“Can you repeat what you just
said? I think I heard you but I need to hear it again.” A tilting and twisting of
the head, closer attention, focus on the words that come out of someone’s mouth…it
all leads to understanding.
Recently
a friend of mine, Carolyn, shared a story from her life with me. Carolyn is a brilliant
artist that lives near Seattle. She works in watercolor and does beautiful collages.
She also works in interior design. I love her work and enjoy greatly the
pictures she shares with us. At one
point she smashed up the hand and arm she uses to create. She had a choice. Either she gave up what she
loved or learned to use her non-dominant hand to keep doing what she does well.
She chose the latter and as difficult as it must be for her, it has no detriment
on her art. She has been an inspiration
to me as I learn how to compensate for the fact that with Parkinson’s my hands
shake all of the time. Without knowing
it, she reminded me that I have done this before and I can do it again.
“Tom. Tom. Tom! Stop watching the
TV! We're trying to talk to you.”
When I
was in eighth grade my best friend, Kevin, asked me to join the chorus with
him. I said, “I can’t do that.” He said, “Sure you can. I have heard you
sing. You’re good at it.” I asked, “Are you sure?” He said, “Yes, and I’ll take
care of you. We all will.” I joined the chorus and then in high school was a
part of the concert choir. Kevin was right. People took care of me. No matter
where the director put me in the group, my big friend, Flanagan, would grab me
and move me to an end seat on the director’s left. He would say, “I think it is
better if Tom is here.” Flanagan was well-respected so the director always let
me move to my preferred seat.
My
friend, Kevin, had perfect pitch. My other friend, Mike, worked in a sound
studio. When I got a stereo as a graduation gift they came to my house with an
equalizer. They had me sit at my desk, on my bed, and other places in the room. They then balanced the sound specifically for me. Anyone else who came in the
room probably thought it sounded crazy but for me it sounded wonderful.
“Tom you are talking a bit loud.
Also try not to cut people off before they are done speaking. Just wait and
watch, and then take your turn.”
I never
learned to swim. I can enough to save my life but no more. I don’t like my face
in the water. My mother was the same way. She almost drowned as a girl when she
got trapped under a boy at the civic pool. After that she would not take a
shower or go into water deeper than her ankles. One time we were at the local swim club and a
neighbor tried to throw her into the pool. My father leaped up and yelled, ”Stop!”
He took her in his arms; she was shaking. He said, “You don’t understand.”
We all
took swim lessons at that pool until one day, crying, I said “Mom, I don’t want
to do this anymore. It makes my head hurt.” She toweled me off and said “You
mean, Tommy, it makes your ear hurt, don’t you?” I said, “Yes.” She smiled and said,
“OK, we’re done.” Later on my dad taught
me how to float on my back and to side swim but that’s all I have done since then. I will put my face in the water if I am diving or snorkeling, but I have to force myself to do it. In those cases desire outweighs duress.
When we
were in high school we had to tread water for 3 minutes to pass a swimming
class. My friend, Cheri, who I love and is like a sister to me, came and said, “Don’t be
afraid. I’ll make sure you stay afloat.” During the test, whenever I started to look
like I was sinking, she grabbed my arm and pushed me up to the surface. Cheri
has always been nice that way.
“Tom do you want a seat? There’s one on the
end?”…“No. I’ve been sitting all day. I’m fine just standing here in the middle
if that is alright with you?”
One day
I was working in the animal lab in the psychology department at Illinois. My
job was to perform lobotomies on rabbits. I cut one of their membranes and then
observed how it took for them to heal and blink again. It taught us something about
brain injuries in humans. One day a professor, Joe, who was very interested in
how senses affect psychology, came up to me.
He asked me if he could look in my ears. I said, “Sure, Joe.” When he was done, he asked me, “So, how long
have you been deaf in that one ear, and what happened?”
“Tom! Turn down your radio! We
are trying to watch a show in here!”
Joe said
to me, “Your eardrum is blown and you have major scar tissue in there.” I told
him” I lost most of my hearing in that ear when I was seven. By the time I was
13 it was gone for good.” I told him about how my siblings and I, when we were
kids living in Florida, took swimming lessons in a lake. I developed a chronic
ear infection from the bacteria in the water. It got so bad my ear would bleed
all of the time. By the time we figured
out with our doctor what was going on, it was too late. Joe shook his head. He
said, “Well, at least you compensate nicely.”
“Tom, your alarm is going off! Can’t
you hear that?”...”No, not so much when I am sleeping on my side.”
Compensation
is an interesting phenomenon. I don’t even think or notice that I can’t hear
out of one ear anymore. It is just a part of who I am. Many people have
suggested that in losing my hearing it would result in making other senses more
acute. That hasn’t really happened. The same is true with the Parkinson’s. I
don’t suddenly have bionic eyes that see long distances, a hyper-sense of smell,
or other powers. I just figure out what
I need to get done and do it in the best way I can. Compensation is really
about understanding your weaknesses and then finding out how best to do things no
matter who you are. I think we all need to do that.
Sitting in the back seat of a car. "Tom, can you hear me?”…“Yes. What
did you say?”…”I told you that I love you.” …”Good. That is all I really need
to hear.”
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