In late October/early November 202o, I had a mysterious eight-day struggle with debilitating migraines. I wound up in an ER for some of the worst of it. Everyone seemed to think I was being a drama queen until a neurologist came and said to a crowd of medical staff: How long has this woman been suffering without any relief? Hours, with bright lights, loud noises, and Covid all around, as it happened. But I couldn’t communicate any of that. I was alone and at the mercy of anyone who cared to pay attention — or not. Eventually I was given medicine that would relieve the symptoms. I considered it a miracle drug because it made it possible for me to offer a brief eulogy for a dear friend the next night. I had my doubts when it hurt too much to do anything but what you might imagine. I share this because as scary as it was — I was even taken in an ambulance — I’m grateful for it. It was a window into the intense suffering that people endure. If the pain didn’t subside, I would have blown a column deadline, missed a web event I was moderating, and not been able to give an albeit inadequate remembrance of my friend Andrew Walther. I’m grateful the medicine helped me get through the next day and it didn’t flare up again after the following afternoon.
In the days after, I became aware of people I work with in various ways who have this kind of unpredictable suffering flare up on a regular basis. If she says she has a migraine, I promise you she is not being overly dramatic. And my understanding is women can often develop them a little later in life. Goodness.
I was reminded of all that reading Jeff Jacoby’s beautiful and personal reflection on what Bruce Willis is facing — having had to retire from acting. He writes:
Aphasia is a disorder that robs people of their basic communication skills. It affects the area of the brain that controls language and the ability to speak, write, or understand words. Aphasia can make it impossible to remember the names of common objects or to verbalize even simple thoughts. People with aphasia may know exactly what they want to express yet be unable to articulate the words they need. They may find themselves at a loss to make sense of even the simplest written words. For anyone inflicted with aphasia, the experience can be distressing, excruciating, disorienting, or frightening. But for someone whose livelihood and persona are based on words — like an actor, a broadcaster, or a writer — aphasia is uniquely nightmarish.
When H.L. Mencken was stricken with aphasia in 1948, his friends and loved ones “were stunned by the grotesque irony of it,” wrote Terry Teachout in his biography of the towering critic and journalist. “All he could do now was sign his name, scrawl an occasional one-sentence note full of misspelled words, and recognize the names of people he knew when he saw them in the paper.” Only with difficulty could Mencken still make himself understood. He was devastated by the realization that his career was over. Above all, he was shattered by the fact that he could no longer read, and he began referring to himself in the past tense, as if he were already dead.
It isn’t only strokes that can cause aphasia. The disorder can come on gradually because of a brain tumor or a degenerative condition. It can also occur in temporary episodes brought on by seizures or, as I have reason to know, by severe migraine headaches.
I have been getting migraine attacks since I was 8 or 9 years old and am only too familiar with the pain, nausea, and partial blindness that accompany them. The very worst attacks, the ones I have always found especially alarming, also cause transient aphasia. I suddenly find that I cannot summon basic words. I am unable to understand the meaning of anything I try to read and struggle to string together even the simplest sentences. Fortunately, these episodes of aphasia usually retreat within two or three hours, but they are intensely disquieting while they last. In the back of my mind there is always the panicky thought: What if this time the symptoms don’t subside?
Once I was in the middle of a live TV interview when a migraine attack began and my words started to slip away from me. I recall trying to say something about “journalists,” but it kept coming out as “nerjalists.” On another occasion, the aphasia struck as I was taking questions from an audience after a speech. I had no trouble understanding the questions, but when I tried to formulate answers, the words kept slipping out of my grasp. The next day, I called the organizer of the event to apologize, and she rebuked me for not telling the audience what was happening at the time. “They would all have understood,” she said. (She was right: I had been speaking to a doctors’ group.)
Disturbing as such experiences can be, they are nothing next to the ordeal of someone like Willis, who is undergoing the gradual disappearance of the language and speech gifts that have been at the center of his public life and who knows they won’t be coming back. Willis leaped to fame in the 1980s, when he co-starred in the ABC comedy-drama “Moonlighting.” He portrayed the wisecracking private detective David Addison alongside Cybill Shepherd, who played his beautiful partner, Maddie Hayes. The plotlines were fine, but what made the show such a hit was the dialogue — playful, sparking, witty, arch, with lines that overlapped and threw off an endless shower of will-they-won’t-they double entendres.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” says David in one episode.
“Open up,” replies Maddie. “I’ll put ’em back.”
Tragically, there is no one now who can put back the words that Willis is losing. Aphasia is cruel to all of its victims, but I can’t help thinking that the torture is worst for those who spent a lifetime making their name with words. My heart goes out to Willis and to all who find themselves deprived of the language they always took for granted. May they be compensated for their awful loss with the love and support of all who care for them.
All those people who write columns, who entertain us — have a regular presence in the public square — they are human. And every human struggles. We forget this about our neighbor, we forget this about the people who are on our screens day in and day out, and in debates about what may or may not be a Christmas movie (Die Hard).
I’ve read Jeff Jacoby for decades and had no idea the pain he lives with. Most of us have seen a Bruce Willis movie or two and had no idea until last week what he was suffering. We usually have no idea.
Maybe the reminder can nudge us to be a little kinder to one another. And also, to appreciate one another — and say “thank you” a little more.
After a migraine attack, it might be a little consolation to read a note from a reader who shares a few words of gratitude for a column you appreciated. He doesn’t write for such things, but it can help the human being attached to the byline. Same goes for actors, teachers, parents, the person delivering your mail, and the list goes on, if we start to really think about it. The non-transactional life is worth living.
Please click on and share Jacoby’s column here.