INNER LIFE
A friend of mine is recovering from a serious illness and was, through the most critical passage of it, connected to an EEG machine.
The device linked electrodes on his skull to a large LED monitor with a built-in camera that washed his bed in cool blue light. On the screen twenty black lines ran right-to-left across a blank white field. A grainy stamp-sized live image of his face floated on the left side. And
a list of clinical terms doctors could select from to classify his condition
ran down the right: Eyes Open, Head Movement, Awake, Talking, Drowsy, Coughing, Crying, Lethargic.
Each line on an EEG maps a brain “wave,” and together they measure neurological climate. The lines are rational and intricate, relentless, peaking and crashing, and, sometimes, criss-crossing.
When there’s a disruption in normal function, as in a seizure, the
lines spike wildly, making a dark cloud. Yet there is no trace left of even the most dramatic event; within thirty seconds one record is gone, swept away by new data emerging from the right side.
The EEG is the most lyrical graphic notation I know, full of mystery. Its lines recall, in their detail and complexity:
topography, music, calligraphy, embroidery, choreography.
At any moment my friend’s EEG seemed to reveal more deeply who he was than his face and body, stilled as they were by illness. I thought I found, within the machine’s continual stream, his memories, his breath, his
dreams, his tender broken spirit. Looking at the EEG monitor was like peering into his soul.