Circling the Drain

I am not sure why it matters, really. After all the years and all of our many moments together, it wouldn’t make much of a difference to him one way or the other. It will still matter to me, though. It shouldn’t, but it will. Let’s blame it on my irrational humanity.

“This is my grandson. He is my rock, you know. He is a doctor too. He is my translator; after you leave, he’ll explain everything you say so that I can actually understand it.”

He has been to the hospital 4 times in the last 8 months; I have been there with him every time. I tell him that an MD doesn’t want to hear that I am a DPT, but I think he likes to tell them that that I am a “doctor” out of spite (and a bit of misplaced pride).

Since his wife passed away nearly five years ago, he has lost over 50 pounds and his health has been in a slow, if not purposeful, decline. He has had multiple falls, fractured his pelvis, shredded 10-inches of skin off his forearm, and flirted with more nurses in hospitals, rehabilitation, and home than he could possibly remember. Each time he has bounced back stronger than his 95-year-old body rightly deserves.

He isn’t necessarily thriving, but he still lives at home and (for the most part) on his terms. My mother takes him to his MD visits. A privately-hired aide supervises his shower twice weekly. Prepared meals are delivered to his home daily. He accompanies friends out to lunch weekly and hosts regular visitors. He tells me he thinks he is doing “pretty good” for his age, which he would confess isn’t saying much when he considers how everyone that he once knew of similar age has long since died.

Last night, my phone rang. The ringtone on the phone belonged to my mother and when I looked at the time [01:17] I knew it couldn’t be good news. Of course, he was in the hospital again. This time he required an emergency surgery for a hernia.

There was no time to taper him off the blood thinner that he has been taking since his stroke 6 years ago. The pain was getting worse. He was vomiting bile. There was no other choice to be made: he was going under the knife.

I asked one of his physicians, over the phone, “What kind of hernia are we talking about here and what is the surgical prognosis?”

“It could be a simple hernia,” she replied, “or it could a strangled gut. We won’t know until we get in there. To not treat it is a painful way to die even with comfort measures. A surgical fix could be simple and a totally reasonable risk even with his advanced age and and medical problems.”

I assured the clinician that I wasn’t second guessing their expertise, only acknowledging the limits of my own and hoping for perspective. After the call ended, I sat at the edge of the bed, and – now awake – I tried to remember the last time that I visited him.

I had seen him 2 days earlier when I visited to hang new decor on the wall of his new retirement-community studio-apartment. I surprised him with a large map of the state of Virginia, where he grew up as a youth. I had hoped it would serve as a conversation-starter when guests visited his room. I recalled him standing up from his recliner on 3 separate occasions to walk to the map and point out places that he had traveled to with his family as a young boy. Most importantly, I remembered giving him a hug before I left and saying, “I love you.”

Tonight, I publish this posting from his room in the hospital’s ICU. He is fortunate –  it was a simple procedure after all. He has spent the entire day sleeping (but it is sounds better if we say that he is recovering). He is still in a lot of pain, but he is resting soundly and tomorrow they will get him out of bed to stand and walk. He has already quickly dismissed his male nurse at shift change after meeting the attractive young woman who will be caring for him for the remaining portion of the evening.

After a few more days recovering in the hospital, he’ll get to go home. Next week, he will receive home care until he is as strong as can be. Next month, he will have returned to his baseline. Sometime soon after, he will return to the hospital once again. We will bring his do not resuscitate (DNR) documentation with us and be certain that one of his two health care proxies are present or nearby throughout his stay.

I have now asked myself the same question 3 times before. Not too long from now, I will be asking myself the same question again. Maybe the next time will be the last.

“What was the last thing I said to him?”

 

Elementary Education

Three nights ago AJ fell off his swing in the backyard;  he landed awkwardly and injured his 5th finger on his left hand. It swelled instantly and – while he was trying to put on a brave face – it was clear that he was hurting and worried when he re-entered the home.

“Why does it hurt, Daddy?”

I placed him in a chair. I sat on floor beneath him. I asked for permission before manipulating his (uninvolved) right hand and fingers while I tried to explain to him what was happening.

I explained that he has all of these little “feelers” in his finger that are sending messages to the brain all day long … he wasn’t following me yet and had no idea where I was going. Time to change tactics – quick. “Don’t lose him,” I thought to myself.

I asked him to concentrate for a moment and tell me what he could hear in the room (it was a nice distraction and refocused his attention away from the throbbing finger) – he could hear the fridge running. As we talked about how it is that he hears things, he recognized that his ears hadn’t suddenly worked to hear the fridge and the fridge had been running all along – his attention had become more pointed. I told him that the “feelers” in his finger worked all day and he usually ignored them (like the fridge) unless something caught his attention…banging his finger on the ground was sudden and alarming for those feelers, just like a loud thunder clap in his ear. His eyebrows raised … now he was with me.

[forgive the homuncular fallacy] The feelers – I told him – provide information to the brain like gauges on the dashboard of a stock car … more often than not, the driver is too busy driving to pay attention to what the gauges say until the crew chief asks him to look (just like the fridge running). But, occasionally, the gauge will start to flash colors to attract the driver’s attention, like a thunder clap. Sometimes the driver needs to worry about the flashing light (“Oh no, the car is over-heating!”) or you need to worry about lightning (“I have to get inside!”). But, sometimes the driver doesn’t need to worry (“Who cares? There’s only 2 laps left.”) and the lightning is of little concern (“Phew, I ‘m glad I’m not outside, I’d be getting soaked.”). In each example, though, the flashing light or the thunder clap is almost sure to get your attention. [/fallacy]

The pain in his finger was simply his mind’s way of getting his attention so that he could figure out if something else needed to be done. Sometimes it is clear what a driver must do, other times he may not know. Sometimes he needs to ask his crew chief for advice when the gauges are confusing or he lacks confidence. I explained to AJ that when his finger hurt like it did, it can be confusing, so he asks his crew chief (me) what is going on and what he needs to do.

[He was now agreeable to me gently assessing the finger, gently moving each little joint, finding where and when his pain was the most severe while I knew that the findings of my “assessment” were extremely unlikely to change the trajectory of his care.]

He was able to understand that that he has “feelers” everywhere in his finger – I showed him a picture of nerves in the hand and explained that the feeler’s job is to inform the rest of his body/brain what is going on down there. He appreciated that if noises are too loud, he feels compelled to place his hands over his ears to protect them – the feelers don’t tell him to cover his ears, his mind simply tries to find a way to reduce the noise.

I explained how the new messages from all the feelers started after they got banged around in a way that is not at all normal (possibly “jamming” the finger) and it is surprising for all these messages to be coming from these feelers that are usually quiet. I explained that the best thing he can do for it to feel better is to protect (splint) it initially, but occasionally to move it to tolerance – after all, the first clap of thunder can be scary, but if it is a long storm, we get accustomed to the sound of thunder before the storm completely passes.

I explained how the straps that hold his bones close together can become strained and that the feelers in the straps might be sending signals to consider that the straps may need some time for repair – “Kinda like when we fix the cracks in our driveway … if you patch and re-seal a driveway, you can’t drive a car on it for a few days. right? But you can walk on it without doing any harm to it.” Again, the best thing he can do for it is to protect (splint) it initially, but occasionally move it to tolerance.

I even explained how bones can fracture, but the same process is true for bones as it is for ligaments (straps) – the best thing he can do for it is to protect (splint) it initially, but occasionally to move it to tolerance.

No matter what was happening beneath the skin, the plan would be the same and he would likely feel a little better after splinting it with a popsicle stick. 3 days later, it is still swollen and a bit black/blue, but he is moving it more freely, going to camp, and playing with his new (unpredictable) puppy. He is not going to taekwondo tonight; he can’t yet make a fist, but he is feeling better. Perhaps it would feel the same today no matter what I had said or done that night. Maybe not. I don’t know and wouldn’t dare to guess – I know better.

What I do know, though, is how cool it is to watch the anxiety related to pain fade from my son’s face after a brief 5-10 minutes of conversation. And while I doubt the intensity of his finger pain changed, his breathing quieted and deepened, he slouched in his chair, and he even grinned a bit.

Kids get this stuff – it is intuitive. It just needs to be framed appropriately.

Thanks to Bas for inspiring this post.

Midi-Chlorian Probabilities

(AJ is now 8-years-old; he is a HUGE fan of Star Wars.)

AJ: Dad…who do you think is the most powerful
jedi ever?

Me: I can’t say “ever”, because I have only watched
the films and cannot speak of any characters that
may have mentioned in the books you have read.

Okay…so who is the most powerful jedi in the
movies you have seen?

I would have to say Yoda.

I think you are mistaken, Dad; I think it is Anakin.

What makes you think that it might be Anakin?

His midi-chlorian levels are the biggest ever –
even bigger than Yoda’s.

I think your logic is mistaken, buddy – but give me
a moment to think about how I might explain why…

.    .    .    .

There are some days that I just wonder if I really know what I doing with this whole parenting-thing…then – every once in a while – there are days like these.

.    .    .    .

Did you know that Grandpa knows how to
build houses?

No, he doesn’t.

No, seriously, he does. His father was a carpenter.
Three of his brothers are carpenters and he helped
build his brother’s house and quite a few garages too.

I didn’t know that.

So, let me ask you this: Suppose I gave you the
best wood possible to build the sturdiest house you can.

Okay…

And then I give Grandpa some “okay” materials –
enough to do the job, but not as strong as the
wood that you have.

Yeah…

If I asked each of you to build a house, whose
house will stand the strongest in the wind?

Grandpa’s.

Why?

I don’t know how to build houses.

But your house has the best materials.

But Grandpa knows how to build a better house
than me.

All right, let me ask you this, then: When was
Anakin’s blood tested to determine that his
midi-chlorian levels were so ridiculously high?

In episode 1.

When he was an awesome jedi?

No…he hadn’t learned the ways of the force yet.

But if his midi-chlorian levels make his a
good jedi, then why did he need training?

Ooohhhh – because he has the potential to be
a great jedi.

Exactly. I would argue that while his midi-chlorian
levels gave him the potential to maybe be a better jedi
than Yoda, there were other qualities that he
possessed (or that were altogether missing) that
prevented him from being more powerful than Yoda.

The same thing happens all the time in life.

What do you mean?

What subject comes easiest for you in school?

Reading.

Would you say that you are a good reader naturally,
or that you have worked hard to be a good reader?

I have worked a little-bit hard, but not really
hard…more natural, I guess.

So – you are a good reader, because you had the
potential to be a good reader and you work at it and
you try to understand things more and because you
like it, right?

I guess so.

So should you ridicule a child in your class who
isn’t as good at reading as you?

No.

Why not?

Because, it is mean…and maybe it is hard for
them to learn and they are still working hard.

What if they aren’t hard workers? Should you
ridicule them now?

No.

Why not?

It’s still mean.

Maybe, but let me ask you this: You try hard
in almost everything you do. Why?

Because…I just do.

Do you think you try hard because it is natural
for you or because you have grown up in a home
with parents who have taught you the importance
of working hard?

[pause]

Both.

What if a child doesn’t have the natural ability
or desire to learn or try hard? What do they need?

Someone to teach them.

What if their parents don’t know how to teach them
and the child never learns how to work hard?

Then it’s the parent’s fault.

What if their parents never taught them?

Then it’s their fault…and then maybe it was their parents fault too?

I don’t think you can blame anyone, buddy. I would
just try to remind you that there are a lot of
things in this world that seem to happen because of
the many other things before them, and many of those
things are out of their control. The only thing that
you or I have control of is what we choose to do in
any given moment, and even our choices will be
influenced by everything that has happened to us before.

But, most importantly – that is why Yoda was a more
powerful jedi than Anakin.

So, you are saying everything is really, really complicated.

No – I’m saying it’s complex.

What’s the difference?

Not today, dude.

Not today.

Keeping House

She leaned over the railing from above, after already walking halfway down the stairs. “I am done making one bed, Daddy,” she said, “but I still have one bed to make.”

“Whose bed do you have to make?” I asked.

“I need to make Woof’s bed.”

[Brief backstory: Tori is very much into small stuffed toys. Every night for about 2 months, her favorite owl, Hootie, was tucked into a small dollhouse bed adjacent to her own and covered with an even smaller blanket. In the last couple of weeks, Hootie has lost his bed to an aptly-named stuffed dog.]

“I thought that was Hootie’s bed,” I said, purposefully antagonistically.

“Daddy, Hootie is awake at night…he is an owl. They hunt at night.” [Thanks Wild Kratts, for helping teach her about owls]

“Then you don’t have to make the bed after all. Hootie must be tired after not sleeping last night; you can just tuck him into the bed, instead.”

“Huh…” she said. She looked down to the floor, silently gazing into (otherwise) empty space for what seemed like 6-8 seconds. She was frozen in thought, perhaps even contemplation. How was she going to integrate this new (reasonable) information into her plans for this morning?

“I’m almost done making the beds, Daddy. [she turns to run up the stairs] I’ll be right down in a second.”

I laughed…I often witness the same thing in the workplace too.

A Better Father

“You are fine. Shake it off.”

.     .     .     .

Four years ago, I would have reacted differently if AJ (then 3-years-old) had begun to spontaneously limp and complain of posterior right knee pain in weight bearing and discomfort with active full knee extension.

But last night, on Father’s Day, I acted like every dad should. When Tori began to cry and limp after rising from the floor after playing with her toys, I held her in my arms, even though I knew there was “nothing wrong”. I asked her to point to where it hurt; I asked her to take my finger and point to the spot on her leg that was uncomfortable. I gently tried to help her straighten her knee without luck. We sat there cuddling for a few moments with my hands on her leg, doing nothing.

“I’m sorry that you hurt, but it is okay.
Everything is healthy and it will feel better in the morning.”

Last night, she received a playful piggy-back ride to the bathroom sink, where she stood on one leg to brush her teeth. She was tickled as she was swung side-to-side into her bedroom, giggling all the way – but she kept her knee flexed throughout. We laid on her bed, instead of sitting on the floor, to read her books before bed. She chose one story about Caillou, another about Clifford. I asked her to lay on her belly beside me and I purposefully read the stories wrong so that she could correct me (she has them memorized, after all). Before I was done with the first story, her knee was straight and she was still smiling.

After her stories were complete, I tucked her under her covers, kissed her on her forehead, and said, “Good night, hon. Sweet dreams – I love you.”

She woke up this morning and her knee pain was gone – or at least I assume it was; I didn’t ask and she didn’t limp.

.     .     .     .

She says that luke-warm bath-water is too hot, the dustbuster is too loud, the marinade is too spicy and the sun is too bright. One day she can also say that her father listens and allows her to express herself without judgement. Granted, she is only 4-years-old, and I understand that self-expression and understanding is something that she probably doesn’t appreciate today, but I know of no better way to improve her chances of having a happy and successful tomorrow.

Critical Thinking??

By the time I got home, the damage had already been done.

AJ had brought home an already-completed school assignment with a poor grade. He had shared with Kristy that he had been the first to complete the paper, handing it in to the teacher before any of his classmates. She made it very clear to him that effort is to be targeted at accuracy, not speed. AJ seemed to have gotten the message loud and clear by the time I arrived home.

I reviewed his assignment, designed to assess his reading and comprehension skills. The paper (and the 1st 2 questions that he answered incorrectly – ‘correct’ answers in bold/italics) are included here:

Sunny opened her lunch box.
“What do you have?” asked Angel.
“I have a cheese sandwich,” Sunny answered.
“I have rice,” Angel said.
“We do, too,” said Kim and Paul.
They all had rice. Kim’s rice was brown. Angel had rice and beans. Paul’s rice was yellow and smelled great.
That evening, Sunny set the table for dinner. Then she went into the kitchen. Her grandmother was cooking. Sunny wrinkled her nose.
“What are you making?” Sunny asked
“I am making fried rice,” Grandma said.
“What is fried rice?” Sunny asked.
“It is a rice dish from China, “she said. “It was my favorite food when I was your age. I ate it every day.”
“Can I taste it now?” Sunny asked.
“It is not ready yet. You must be patient and wait,” said Grandma.
Sunny settled down. “Can I watch?” she asked.
“Of course,” Grandma said. She showed Sunny everything that went into the rice dish. Sunny practice stirring the rice.
The next day, Sunny had fried rice for lunch.
“What is that?” asked him. “It is called fried rice,” said Sunny.
“Now we all have rice for lunch!” said Kim.

(1) What will Sunny most likely tell Grandma after school?
A) She never wants rice again.
B) She does not like fried rice.
C) She liked having rice for lunch.
D) Her friends made fun of her rice.

(2) The next time grandma makes rice, Sunny most likely will –
A) make a different meal for herself
B) help Grandma make the rice
C) stay out of the kitchen
D) tell Grandma to make something else

He is being graded (according to the paper) on his ability to ‘make and confirm predictions’. Perhaps…or maybe he is being taught to make dangerous assumptions about people without valid data based on intuition, the impact of peer-pressure and group think. Perhaps – as Kristy argues – this was a wonderful opportunity to learn the importance of taking one’s time…or maybe there isn’t a lesson to be learned at all.

Either way, I feel bad that I wasn’t home earlier this afternoon.

Without a Compass

Kristy came to me with a problem: there was water dripping into the basement from the floorboards above – not exactly what a homeowner wants to see, especially from a section of flooring that looks as if it might be next to the pedestal sink in the first floor bathroom.

I went upstairs and inspected the sink; there was not a leak that I could see or find. Bad news: it might be coming behind the wall.

At this point, I am stressing out. What is wrong? How much is this going to cost me? How long will it take for me to earn that money back?

I asked Kristy to stand on a chair/stool beneath the drip. My plan was to start at the pedestal sink and knock on the floor above her; she would direct me toward the section of flooring where the water was coming from. Knock by knock, I would eventually be able to find the offending area/structure.

I walked upstairs, knelt on the hardwood and knocked to the left of the sink. “No, not there,” she yelled, helpfully.

I knocked to the right of the sink. “No that is farther away,” she yelled again.

“Where should I go from here?” I shouted as I knocked again to the left of the sink.

“Left,” she replied.

.     .     .     .

My wife is a great mother and a lovely woman, but directionality is not her strong suit. She was underground and had no way to communicate with me in a way that was beneficial for either of us. She struggles to discern which wall in the basement corresponds to which wall on the outside of the home (the stairs turn 90 degrees on the way down and portions of the basement are notched as crawl spaces) and even if she knew which wall were which, she doesn’t know East from West or North from South. She had no idea of how I was positioned above her, only how she was positioned below. “Left” was the best answer she had at the moment.

.     .     .     .

What I should have done in response is clear, in retrospect. But hind-sight is 20/20 (as they say) and I was freaking out about the mounting bills for fixing this leak behind the wall – I snapped. “What the hell do you mean left?! [as I run down the stairs] How am I supposed to know how you are standing?! Left?! Really?! Jesus! Come on! Help me out, will ya?! [pointing to the south wall] That wall is towards John’s, that one [pointing to the east wall] towards Dave’s and that one [pointing to the west wall] toward Amy’s. When I knock, tell me whose house I need to move to.”

After I got upstairs, we were able to find the source…a steam mop in the closet adjacent to the bathroom wall. A little bit of water had dripped out between the hardwood. Upon closer inspection, the floor board beneath was only wet in a small little spot; the board was not wet enough to consider it a leak of epic proportions, as I had initially feared. I emptied the mop and placed a cup on the basement floor to catch the one single remaining drop of water overnight.

In the end, all that stress  that I was experiencing about what might be wrong was all for not, but that wasn’t how I felt in the moment.

I am still thinking, too, about how I communicated with Kristy in that moment. Sure, we found the source of the water, but we didn’t find a leak. I could have just as easily walked down the stairs, looked where she was standing and walked back upstairs again.

Even though I can’t fit in her shoes, I could have at least taken a moment to step out of mine to see which direction she was facing. If I had done so, ‘Left’ would have made perfect sense.

An Unforgetable Night

Tori is my gymnast. She has swung independently from monkey-bars for the last 6 months. She loves to walk up the front of my knees, thighs, abdomen and chest only to backflip while I hold her hands and return safely to her feet. Her reward for good behavior is to be spun in circles as quickly as I can spin her – she giggles and laughs more than ever when she does. She loves exploring movement and I have never discouraged it.

So, last night, when my 2-year-old daughter was bored at her 6-year-old brother’s school event and began swinging back and forth from my arm in the gymnasium while I held her hand, I thought nothing of it. With my much larger left hand holding her smaller right hand and wrist, she began walking backwards and rotating to the left. “Spin me, Daddy,” she said.

Inspired by the upcoming Olympics I gently bent down and took hold of her right thigh, just above the knee and gave my beautiful little girl a twirl – 2 times around – before gently bending forward and placing her leg back on the ground, still holding her right hand/wrist.

Then she screamed a scream that I had never heard. It was a horrendous shriek – the sound of a nervous system’s threat salience system in overdrive as her own father unsuspectedly wretched the radial head of her radius from the clutch of its annular ligament.

Immediately, she knew what to do. There was screaming, crying, and guarding – she maintained her elbow in a flexed position while she held her forearm against her abdomen. Between gasps of air, she kept repeating herself, over, and over…

“It hurts.”

“It hurts.”

“It hurts.”

“Daddy…It hurts.”

My wife and I drove her home (dropping off AJ with a neighbor), gave Tori a teaspoon of Tylenol and drove 30 minutes to the pediatric hospital. There were moments of calm – when she did not have to move her arm, while watching Finding Nemo – that were interrupted by minutes of blood-curdling screams when I took her in and out of the 5-point harness in her carseat, when she was passed from me to my wife so that I could complete the requisite paperwork at the hospital and (of course) when the resident physician reduced her dislocation.

Within 5 minutes of the reduction, she began unconsciously moving her right arm once again. She did not know that she was moving it, and the motion was subtle, but it was there. She was fine; there would be no more tears that night. 15 minutes later, she was holding a popsicle in the same hand that had been immobilized with debilitating pain only 20 minutes earlier.

On the way home I asked myself many questions, none of which have definitive answers. What impact would this evening have on her in the future? How has a predictive nervous system been primed for future events?

What would her response be the next time she came in contact with a doctor? This one was wearing a mask (a precaution during flu season if the physician can/does not receive the flu vaccine) – will she be more scared now when she sees someone else who is masked too?

What will happen when she falls in the same gymnasium 3 years from now when she is in kindergarten? Will her pain be more intense than it would have been otherwise?

Will her autonomic nervous system activity change now whenever she sees a blue popsicle?

I visualized Melzack’s neuromatrix and I imagined all of the expectations, thoughts and beliefs that were influenced by this one single event on this one cold winter night; I was dismayed. This is what it is like to be parent who thinks too much…way too much.

When we arrived home, AJ was still awake. When Tori came upstairs, her brother lept out of bed and gave her a big hug. “What happened, Tori?” he asked her. “Daddy was swinging me and I was laughing. Then he put me down and hurt me,” she said.

I am trying not to think about that.

Friday Conversation

I have recently decided to begin audio recording conversations with my kids…inspired by some the wonderful moments captured spontaneously by producers of some of my favorite podcasts (many of which I have linked to here in the past).

Two weeks ago, while at breakfast at the local coffee house with AJ (in our customary seats with our usual orders), I recorded a conversation that I would not have soon forgotten, even if the recorder hadn’t been running:

Me: So, I have to tell you something buddy.

AJ: What Daddy?

Me: I was reading something on the computer last night that was posted to facebook by someone I know in Colorado, and I thought what he posted was a great idea. Do would like to hear what the gentleman’s idea was?

AJ: Sure.

Well…what is one of the first things that I do when I get home from work?

Give me a hug and kiss?

Yes, I do that. But after that. What is it that I do after giving you a hug and kiss?

You change your clothes?

Yes…but before that I will often ask you a question about your day. I might ask you for instance, “How was your day?” or “What did you learn today?” Right?

Right.

Well, Kyle (the gentleman in Colorado) posted something that recommended that should ask you what questions you asked that day.

Why?

Because, we do our best learning when we ask questions. It is more important to ask difficult or challenging questions than it is to know a series of easy answers. Asking questions means that you want to understand something and understanding itself is a wonderful thing. So, I know if you ask a good question, you are doing your best work in school…even if you don’t learn the answer.

But I should always remember the answer, right Daddy?

Sometimes there are no answers. That is what makes the question so important.

But not as important as getting the answer right. Right?

No, you are mistaken, buddy. Let me ask you this: what does Mommy do on the computer?

Facebook.

What does Daddy do on the computer?

SomaSimple.

Do you know why I am on SomaSimple?

Why?

Because SomaSimple is filled with other people who appreciate the importance of asking questions and being humble enough to understand that they (and science) do not yet have the answers. And that is okay, so long as we understand that a good question is still worth asking.

What don’t they have the answers to?

Not ‘they’, buddy…’we’. ‘We’, human beings, don’t know all the answers yet. That is what makes science so exciting.

What kind of questions?

Well…for instance…we do not understand how consciousness happens.

What is consciousness?

Consciousness is what you feel, who you are…it is everything that you experience. What part of your body do you think is responsible for making you ‘feel’?

The brain…

Exactly, and your brain is filled with all of these little cells called neurons that talk to each other and communicate with electricity, just like the electricity in your house. You can flick a switch on the wall and what happens?

The light turns on?

Yep. So every time you see, taste, hear or experience anything, there are little electrical signals in the brain where cells are talking to each other. What we (science) don’t understand is how those little signals become something we feel and experience – what we call consciousness.

Well, wait a minute Daddy. Let me try to figure it out. (long pause of about 45 seconds) So…Daddy, I just thought that if we are like doing something, then we want to do something else, I think those little things in our brain – I think they send things into our body, because our brain is what technically sends stuff to help our body move. So, what I was thinking that those – if you wanted to do something else – those would tell your body to go somewhere else.

[I think I know what he is trying to say] That is what happens to some extent, and we understand a lot of how that happens. We just aren’t sure how those – how something electrical becomes something that you experience.

Hmmm, let me think about that, because I can think of some good answers…I just have to think.

Just so you know buddy, some of the smartest people in the world have read lots and lots of books and have done lots and lots of research and they still don’t have the answers yet.

Well, what if a kid got the answer?

Then that would be an incredibly unlikely – but still possible – and awesome outcome.

What does unlikely mean?

In this instance, it is something that probably won’t happen, because what you need to do to come up with a good answer, is you need to have a good understanding of the subject you are thinking about before you can get to the answer. So, for example, you need to understand how the nerves in the brain work first before you might understand how they might create that experience for you.

Well…again, let me say my thing…

Okay…

Where was I?

I honestly have no idea.

Daddy…I think it is our heart that tells our brain – all those little electrical things in our brain – to do everything. That’s what I think.

Well, I believe that is what they used to think many years ago, because when the heart stops working, the brain stops working. People used to think that the source of all of our energy and thoughts might have come from the heart and now they understand that when the heart stops pumping, the blood stops going to the brain; then the brain can’t work anymore because the blood is the fuel for the brain.

But I think even if the heart is beating, it can still think that it is giving the thoughts to your brain. And that is what I think.

Okay, you are thinking about this really well…and I am proud of you for that, but let me give you a little bit more information. What if I informed you that when someone’s brain is damaged, but their heart keeps pumping…they still don’t have thoughts or experiences the way that you or I would. So we think that it is more the brain that creates that experience of consciousness and feelings – beyond the heart itself. Because, if the heart itself created those experiences for you, you would still experience them even if the brain was damaged.

Well, let me say this…I was thinking, maybe if you say what you just said again, then maybe I can come up with a better answer while I am listening to you. Can you please say it again, please?

You shared with me that you thought that it might be possible that we feel and think more because of our heart than our brain. Then I shared with you that we have evidence that if the heart is working and the brain is not that people don’t feel the same things anymore. So…

But, if the heart…What if the brain was damaged and the heart was still pumping. You said that…

The body is still alive, but you don’t feel anything anymore.

Well…let me say this. I was thinking, since you just said that about the heart and the brain, I was thinking that the heart and the brain work as a team to make those thoughts together, then they send those thoughts into your body and your body does what it needs to do to…to do other things. Do you want to put that on SomaSimple and see if they think that it might be a good answer?

I think that they would be very impressed with your answer, because you are 6-years-old and you do not have any formal training in neuroscience or physiology, but other people have tried similar answers and approaches to try to find the answer, but it has proven to be untrue. But…if it is something that interests you, when you get older it can be something that you learn about or try to study. Do you know what people are called who study the brain and how it works?

No.

Neuroscientists.

Hmmmm. That’s a funny name.

Well, you know what a scientist is, and ‘neuro-‘ deals with neurons, the little electrical cells in your brain and throughout your entire body too. They are the messengers that send…

Stop…Stop…Stop. I just came up with a good answer. Since they are in your whole body, maybe the brain and the spinal cord and the heart – I was thinking – all of those electrical cells in your body must all work together – plus the heart – to make everything. You know your thoughts…

You are right. It is called embodied cognition. It means that your thoughts and experiences cannot be separated from your body. Not just your brain. Not just your heart. Everything. That is a term that I still don’t fully appreciate or understand, but that I was first introduced to on SomaSimple.

Did anyone ever post that on there, because that could be a pretty good answer to a question.

You are right…it is definitely part of the answer. But, again, what we don’t understand is – ugh, I am trying to think of a good example for you.

Just put it in the same words that you therapists express it and I’ll try to give you the other part of the answer.

Well, often we do better explaining things through metaphor, which are stories or examples of things that are similar. So, for instance, the electrical signals in your brain are (at a small level) kinda like lightning. But those electrical signals not only help your muscles move…they also give you your experience. They help you see. They help you hear…

Stop. I think the whole body, plus the heart…

Don’t forget the heart is part of the body.

Okay…I think they all work together to make you see, hear, move, chew, even grow teeth. So…that might be another half of the answer. Do you think that could be another part of the answer?

I think so…but that still doesn’t explain how a bolt of lightning can make a movie happen.

What do you mean ‘a movie’?

When you see with your eyes, you see the whole coffee house, all the people. You see the blue walls and all the Christmas ornaments and decorations. There is a movie happening right in front of you..

Yeah, yeah.

That movie is happening because you have all of these little electrical signals happening in your brain. So on a much larger scale, if a flash of lightning happened and a movie suddenly appeared in the sky, we wouldn’t know how to explain that, but that is what happens every moment that we are awake and every moment that we are dreaming. Those little lightning flashes inside your brain are creating for you an experience that we just don’t understand yet.

Alright, so…wait…well, maybe you could just give SomaSimple part of the answer. Maybe they would think that that could be half of the answer.

And maybe they could build on it?

Uh-huh.

That, my friend, is science. Science is when one person finds a small piece of answer and another person finds a small piece of an answer and they – over time, years and lifetimes – people will take all of those little answers or puzzle pieces and put them together to develop a greater understanding of the whole picture, not just little pieces of a puzzle anymore.

Well…do you want to say that on SomaSimple? Because I think that is a really good answer for part of the question.

You know what? I would love to share it with them.

Cool. I would be happy…you can do that if you want.

Sundays With Family, Pt. 23

In 1993 – as a Junior in high school – my teacher asked the class to write a paper on their version of the ‘American Dream’. The radio stations were playing Ugly Kid Joe, and although I had never heard of Harry Chapin, my dream had already been shaped. My goal wasn’t to provide my own family with more than my father had provided his; my ‘American Dream’ was to provide the same things more easily.

My father was (and still is) a working man’s man. With only a sub-standard high school education coupled with a lot of practical know-how and a strong work ethic, he has since worked his way to a very comfortable life for he and his family. He paid a price for this comfort, however, and even at the age of 16 years, I understood what the job had done to him.

When you comin’ home, dad, I don’t know when, 
But we’ll get together then, Son,
You know we’ll have a good time then.

While I was wearing new sneakers (riding the pine for the basketball team), he was working the night shift. When I was at school, he was waking up to split wood, maintain the house, mow the lawn, repair the cars, or work on the tractor. When my mother was driving me across 4 counties in a weekend to play 3 different ice hockey games, he was working overtime. When at camp learning about astronomy, my father was struggling to spend, earn and save more money simultaneously.

Dad just did what Dad had to do so that I could do what I wanted to do and become who he wanted me to be.

And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon

AJ is in first-grade now, but we continue our tradition from kindergarten, still. Two days ago, while we were eating our ‘usual’ meal as ‘regulars’ in ‘our booth’, the radio was playing Harry Chapin and I smiled. This week, I took AJ to a doctor’s appointment, made his lunch before school, walked with him to the bus stop every morning, went to his swimming lessons, read to him at night, listened to him read to me during the day, took him to the playground (twice), went for a hike at a local state park and – now – we were eating breakfast together before school. Every morning he wakes up in a very comfortable home and (like his father before him) doesn’t want for anything. When I considered all that my week had entailed, I smiled as I raised my coffee cup to my lips.

I am living my American Dream.