A Beautiful Mind?

[porphyry]

Malkhos's mind works in interesting ways. His way of thinking is so different from mine, it's amazing we get along so well. I think in a linear, sequential fashion, as if I perpetually have a list in my head that is orderly and logical--first you do this, then you do this, and so on. If I do something enough, it becomes habitual so that I don't really have to think about it.

Not him. He can do something, with my instruction, over and over again, and it never becomes habit. Also, if he thinks he's done something--washed the dishes, for example--he's done it whether reality proves otherwise, which is to say that the dishes were not, in fact, done. "I meant to do it," he'll say, completely perplexed. "I thought I did." And so, in his mind, because he thought he did, he did. I guess you could say he exists completely in his mind; never mind that it doesn't correspond with reality.

And he can't remember things that, to my way of thinking, don't even require thought. You just answer. You don't think about it at all. He'd be in terrible shape if he were in an auto accident. A protocol that paramedics follow is to ask a person questions just like that--ones that don't require thought--to see how coherent you are. Simple things like, "What month is it?" or "Who is the President of the United States?" I just hope if we're ever in an accident (heaven forbid) that I can answer the questions for him. Malkhos would have no idea. He'd hesitate, knit up his brows, and start questioning the paramedics about what such questions have to do with the matter at hand. I just hope I can answer the questions for him.

I can even predict, given my propensity for order, when he'll have trouble. Yesterday, for example, Andrew had to go to the doctor. It turns out Andrew has strep throat, which can be treated with antibiotics. So after taking Andrew to the doctor, Malkhos dropped off Andrew's prescription at the pharmacy, dropped Andrew off at home, and then went back to pick up the medicine. Malkhos was gone a long time.

"Where's Dad?" Andrew asked anxiously. He wanted to get started on his medicine because he knows it will help him get better.

"Oh, hung up at Walgreens," I said. "He'll be back soon."

"It's taking too long!" Andrew said. "They said it would only take ten minutes."

"For a normal person," I said. "I'm sure I know what the problem is."

"What?" Andrew asked.

"The pharmacist is going to ask your father, as a means of identifying that they are giving the medicine to the right person--you--when your birthday is. Possibly they'll ask him for our phone number. Those two questions will overwhelm him."

"He doesn't know my birthday? He doesn't know our phone number?" Andrew asked, amazed.

"Probably not offhand," I said.

And I was right. When Malkhos finally got back, I asked what took so long. He informed me that the first pharmacy was out of Zithromax, so he had to go to another pharmacy that did have it.

"Oh," I said. "Well, then, I apologize. I thought you'd gotten hung up because you couldn't remember Andrew's birthday."

"They did vex me about that," Malkhos replied. "At both places. That's so unreasonable."

So I was right. "Unreasonable that you should know your own son's birthday?"

He hesitated before he asked me the next question although I already knew what it was. "What year was he born?" he said.

"You don't know?" I said, unable to resist and enjoying his discomfort.

"No, I don't!"

"He was born on June 7, 2003," I said, really wanting to ask him what day of the week that occurred on as well as what time Andrew was born, two things I'd know instantly but Malkhos couldn't answer if his life depended on it.

"2003?" Malkhos asked. "Was that the year?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Well, I got the date right. I told them he was going to be seven," he said. "That should have been enough for them."

This has nothing to do with the ability to do simple math. I'm sure Malkhos wasn't even clear what year we're in now. Maybe I should call Walgreens and instruct the pharmacy to not ask questions like that. Rather, when they see Malkhos coming, they should ask, "Is the fact that IIIEnoch is written in High Church Slovonic prima facia evidence that it's a forgery?" He'd answer that right away, without thinking.

But Andrew got his medicine in the end, and I made my peace with this years ago. I knew then that this was something that could either irritate me eternally or endear me, so I chose latter. I chuckle every time I do the dishes in the morning that Malkhos thought he'd done.

Comments

[himmapaan.livejournal.com]

Oh, dear, hehe! Aw...

Although I can probably identify with a situation similar to those paramedic-type questions. Sometimes I have an almost autistic tendency to be exceptionally specific about questions that are asked of me. To use a simple example, if you asked me 'How are you?', I'd probably have to thik first just how I am and to what degree of emotional and physical wellness before forming a short and succinct enough answer for the occasion (which will also require thought), rather than simply answering: 'fine, thank you', or 'not bad', if I'm not so fine.

Of course, I don't always take it quite so far, but you get the picture. I'd have been a little puzzled too at first if I got into an accident and was asked who the prime minister was...

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

Too funny! You are of like minds, then. To him also, there is no such thing as a rhetorical answer to a rhetorical question such as "Fine" when someone asks, "How are you?" Like you, his first impulse is to consider the question. :)

Your prime minister, by the way, is Gordon Brown. Ha ha.

[himmapaan.livejournal.com]

Gordon Brown? Really?

Haha...

_{But I can safely say that I rarely believe I've already done the dishes when I have not. :P Nor am I flummoxed by questions about my family's birthdays. :P}

Glasgow Coma Scale

[benicek.livejournal.com]

I have to ask those questions at work. Rather unfair on my patients I think, and on me. We ask them what day it is. They tell me and then I have to check with one of my colleagues to see if it is true. How should I know what day it is?! I work irregular shifts and my child isn't school age. All that matters at work is the date, not the day.

As for the "who is the prime minister?" question, also rather unfair. Gordon Brown is such a dull Calvinist blur of a man. It's awfully hard to remember him. He was appointed to the job by his own party, to replace Blair, so it's not as if there was any general election victory to stick in the mind either. The transition was about as memorable as a chocolate bar rebranding itself.

Re: Glasgow Coma Scale

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

I had to ask her about what was so funny in her comment about Brown. If I had been asked who was the British PM,I would have said, "Some old crony of Blair's.'

Re: Glasgow Coma Scale

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

I imagine one could easily get mixed up on days in the hospital, either as a patient or as staff. One day must seem much like another.

When my brother was in the hospital for a long period of time, there was a dry erase board in his room, and the nurse on duty each day was supposed to write the day and date, but it wasn't done half the time. It confused me.

Re: Glasgow Coma Scale

[benicek.livejournal.com]

We used to keep white boards over each bed, on which we would write the patient's name. We don't do it any more though because it was decided that it was a security risk. Once I was talking to an amiable old Pole who had a long complicated surname. I asked him if it had been spelt correctly on his name board and he just smiled and said "actually....it is completely wrong".

[karinmollberg.livejournal.com]

Reminds me of more than just someone. In fact; a whole row of people come to mind who would act, answer and be as puzzled as that.
One of them is me.
I can do both roles though. On some days I am the all orderly person (please keep calm on the cheap places) on others I get lost and am lucky if it is merely in thought.
I have tried to open neighbours doors on wrong floors with my key (particularly informative if they are at home and open the door to see who is fiddling with the lock), lost my way in my hometown Stockholm innumerous times, panicking at having strayed from the right (my usual) path from A to B (almost like certain actors use all their skills, according to Dotty Parker) and found myself combing my hair with a toothbrush. Seriously.
The untangible quality of my impossible hair only struck me as particularly odd at looking into the mirror after a most meditative worth-while of daydreaming, eyes wide open.
However, people who do not notice when I wash up are in big trouble and fined with icy ignorance for days on end til someone notices, someone should perhaps do the washing up.
Not me, obviously.
You see, how this makes my life easier. I can always take refuge in the opposite position in case of doubt, which is often the case.

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

Clever, now. See, people always rely on me to know all these things without a doubt--causes them to rely on me too much. That's what happens when you're the unimaginative, predictable type like me. You get no adventure out of life. :)

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

Malkhos would do something exactly like you did with the movie. He'll often refer to an event that happened weeks or months ago as though it happened yesterday. However, since I have so much anecdotal evidence on the comments of this post, I'll just accept that's the way some people's minds work and stop worrying about possible early onset of Alzheimer's disease.

[siamhussein.livejournal.com]

Well, you know old chum that I'm the same way. Thank goodness my wife remembers the birthdays, not only of my parents' but of people we've only met in passing. No mystery that, when choosing the date for our wedding, I instantly seized on December 31st.