His Lobotomy

As I mentioned yesterday, I've been reading this book by Howard Dully. Not long after I posted that blog, I was excited to see that I had a comment! The comment was from Dully himself! I thought it was a joke, but after checking out his site, it's totally legit. My own friends don't even comment here, but the author of the book I'm reading does??? Even if all he does is Google himself all day long, I thought it was pretty damn cool.

I finally finished the book last night. I say finally, but really, I read it in three days. It's just that any time I wasn't reading, I was wanting to. I've found myself a little obsessed with this story. And why? I was never lobotomized, I was never tortured by my step-mother, I never even had a step-mother, and I don't think anyone hated me as a child. But I think I resonated with the loneliness and insecurity the author always felt. No one ever told him that he was loved and I can relate to that. Even though I hear those words now, I don't remember ever hearing it as a kid. If I did, it obviously wasn't enough or not significant to me. I was a very quit child and no one really talked to me. My dad was at work and my mom was usually in bed, depressed, or working in her art studio. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't exactly neglected. I took dance lessons and had ponies and nice clothes. But I remember it was like pulling teeth to get my parents to attend my dance recitals and just do what all the other parents did for their children. I don't hold a grudge about any of that now, but as a kid, that was really confusing and hurtful. I spent a lot of time in my room, alone.

So after I finished the book I found the original NPR broadcast of which Dully's book is drawn from and listened to the 22 minute-long biography, and it's wonderful.

It's hard to imagine a time when a "medical" practice like this was normal. That no one really stood up for the victims of this procedure. Today there would be many organizations and gala's held to raise money for these people. There would be some fancy celebrity at the head of it all and one of those Lance Armstrong bracelets.

The book also made me think of my mother's brother. I never met him (though he was supposedly there at my birth), but he was diagnosed as a schizophrenic in his late teens and sent from the East Coast to live in a mental institution in Tacoma, where at 60-something, he is still living. I'm sure he is a ward of the state of Washington; a throw away. Could his problem(s) really have been that bad? It must have been sometime in the 1960's when he was sent there. What kept my grandparents from sending him to see Dr. Freeman, I wonder? Is it better to just lock someone up and throw away the key? No one spoke of him growing up. I think when my parents moved to Washington they might have tried to visit him once or twice. Maybe it was too painful.

Well, if Dully is reading this now, I would like him to know that his story really touched my heart. I know I'm not the only one. I know he's received tons of letters and e-mails telling him how brave he is. In an odd way, I almost feel proud of him. I guess I'm just happy to see that someone who endured so much has finally come full circle and has let go of the pain. I have a feeling he'll be on Oprah soon.