Henry Gustav Molaison had severe epilepsy. In 1953, at 27 years of age, he agreed to undergo a brain surgery that would hopefully heal his worsening disorder. During the surgery, which had never before been performed and never again since, a large part of H.M.’s right and left temporal lobes was removed. While his epilepsy was essentially cured, his brain was permanently damaged–he could no longer commit new events to his long-term memory. Henry Molaison was frozen in 1953.
NPR did a fascinating piece on H.M. in 2007; I strongly encourage you to listen. This was the first time audio of H.M. interviews was made available to such a large audience.
I read three or four articles prior to listening, but I was extremely moved when I actually heard H.M.’s voice. He was calm, patient, and honest. Here was a man without memory. He didn’t know what happened one hour ago, much less one day ago. He couldn’t keep friends, because he would forget who they were in a matter of minutes. His doctors had to introduce themselves to him again every single morning. He had to be repeatedly informed of his own mother’s death, and each time he experienced the grief as if it were for the first time. When asked about his age, he would guess “about 30,” and be dumbfounded by the reflection of an aging man staring back at him.
Yet, he seemed to maintain a sense of humor about his situation. And even more significant was his perspective on what was happening to him. When asked “What do you think you’ll do tomorrow?” he responded, “Whatever is beneficial.” And to the question, “are you happy?”, he simply responded, “Yes. Well, the way I figure it is, what they find out about me helps them to help other people.” And it has.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard about a person I’ve never met. In what struggle of my life have I ever said, “if this ever might help someone else, I’m willing to go through it”? My trials are so trivial in comparison to H.M.’s, and yet I bear them as if they are insurmountable. My selfish heart says that I deserve better, and that things should be fair.
I must now ask myself, “What am I willing to let God do with me?” What pain am I willing to endure? And if the ONLY reason is so that someone else may be affected in a way that might help them grow, am I willing to be put through the fire? If God is trying to teach me something, am I going to let Him do what is necessary, what is best for me? Even if it hurts? Even if every day of my life is a battle? How much of myself am I going to entrust to God? What part of my life is worth clinging onto? What part of me do I not want God to use? What part do I think He is unable to use?
Am I willing to do “whatever is beneficial”?
Sources:
“The Day His World Stood Still” by Joanna Schaffhausen
N.Y. Times: H.M., an Unforgettable Amnesiac, Dies at 82
NPR: H.M.’s Brain and the History of Memory
Wikipedia: HM (patient)
