Written by Lee Schneider, founder of DocuCinema.
I’m in New York City spending time in hospital rooms. I have learned two things so far. It’s an outrage that there’s no 72nd Street stop on the Lex Ave line. The closest is 69 Street, which is more of a vague sexual joke than a useful location. The other thing I’ve learned is about the incredible lightness of being.
I wasn’t in the room when it happened, but I have it on good authority that you can stop a man’s heart, cut out a malfunctioning aortic valve, pop in a new one, bypass years of accumulated disease and then start up the system like a reliable old car. And I know for certain – I was in the room – that a man might lie in a twilight state among machines, seeming like a machine himself. But no, not like a machine: There was a glimmer of consciousness. It was a paradox to be witnessed with awe, this man-machine breathing slowly, leaking consciousness.
Funny thing, when people hold heavy objects they think they are more important than lighter ones. A big book, say a Bible, seems more important than the slim volume of famous left-handed athletes. The idea resounds in the languages we speak. You have your heavy issues and light entertainment. There’s research on this:
A research team found that they could alter people’s judgment of importance just by getting them to answer questions using a heavier clipboard. In a series of short elegant experiments, a research team led by psychologist Nils Jostmann found that people holding a heavy clipboard would, for example, value foreign currencies more highly than those using a lighter clipboard.
That’s good science, because the experiment was simple and the measurement clear. Science works because it measures things and assigns values. Sounds good, till you look at a guy in a hospital bed and ask what weight do you assign to consciousness? What weight do you put to love? As Lotta Alsen has written in her blog, everybody knows that love is good, but what measure can we assign it to prove that it exists? Do you look at the number of Valentine’s Day cards sent? Quarts of chicken soup consumed? Love exists, but there is no measure for it.
In the hospital room the next day the human machine does something amazing. It wakes up. It starts talking. It wants things. “I want you to call Milton.” “Get me some water.”
Miracle? No. This was the work of a heroic guy in green surgical scrubs going seven hours straight in order to take a man apart and then reassemble him. That’s great training and expertise and amazing science. But still, there was something else. The human machine has consciousness. There is a soul, and spirit, stuff for which no measurement exists and therefore no science.
What happened in the hospital has affirmed my trust in scientific work, rattled my position as person who takes nothing on faith, and made me wonder if science, in order to fully understand the world, will need to stretch outside itself.
Bobbi Lane // Aug 27, 2009 at 6:39 pm
Lee, this blog was quite brilliant in your insight into the human spirit and the power of science. I, too, am skeptical of much, but the ability of one human being to perform such incredible physical changes on another human being, and then the ability of the subject’s consciousness to rise above the invasion and still be “normal” is miraculous to me. We humans have much depth that is unknown and yet to be discovered. Thanks for the great posting!
M. Penn // Aug 28, 2009 at 1:14 am
Thank you —
With love
M
Bob Ellal // Aug 28, 2009 at 5:19 am
Hi Lee,
Brilliant post, superbly written as usual. You are indeed a great writer–powerful, economical style and more importantly, great awareness.
As you know, I’ve spent far too much time in hospital beds and under the knife. Nothing as serious as a heart operation, orthopedic stuff. I did wake up during the middle of a hip replacement, doctors and nurses screaming at me “Don’t move.” The surgeon showed me the piece of hipbone he had cut from me; I asked if I could have it to wear around my neck, but he said “no way–this is going to the lab.” Then they pumped me with more anesthesia and I lost consciousness. Where was I?
I thought a lot about the differences between the mind and the brain; the human spirit and the soul. I recall that in the 19th century a famous doctor tried measuring the soul by weighing living tubercular patients, then weighing them seconds after they died in front of his eyes. The results? Inconclusive.
Perhaps science will have to turn more to the savants of the East to get a grip on this state we call consciousness. I know that during deep meditation my awareness has completely disappeared for short periods, reaching the place that the Chinese describe as “thoughts of no thoughts.” A paradox, indeed. The Hindus call it the “gap.” It’s supposed to reflect your true self. Is it “you” in a place of universal consciousness–or are you tapping into the 90% of the brain not yet fathomed?
Is it matter–the brain experiencing–or soul? I have come to believe through meditation and paranormal experiences in an essence that survives. I cannot imagine the places reached by those meditators who spend a lifetime in monasteries, taming the brain full-time.
Now we get to the awful (in its original meaning) notion that there may indeed be a God.
Have a good weekend.
Bob
Lynton Gardiner // Aug 28, 2009 at 6:42 am
I know the hassles of that odd Lex. Ave 68th St. #6 train stop. But it DOES get you close to Lenox Hill Hospital. Sounds like stomping grounds for LS these days.
Son #1, Elliot, was born there on Sept 20, 1989….nearly in the foyer!
Hobbled through that same foyer to have my kneecap reconstructed there in 1985 after after a bicycle messenger knocked me down in front of 100 Fifth Avenue. I was delivering pictures to the editors at Abrams when kaboom….life takes a turn…. The book? “The History of Theatre in NY”. Should have gotten a Tony for all the wear and tear that day!
Hope everything is ok, Lee. Always look forward to your 500 Woids on Toyzdays.
Jeff Schneider // Aug 28, 2009 at 6:54 am
Well said. I look forward to reading your blog.
Medical science and the skill of the individuals involved has truly enriched our world. There are awesome moments like watching the patient wake up after having been disassembled and repaired the way you describe. It is a fragile thing, however. I’ve seen great successes where it’s amazing that they can “fix it”. I’ve lost people close to me where they, well, just didn’t know how to fix it, although not for lack of trying. I’ve seen a case where they almost fixed it, leaving a healthy body and a consciousness with some odd gaps where things didn’t quite come together as planned.
We’re thankful of course for the amazing successes, and have to keep doing the research to learn what we can about the rest.
Thanks for the blog!