It felt slightly wrong to hear my favorite violin pieces in his studio.
I feel like I am invading his mind too much. He is so open to suggestion and wants guidance. I want him to find himself but I notice him turning to me for inspiration.
It is a funny place to be in after being together for over 30 years.
Tomorrow is another day.
On the ambulance ride over to the ER, I had James memorize June 12, 2018. We used W.O.P.R. I said, "Today is June 12, 2018. You may think of it as a dozen eggs, 12--June 12. Picture the number 1 and 2 in your mind. June 12, 2018. We do not have pen and paper but write the date in your mind." I knew every doctor and nurse would ask him his name, date of birth, and today's date. When his room nurse asked the series of questions for the final time that day, I decided to confess. I told the nurse, "I made James memorize today's date in the ambulance because I knew you would all assess him." It was my slightly subversive joke on the doctors even though they had no knowledge of it. The nurse laughed and said, "You cheated!" I told him, "Well, you would have found me out the following day when he will not be able to recall the date." James protested from his bed, "I will too know, it will be June 13!"
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