In the Blink of an Eye
Blog7_22_2016
In the Blink of an Eye
As I wrote in My Left Shaky Foot, on my first visit to my neurologist, he pointed out to his resident student that I was not blinking. I blinked a few times. The blink was working. What was he talking about? There are so many actions and reactions that our body conducts every single minute that, if we paid conscious attention to them all, we could not function as an organism. Consider this definition of a blink from Wikipedia: ” A single blink is determined by the forceful closing of the eyelid or inactivation of the levator palpebrea superioris and the activation of the orbicularis oculi, not the full open and close.
Polley and I are perhaps more conscious of blinking than the average couple. A few years ago she was diagnosed by our optometrist with a “defective blink.” That night we opened a bottle of wine and, as the night progressed, we practiced defective blinks, slowly and spasmodically lowering and raising one eyelid, rapidly alternating closing and opening both eyelids, holding one eye shut for an inordinate length of time, etc. As the wine bottle emptied, the practice came easier, until we determined that her blink defect was not all that bad. Hardly noticeable. Of course, I took this opportunity to lord it over her that my levator palpebrea and orbicularis oculi were superior to hers.
That superiority ended with my being diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I did not have a defective blink. My problem was that I was not blinking for long stretches of time. In effect I was staring. Now there is staring and there is staring. Polley is fond of Scandavian mysteries and movies (Wallander comes to mind), so we watch many of them. There is a great deal of staring in Scandavian media….lots. I have noticed that this trend has appeared in a number of supposedly artsy American tv series. The camera cuts to a closeup of the protagonist’s face as she stares. I guess the idea behind the form is that the viewer attempts to interpret that stare (“Why is she staring?” “What is she thinking about?” “Why am I staring at her staring?”) Personally I think that all the protagonist is thinking is “Can I hold this stare for another six minutes?” and the reason for the stare is because the writers have run out of dramatic dialogue or action. “Let’s plug a twelve minute stare in the screenplay the moment the protagonist realizes that her shoelace is untied.”
That is one kind of stare—the pretentious “artsy” stare. There is another kind of stare. Most times when I looked into the eyes of my students, I witnessed an energetic galaxy. Ideas, like stars, were born and died. There was even the occasional supernova as a concept exploded into realization. With a very very few students looking into their eyes only revealed the enormous space between stars. This was the blank stare. Total emptiness of thought. This was the stare I feared I had developed with the Parkinson’s. And the problem is that I am not aware I am exhibiting the stare. There are no alarms sounding to warn me. “Hey, idiot, people are going to check your pulse! Start an animation! Blink or crinkle your nose!” Always trying to make lemonade from lemons, I am trying to find an upside to the Parkinson’s. Perhaps I can move to Sweden or Norway or Finland and become a movie star. I wouldn’t even need a Stare Coach. I might even be nominated for the equivalent of an Oscar, the Fika or the Tjock or some other cinematic award. Wouldn’t winning a Fika for staring be something? We Parkinson’s people could dominate the industry. There could be subcategories: the longest stare, the blankest stare, the inscrutable stare, the stare that confuses the viewer even more, the stare that makes the viewer change the channel.
The worst part about the staring is that without blinking my eyes dry out. And when my eyes dry out, one or both start to burn and I instinctively close them. I go blind. This is very inconvenient when I am walking down the aisles of our supermarket or tying flies for fly fishing or reading the Final Jeopardy Answer. Most of the time these blink attacks are unpredictable, but there are situations when they are more likely to occur. Outdoors when a strong breeze comes up and slinks under my glasses and immediately dries out my eyeball is one such occasion. Another is barbequing. As I lift the lid of the Weber a combination of hot air and smoke causes the blindness.
Sometimes I can feel the blink-which-precipitates-burning-and-thus-blindess coming on. I discovered that if I can try to prevent the dastardly blink I can forestall the burning of the eye, but usually the blink wins, the burning commences, the eyes close, blindness ensues. I have considered exercises to strengthen my eyelids, have searched online, and have thought about asking the attendants at the gym we frequent. No luck. No one has invented barbells for eyelids. Eye drops don’t alleviate the situation, and if I put drops in prior to an attack, they initiate the assault. I think it is a losing battle. A warm cloth over the eyes for a few minutes usually eliminates the burning and restores sight. Another fast remedy is to pull out an eyelid wipe (makeup remover), and cleanse the afflicted eye. I find this especially useful when immediate regaining of sight is imperative, as when I am going 80 on the Interstate. (For some reason I don’t get these burning eyes while driving.)
We are only aware of some of the body’s automatic functions when they break down. Only then do we appreciate how we operate on a daily basis thanks to these same activities that allow us to walk in breezy fields of grass, barbeque steaks, and beat the contestants on Jeopardy. So be kind to the starer. The galaxy in his brain might be filled with hustle and bustle but a condition causes him to stare. Put yourself in his shoes. Try staring for a while. There. Made you blink.