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3.87 AVERAGE
3.87 AVERAGE
informative
fast-paced
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
There was a lot I didn't like about this book but it was fascinating and raises a few points well.
challenging
informative
reflective
slow-paced
hopeful
informative
reflective
slow-paced
emotional
informative
reflective
fast-paced
Looking for neurological books to peruse, I stumbled upon The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks, whose title immediately caught my attention. As I read the poignant recounts of Dr Sack’s patients, I was filled with a strong desire to preserve the humanity and meaning of life of those afflicted by neurological disorders.
The Lost Mariner etched an indelible mark on me with Jimmy G., who only retained memory of his life until the end of WWII because of his retrograde amnesia. Not only did he consider himself as an assistant radio operator in a submarine for the war, but he also could not remember anything for more than a few seconds. Although there was no treatment for Jimmy during the 1970s, Dr Sack’s fellow neurologist Dr. A. H. Luria illuminated that there was only no suitable cure for the patient in terms of neuropsychology, but much could be done for Jimmy as an individual. This piece of advice taught me the holistic service of a doctor is not limited to the patient’s physical health— more importantly, she is invested into his complete betterment such that he could feel loved and fulfilled in spite of his disease. Jimmy felt disconnected with the world because of the memory loss, as well as his lack of purpose in the care home as a mathematically competent “nineteen-year-old”, so Dr Sacks tried to give him a real job in home that utilised his typing skills instead of diverting his focus with miscellaneous games requiring short attention span. What this recount has taught me is that the crux of a good treatment is the empathy to cater to the existential turmoil of patients, which doctors cultivate by actively talking to the patient and his family to understand his neuropsychological and individual needs completely.
In On the Level, I witnessed a wonderful collaboration between the patient and the multidisciplinary teams to solve the problem of involuntary tilting caused by Parkinsonism. After learning about his impaired tilting, Mr MacGregor related his affliction with his expertise in carpentry, and suggested that he would need a “spirit level” to monitor if he is standing upright. With the help of the medical staff, he was able to don a pair of “spirit spectacles” that cured his impairment. From this recount, it is clear that open-mindedness and doctor-patient collaboration are the key to streamlining the treatment for patients. This highlights how pivotal it is to conduct bedside consultations with the patients for more insights and new solutions.
Dr Sacks once questioned if some of his patients had been “de-souled” by their neurological disorders— forgetting major segments of their life, failing to recognise their loved ones, losing the ability to understand other people. What his patients have repeatedly reminded him is that no one patient can be reduced to a neuropsychological example or philosophical idea— not a Jacksonian figure nor a Humean paradigm. Jimmy G., who lost his sense of “spatial” time, could find fullness in the “intentional” time of the mass and of gardening; Martin A., who suffered from intellectual disability, served as a valued member in a local church for his expertise and devotion to Bach’s liturgical and choral music. Sacks displays that doctors are the first people to believe in the patients as ones with “feeling, will, sensibilities and moral being”, and to cater to their existential needs.
Overall, this book has been a moving read that is imprinted on my mind, for all its neurological, philosophical and literary wisdom. It is the fuel in the spirit burner that empowers readers to shine, cherishing the ephemeral light they give.
The Lost Mariner etched an indelible mark on me with Jimmy G., who only retained memory of his life until the end of WWII because of his retrograde amnesia. Not only did he consider himself as an assistant radio operator in a submarine for the war, but he also could not remember anything for more than a few seconds. Although there was no treatment for Jimmy during the 1970s, Dr Sack’s fellow neurologist Dr. A. H. Luria illuminated that there was only no suitable cure for the patient in terms of neuropsychology, but much could be done for Jimmy as an individual. This piece of advice taught me the holistic service of a doctor is not limited to the patient’s physical health— more importantly, she is invested into his complete betterment such that he could feel loved and fulfilled in spite of his disease. Jimmy felt disconnected with the world because of the memory loss, as well as his lack of purpose in the care home as a mathematically competent “nineteen-year-old”, so Dr Sacks tried to give him a real job in home that utilised his typing skills instead of diverting his focus with miscellaneous games requiring short attention span. What this recount has taught me is that the crux of a good treatment is the empathy to cater to the existential turmoil of patients, which doctors cultivate by actively talking to the patient and his family to understand his neuropsychological and individual needs completely.
In On the Level, I witnessed a wonderful collaboration between the patient and the multidisciplinary teams to solve the problem of involuntary tilting caused by Parkinsonism. After learning about his impaired tilting, Mr MacGregor related his affliction with his expertise in carpentry, and suggested that he would need a “spirit level” to monitor if he is standing upright. With the help of the medical staff, he was able to don a pair of “spirit spectacles” that cured his impairment. From this recount, it is clear that open-mindedness and doctor-patient collaboration are the key to streamlining the treatment for patients. This highlights how pivotal it is to conduct bedside consultations with the patients for more insights and new solutions.
Dr Sacks once questioned if some of his patients had been “de-souled” by their neurological disorders— forgetting major segments of their life, failing to recognise their loved ones, losing the ability to understand other people. What his patients have repeatedly reminded him is that no one patient can be reduced to a neuropsychological example or philosophical idea— not a Jacksonian figure nor a Humean paradigm. Jimmy G., who lost his sense of “spatial” time, could find fullness in the “intentional” time of the mass and of gardening; Martin A., who suffered from intellectual disability, served as a valued member in a local church for his expertise and devotion to Bach’s liturgical and choral music. Sacks displays that doctors are the first people to believe in the patients as ones with “feeling, will, sensibilities and moral being”, and to cater to their existential needs.
Overall, this book has been a moving read that is imprinted on my mind, for all its neurological, philosophical and literary wisdom. It is the fuel in the spirit burner that empowers readers to shine, cherishing the ephemeral light they give.
I remember hearing a fair amount about this book when it was published in 1985. I am a bit surprised at how popular it seems to have been considering how stiff and technical the writing and how much is philosophical speculation.
But it was worth reading, even if it took 30 years for a copy to find its way into my hands. In the original hardcover, at that.
But it was worth reading, even if it took 30 years for a copy to find its way into my hands. In the original hardcover, at that.
challenging
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
very readable and compassionate, never patronizing the reader or subjects, always warm and highly informative.
challenging
slow-paced