Not surprisingly, I have felt pretty horrible and have been undergoing therapies and tests and have been treated by a variety of medications that work to varying degrees. I’m improving with time, but I’ve lost my sense of smell and, with it, my ability to taste anything. My life has definitely been impacted by the injury and I’ve had to make adjustments and deal with a host of physical, mental, cognitive and emotional issues, many of which I never imagined I would have to deal with until old age.

All things considered, however, I was lucky. For one thing, I received immediate medical attention, and even though that initial care at the ER was deficient, I have been able to receive excellent medical care during my ongoing recovery process. In terms of the injury itself, it could have been much worse. The fracture I sustained is called a linear fracture (the least frightening type, apparently) and the hemorrhaging was not life-threatening.

I think it’s fair to say that good medical care, will-power, and the loving support of my family and friends have helped me to face the challenges and make an effort to live my life as normally as possible, even when I’d rather be taking the easy road by giving in to pain and self-pity.

But, of course, I wouldn’t be writing about any of this on my history blog if it didn’t correlate in some way to history. And I don’t know if my fortitude would be quite as strong as it is now if I hadn’t read an article in Smithsonian Magazine about Phineas Gage, a 19th-century man who suffered a much greater head injury than mine and still managed to carry on with his life as best he could. An excerpt from the Smithsonian article describes what happened:

“In 1848, Gage, 25, was the foreman of a crew cutting a railroad bed in Cavendish, Vermont. On September 13, as he was using a tamping iron to pack explosive powder into a hole, the powder detonated. The tamping iron—43 inches long, 1.25 inches in diameter and weighing 13.25 pounds—shot skyward, penetrated Gage’s left cheek, ripped into his brain and exited through his skull, landing several dozen feet away.”

Although the incident blinded him in his left eye and destroyed most of his left frontal lobe, he not only survived the injury, but even felt well enough to want to return to work less than a year after the injury. This says a lot for the remarkable medical care he received from Dr. John Martyn Harlow at a time when the study of neuroscience was still in its infancy. It also says a lot for the determination of Phineas Gage to recover and resume a normal life.

Unfortunately, one of the side effects that can occur as a result of head injuries (also known as traumatic brain injuries) is a change in personality, which can range from mild to severe. In Phineas’ case, the personality change was evidently severe enough that his former employer refused to take him back. According to The Phineas Gage Information Page from Deakin University:

“Before the accident he had been their most capable and efficient foreman, one with a well-balanced mind, and who was looked on as a shrewd smart business man. He was now fitful, irreverent, and grossly profane, showing little deference for his fellows. He was also impatient and obstinate, yet capricious and vacillating, unable to settle on any of the plans he devised for future action. His friends said he was ‘No longer Gage.’”

Phineas did not give up easily, and went on to hold various jobs, including at stint with Barnum’s American Museum in New York City. Mostly, though, he seemed to take jobs involving horses, a line of work that took him as far away as Valparaiso, Chile. Even after his health began to decline in 1859 and he moved to San Francisco to live with his mother, he still managed to find work on a farm. Ultimately, the severity of his injury won out, and in May 1860, shortly after the onset of epileptic seizures, Phineas died, just shy of his 37th birthday.

The case of Phineas Gage is certainly inspirational (and has been so to me), but – more importantly – it helped further the development of neuroscience and the understanding of how head injuries can affect or change personality. According to the article in Smithsonian Magazine:

“In time, Gage became the most famous patient in the annals of neuroscience, because his case was the first to suggest a link between brain trauma and personality change. In his book An Odd Kind of Fame: Stories of Phineas Gage, the University of Melbourne’s Malcolm Macmillan writes that two-thirds of introductory psychology textbooks mention Gage.”

For me, history has always been my passion. And although I’ve always viewed it as something to appreciate and learn from, the story of Phineas Gage helped me realize that history can also have the power to help heal.

-Tori

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For more information on Phineas Gage, I highly recommend the following:

• The article in Smithsonian Magazine that inspired me – “Phineas Gage: Neuroscience’s Most Famous Patient”
• An excellent source of information on all aspects of Phineas Gage – The Phineas Gage Information Page from Deakin University, Australia
• The book by Malcolm Macmilliam, An Odd Kind of Fame: Stories of Phineas Gage is available in paperback on Amazon.

I recently came across a post by The Rhode Island Historical Society about a gossip column called “Social Salad” that ran in the Providence, Rhode Island Sunday Morning Transcript in 1883-1884. It seems the column was comprised of one-sentence entries that could easily be the Tweets of a modern social gossip. By the look of it, some are just about as mundane and pointless as what some people post on Twitter or Facebook. Others, however, are pretty amusing. Here are some of my favorites:

• “We know a Providence business man who has one hat for wear in Providence and another for Boston.” (Shocking!)
• “A drunken Irishman who visited the Dime Museum last Monday was as mad as a March hare because he was not permitted to jab his pen knife into the superfluous head of a double headed cow in order that he might ascertain if it was alive.” (I don’t even know where to begin…)
• “Last Thursday morning in Parker’s barber shop, a man who was looking intently in the glass soliliquised as follows -’By thunder old boy I’m tickled to death with you. In fact, I think you are just a daisy!’” (I think this guy was the nut in the “social salad.”)
• “Little Charlie Northup, the two year old son of Robert Northup, is a fine waltzer, and makes successful attempts at ventriloquism.” (Does little “Chucky” have red hair by any chance?)
• “A well known business man who attended a seance at Mrs. Allen’s recently was visited by the spirit of a sweet heart who had died a year since, and was startled by some of the communications received from the departed one.” (So it’s the communications that surprised him, not the “visit”?)

Described as “Personal Paragraphs, Pungent Particularities and Points” (only Daffy Duck could do that phrase true justice) and “Newsy Leaves of Prominent Society Events Torn from The Transcript’s Note Book,” Social Salad could easily have been written by a 19th century Perez Hilton (minus the irreverent scribblings, of course). It just goes to show that some concepts are never really new.

-Tori