Waiting For My Brain To Make The Switch

My fifth grade teacher had been in horribly tragic accident the year before I was in his class. He and his teenage sons were fishing off of a railroad trestle when a train came through (they were called bee-liners at the time - very fast) and killed two of his sons and took his right arm off right above the elbow. My mother was a teacher in this district so I remember hearing the play by play of the accident, seeing the pictures on the cover of the newspaper, and feeling quite scared when I found out he was to be my teacher.

By today's standards a teacher under the same circumstances would probably not be allowed back in the classroom, until much more time had passed which included years of grieving and therapy. He was man filled with frustration and anger, and rightly shouldn't have been standing at the head of a classroom of 10-11 year olds.

He struggled making the transition from right handedness to left handedness. It was hard to watch. Sometimes he wore his prosthesis, which I always called "the hook". It frightened me when he wore it and it frightened more when he didn't wear it and the stump of his arm, dangled below his sleeve. He wasn't a kind man. He was there to do a job to support what was left of his family and that was it. I almost never asked questions, but I used to watch him closely has he struggled to tie his shoes, write on the chalkboard, write with a pen or use a stapler. If I learned anything that year, it was how we take for granted the innate way our bodies function when everything is working together and nothing is damaged.

One day this teacher was having a pretty good day I guess. It was in the spring so it had been a while since his accident and the year was coming to a close. One of my braver classmates asked Mr. Lynch, what his arm felt like. I remember shuddering, wondering how Mr. Lynch would take that question. I remember him saying..."It's there, but it's not there. My brain is trying to switch." That scene stuck with me.

Recently I had a SPECT Scan of my brain. The scan showed that I have left frontal damage from Lyme Disease. The frontal lobe houses creative ability among other functions. As some of you know, prior to getting sick I owned a thriving photography business. I loved that business and nurtured it from its inception 20 years ago. It was like my third child. But it's gone now. It became imminently clear a year into Lyme Treatment that I could not longer work at it and give it the attention it rightfully deserved. I turned it over to my long colleague who had worked for me for years.

Many people ask me if I miss my business. Of course, I miss the money...for a Lyme patient that goes unsaid. But interestingly I don't miss the creative side. I don't see the visual images in my head anymore, which would lead me to pick up the camera. It's as if there is a piece of my thought process which is missing. The experts say the the brain can repair itself. My personal feeling is that the brain learns to rely on other areas for certain functions, if an area is damaged. It compensates.

So in some ways I understand what Mr. Lynch meant when he said, "It's there but it isn't there. My brain is trying to switch." I wonder what happens in the brain, and if my brain will let me see the images again. I am waiting for my brain to make the switch.