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Communication

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Is There Room in the Academy for a Realist?

         In a recent posting on this blog, entitled “Teamwork is Critical, Learning with and from Others”, I wrote about the dichotomy known as yin and yang. In ancient Chinese philosophy, these terms represent opposite but complementary items which form a complete whole. One way to over simplify this concept is to suggest that the same situation is viewed by some people as a problem and by others as an opportunity. A modern western idiom attempting to express this is the question, “Do you see the glass as half-full, or half-empty?” As I admitted in the afore-mentioned posting, as I have inventoried and catalogued my collection of files and books, I have experienced both feelings. At times I am elated at the long hidden jewels of ideas and thoughts that I am finding in my files and books. As I consider these ideas I am easily distracted and start trying to track down more about the given topic. I find myself creating more files to add to my already abundant collection. When I try to return to where I was when I was distracted, I can’t find my place or I can’t get back into the flow of things. I am pleased that I have been reintroduced to many great ideas that I had somehow abandoned. However, I am frustrated that I can’t excavate around these ideas more fully. I am almost convinced that a life-time of thinking will take a second lifetime to explicate it.

Speaking of yin and yang, this week I also discovered a quote that was attributed to Winston Churchill. Reportedly, he said, “A pessimist is someone who sees problems in every opportunity, and an optimist is someone who sees opportunities in every problem.” The question I would ask is, whether, in the academy, you must be either a pessimist or an optimist. Is there room in the academy for a realist?  I would define a realist as someone who meets all of the following conditions:

  1. On a bright sunny day with not a cloud overhead, the realist enjoys the beautiful weather.
  2. However, on that bright sunny day, if there are gathering storm clouds far off in the distance, possibly not even within visible sight, the realist prepares for the coming storm, while continuing to enjoy the current beautiful weather.
  3. In the midst of a severe storm, the realist takes all reasonable precautions for personal and property safety.
  4. After the storm is past, the realist immediately gets to the task of remembering and honoring any individuals who might have been lost in the storm.
  5. After the storm is past, the realist will also immediately begin the job of clearing the debris from the storm and the restoration and rebuilding of new and better physical objects.

Instead of being the doom-saying, stuck in the mud pessimist, or the blue-sky always looking through rose colored glasses Pollyanna optimist, how much better off would the academy be, if more of us were realists?

 

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Living in a metaphoric world and trying to communicate with the academy

I found two articles published this past July very significant and helpful. The first was an article in the Epilepsy Advocate magazine about Chris M., a minister and author, who found he was thinking and writing differently after the onset of epilepsy. The article may be found at http://www.epilepsyadvocate.com/default.aspx. The second article was a Chronicle of Higher Education review by Carlin Romano  entitled “What’s a Metaphor For?” which can be found at http://chronicle.com/article/Whats-a-Metaphor-For-/128079/

Why were these two articles significant for me?  After two traumatic brain incidents (TBIs )left me essentially able to think only metaphorically and unable to think analytically, sequentially or deductively, I have found it extremely difficult to communicate with the academy. This has been very difficult for me because the academy was my life for 40 years.

In March 2009, I had  brain surgery to remove a benign tumor which was discovered when I had a stroke-like event (first TBI). When I regained consciousness in the hospital after the surgery, I immediately realized something was different. I couldn’t find the right words to complete thoughts. I knew what I was trying to say but the best word to express my thoughts would not come to my mind.  I also had trouble following what other people were saying or writing. My speech therapist called the condition aphasia (loss of words). After 9 months of intensive therapy, I got to the point where usually I was the only person who realized that I was having trouble with words.

In December 2009, I had four conic-tonic seizures within a 30 minute time span (second TBI), which my neurologists blamed either on the stroke-like event or the scar tissue left from the removal of the benign tumor. When I regained consciousness in the hospital three days after the seizures, I immediately knew something else was very different.

I knew my ability to think analytically, sequentially or deductively had been severely compromised. Prior to the first TBI, I would try to think everything through analytically. After the seizures, my first reaction to any situation, problem or question was to draw a mental picture, i.e., devise a metaphor. What’s the difference? The battle between thinking analytically and metaphorically is like living in two different worlds or looking down two very different sides of the same mountain.  For 40 years, I lived in an analytic world. However, now I was living in a metaphoric world. In such a world I found that I could not rigorously define metaphor. The best I could do was to describe it using more metaphors. Notice in my account above, to describe what was going on in my mind, I had to use a metaphor. Another discovery is that even the best metaphor may not completely satisfy the need for the rigor of those living in the analytic world.

Having lived in both worlds, I found it easier to understand someone living in the metaphoric world when I was in the analytic world, than vice versa. This insight reminded me of the episode of Star Trek, The Next Generation, entitled “Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra.” In this episode the Enterprise Crew was working on trying to understand messages from the alien world of the Tamarians. The Star Trek universal translators could translate the words but the words make no sense to the Star Trek crew. Finally Dathon, the leader of the Tamarians, kidnaps Picard and strands the two of them on the planet El-Adrel together with a common foe. When Dathon tosses Picard a dagger, several of the Star Trek crew members suggest that this is a hostile act. It is not until later when Picard and Dathon are attacked by a third hostile alien that Picard understands that the dagger was an invitation to cooperate and jointly fight this new enemy. Although Dathon is killed in the fight, the humans and the Tamarians see that they can cooperate. It is only when the Tamarians start referring to this event as Picard and Dathon at El-Adrel, does the Star Trek crew understand that the other phrases the Tamarians were using were actually  metaphors that referred to important events in their history. Thus, even though the Tamarians never could understand the straight-forward explanations the humans offered for events,  the two groups were able to communicate and understand each other through metaphors, because the Star Trek crew started using metaphors.

As I contemplate a limited future within the academy, the two articles mentioned above have given me some new hope that I can find a few good friends who will be willing to work with me so we can translate each other’s language so that both groups will be enriched.

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Bits and Pieces Part I

As I have stated in previous posts, one of the reasons that I started this blog was requests from professionals working with persons with aphasia and their care givers to describe what aphasia looked and felt like from the inside. This post addresses one specific question that I was asked. The question was: “How do I proceed when I face the dilemma of not being able to think of the right word or not being able to put together my thoughts on a particular topic?”

Let me try to explain the process I use by giving you two examples. The first example occurred last week and I will describe it in this post. The second example happened several weeks ago and I will describe it in another post.

Now to the first example: I woke from an afternoon nap with a melody running through my mind. I knew it was a song from the 60’s because I remember playing it as a teenager on my piano in my parents’ basement. Although I could remember playing it and hearing it on folksy radio stations of the era, I just could not remember the title or really any words from the song.

After humming the tune repeatedly, one phrase from the song finally came to me. The phrase was “jigger of gin.” I don’t know why this bit or piece of the song was the first to come back to me because I have never been a drinker. I have no idea what gin tastes like.

My wife and I had been invited out that particular night for dinner with a group of friends, so on the way to and from the restaurant I kept humming the tune silently putting the phrase “jigger of gin” in whether it made sense in the tune. When we got home that night it was too late to get on my computer to check out the phrase that was stuck in my head. I went to sleep humming the tune.

The next week morning I was still humming the tune and before I got on my computer, a second phrase and the name of the group that sang the song came to me. The second phrase was “Scotch and soda” and the group that sang it was The Kingston Trio.

I went to my computer at this point and was able to find a You-Tube video of The Kingston Trio and all the lyrics to the song, that was variously named “Scotch and Soda” or “High as a Kite Can Fly” on different websites.

So in this case I struggled trying to find an answer, until bits and pieces started coming together. When I thought I had enough bits, I enlisted the aid of the internet to fill in the pieces until I had a complete picture.

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Living with Aphasia: Loss of Control

One of the reasons that I started this blog was requests, from professionals working with persons with aphasia and their care givers, to describe what aphasia looked and felt like from the inside. I have been struggling with the following question for a couple of months. How do I express frustration without it sounding like despair or depression, and yet not minimizing those feelings of frustration?

Aphasia literally means loss of words. Practically, I have found it means loss of use or control. Ever since the earliest of times, even in the Garden of Eden, the first step to control or to use something was to name it. If I can’t remember the name of something, how can I ever expect to be able to use it or control it?

Prior to two years ago, I believed that God had given me a greater sense of freedom. If I felt the urge that it was time to change jobs within academe, I could take the initiative and try to get a new job. Today, I do not have that option. Aphasia, fatigue and age now preclude me from working at those jobs that I loved and enjoyed within the academy. Honestly, I am sad and frustrated with that prospect.  But I am not depressed, which is the question the neurologists and therapists keep asking me. I am grateful for the opportunities that have been opened to me prior to this, as well as the work that I have been able to accomplish up to now.

I also want to make something clear at this point. Although I may be frustrated, my frustration has not taken away my sense of gratitude for the life that I have lived, the work that I have accomplished, or whatever lies in front of me. A recent episode of “Criminal Minds” ended with what I found to be a thought-provoking conversation. One FBI agent was asked if the victim that they had just saved was okay. A second agent involved in the rescue responded that the victim was strong but scarred. The first agent then said, “You can’t come through something like this without getting scars. But scars only show us where we have been;, they do not dictate where we are going.” Another agent then closed the show with a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote by saying, “What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies in us.”

At times, I feel scarred, but I know it’s not the end of the road. I don’t necessarily know where the road is going. But I am grateful for the opportunity to once again play the game that my wife and I used to play many years ago when we took Sunday afternoon car rides. Whenever we came to an unfamiliar intersection, we would look at each other, pick one of the roads and say to each other, “Wonder where this road goes?”

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This Is Where It All Began

IIn the aftermath of a traumatic brain episode (a blood vessel in a benign tumor exploded creating all the symptoms of a stroke) I was left with medical and the therapeutic community described as a mild case of aphasia. I know they are correct in that assessment because I know people with severe, progressive aphasia. But for someone who lived off the use of words for 40 years, it completely changed my life.

IAs I reread it, I remembered the conversations that it engendered with my speech therapist when I first wrote it. That reminded me of a comment Glenn Fry of the Eagles made when he came onto stage after an intermission during the concert the Eagles gave during their “Hell freezes Over Tour.” He looked at the audience and slowing said, “This is where it all began.” The audience broke into applause before the band played the first note of the song, “Take It Easy.”

At another point in the concert, Fry gave a hint at the rationale of the title off the tour. He said, “Just to set the record straight, we never broke up. We just took a 14 year vacation.”

The next posting “Words are More Like Cats Than Dogs” is “Where it all began.”  As I worked with a speech therapist for months after my traumatic brain episode to try to regain what I thought was passable use of words and language, the following idea started ruminating in my head.

Words are not doing what I want them to do. They are being obstinate and doing what they want to do. Then it hit me. They are acting like cats. They don’t necessarily come to you when you call them. They come to you when they are good and ready to come to you.

As I discussed this with my therapist, she challenged me to describe the process that I was using to try to overcome this apparent difficulty.

As she challenged me to improve, she would have me do exercises over and over again. That’s when I remembered the things that I heard or had been told throughout my life time about practice. Slowly the stories about how and why practice was useful came back. As they came back, I would make notes about them. From those notes came this first essay that described my journey with aphasia.

As a number of individuals have noted, my 40 years in the academy show clearly in my writing. One editor with whom I have worked, accused me of having the Russian novel virus. I can’t say hello in less than 750 words.

However, as many within the aphasia community have read this essay, they have found it very helpful in dealing with their patients or loved ones. This past summer, Dr. Audrey Holland translated my essay into an aphasia friendly format. I encourage all of you to  look at her translation. It is found at     http://aphasiacorner.com/blog/?s=Words+are+more+like+cats

I have found Aphasia Corner encouraging and helpful. I encourage everyone I know that has the smallest tie to aphasia to subscribe to or bookmark their website http://www.aphasiacorner.com  One of the first things I learned is that I am not alone. There are many others who have been touched by aphasia.

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Words Are More Like Cats Than Dogs

Words are more like Cats than Dogs

A Commentary on Aphasia

Bayard (“By”) Baylis ?2

Aphasia is an acquired communications disorder usually as a result of a stroke or a brain injury.  It strikes approximately 100,000 Americans each year. It is more prevalent than Parkinson’s disease, but fewer people are aware of it, and fewer still familiar with it. It affects different people differently. In my case, I have difficulty in remembering words on call, and in following arguments and directions, especially verbally. I need to see something in writing to be able to digest it slowly. For someone whose life revolved around the use of words and arguments this has been difficult. The following essay is my attempt to describe what it’s like trying to work with words and arguments suffering with a mild case of aphasia.

Due to a medical episode in March, 2009 and the onset of a mild case of aphasia, I have come to the realization that words are more like cats than they are like dogs. Cats are independent and dogs are dependent. One wag put it this way: “Dogs think they are people. Cats know they are better than people.” Dogs come to you when you call them. Cats come to you when they want to come to you. That is a perfect description of words to someone who is suffering with aphasia. Words come to you when they want to come. They don’t come to you necessarily when you call them.

Aphasia can be an insidious condition. Neurologists call it a deficit. People suffering from it lack the ability to find or remember the right words on demand. Much of the time the only person that recognizes that you are suffering from it is yourself.  You know what you are thinking and trying to say, but you just can’t find the right word to express your thoughts. You go ahead and say something that still makes sense but it is not quite exactly what you wanted to say. Because you are carrying on a rational conversation, the person to whom you are talking has no idea about the battle that is going on in your mind. It is a battle of wills. It is a battle of your will against the will of the words that are locked in the recesses of your mind. Words are acting like cats and are not coming to you when you call them. Hours or days later the right word comes to you, but it is too late to put a perfect end on that argument in which you were engaged.

Arguments are like geometric solids. You should be able to pick them up and look at the various facets of an argument, just like you can pick up a geometric solid and look at the various sides of the solid.  The person who is suffering from aphasia has difficulty in doing that, at least that is what I have found in my case. In addition to not being able to find the right word to use in a particular setting, I have had difficulty in understanding how particular words used by others fit into the argument that they are trying to establish.

The human brain is a marvelous entity. Now, there is an example of what I have been trying to say. “Entity” is not quite the word that I want to use, but I can’t find the right word so it will have to do.  How do words get into the storehouse of the brain? How do we learn new words? That question has been around in one form or another for more than 2500 years. Confucius answered this way: “What I read, I forget. What I see, I remember. What I do, I understand.” Words become part of our usable vocabulary as we use them repeatedly. What is happening in the brain? Every time we use a word, either a new synaptic connection is built, or an existing one is strengthened. What appears to be happening with aphasia is that something is interfering with those synaptic connections. Part of what is marvelous about the brain is that when one route is broken, the brain constructs another route. For dog lovers among the readers of this, “There is always more than one way to skin a cat.”

How am I learning to cope with aphasia? I remember an old joke, the throw-in line from a television commercial, and a piece of advice that my Babe Ruth baseball coach kept repeating and repeating. The old joke is the one about a young musician standing on a street corner in New York City with a violin case in hand. He asks an elderly gentlemen seated in the bus stop pavilion, “Excuse me, sir. How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” The elderly gentlemen seeing the violin case, replies wryly, “Practice, practice, practice.”  You may have seen the television commercial in which an amateur softball shortstop makes a few attempts at fielding ground balls and flipping the ball to second base to start a double play.  The amateur shortstop gets it right once and an announcer says, “Amateur athletes practice till they get it right.” The scene fades out and in fades the scene of a very recognizable professional shortstop.  He is taking ground balls and throwing them toward second base to start a double play. The announcer then says, “Professionals practice until they can’t get it wrong.”

In music, and athletics, it is universally accepted that to succeed, you must practice. In education, there is a debate about how much practice and repetition is good for students. However, research in cognitive science clearly shows that for new skills and knowledge to become second nature, sustained practice beyond the point of mastery is imperative. There are three keys to remember in this statement. The first key is that to obtain mastery in a new skill or knowledge it is necessary that we must learn through practice. One undeniable aspect of practice is time on task. We must spend time doing it. How long does the professional musician spend practicing? How long do the top college basketball teams practice? Coach Izzo, from Michigan State University, is known for his foul shooting prowess and the demands on his players to be able to shoot free throws. Coach Izzo has been known to make more than 100 consecutive foul shots. How did he get to be that proficient? When he was a high school player, he missed a foul shot that could have propelled his team to a state title. He vowed that he would never be in that position again. In his spare time, he began shooting foul shots and would not quit until he made 25 in a row consistently. When he reached that plateau, he upped the number to 50, and so on. When he became a coach, he “challenged” his players to do the same. Practice, practice, practice!

So, practice makes perfect. Not exactly. The second key is that through our practice, we must reach the point of mastery. It is not enough to just practice. I don’t think that I will ever forget my Babe Ruth League baseball coach. We practiced twice a week for several hours each. He would spend the first 30 minutes of each practice session teaching us skills. The next 30 minutes were spent going over skills that we learned in previous practices. The remaining 60 to 90 minutes of practice were spent in batting practice or in running through game situations. However, no matter where we were in the practice, if one of us made either a physical or mental mistake, Coach would stop practice right then. If the mistake was mental, he would ask the involved individual what he did and what should he have done. If the mistake was physical, Coach would stop practice and have us repeat the action. We would repeat it until we got it right several times in a row. I don’t think I can count the number of times that we heard Coach say, “Practice doesn’t make perfect, perfect practice makes perfect.”

The third key for new knowledge or skills to become second nature is sustained practice beyond the point of mastery. The concert pianist practices a piece until she can play it without thinking. The fingers just go to the right keys by themselves. She’s done with that piece, right? No! If she wants to maintain that piece in her repertoire, she must continue to practice it. I remember very well a conversation I had with a concert pianist that I had asked to become chair of a music department. After three years in the job, the individual asked to be relieved of the position. This individual was doing a great job as chair, so I asked why give it up. The answer was very quick and to the point. Not enough practice time. Instead of eight hours a day, the pianist could now only find two to four hours per day to practice. That was not enough to maintain perfection in the pianist’s repertoire. Sustained practice beyond the point of mastery is the key to success in the concert arena.

Time on task! Perfect practice makes perfect! Am I just talking about music or athletics? No. I am also not just talking about those disciplines that are considered practical or skill-oriented. I am talking about learning in general. Richard Light, a Harvard professor, in his book Making the Most of College, asks the question, “What is the difference between the typical Harvard student and the typical community college student?” His answer may not agree with your intuition. He said that the primary difference is not innate ability. He suggested that there were two significant differences. The first was the expectation of necessary study time. Most Harvard students come to college expecting to study many hours a week. The second difference was that most Harvard students spent the number of hours studying that they had expected to spend. Learning is important to typical Harvard students. They spend the time necessary to learn.

In terms of my aphasia, I must spend time with words. I must use them over and over again. I must find new words or forgotten words and use them correctly.  Perfect practice makes perfect!  What kind of practice? I find cross-word puzzles helpful. I find reading helpful. However, the most helpful exercise is writing. In writing, I have to find that right word by digging around in the cluttered closets of my mind.  I must use words until I am comfortable with them and they are comfortable with me. Just like cats, they must want to come to me and stay with me.