In Continuum.

The 7 Second Man

(The following is the true story,though fictionalised a little by myself,the story of the 7 Second Man - Clive Wearing)

"Himmelhoch jauchzend, zu Tode betrubt..." --- Goethe

In the summer of 1985,deep in the dark corners of Clive Wearing's mind,a monster woke up from its hibernation.It stretched,yawned,and along with the red-blood cells in his body,he travelled through Clive' body,watching as it went by,looking for the next spot for his next hibernation,that is going to be the longest,and in a way shortest,hibernation it is ever going to get.

In the summer of 1985,Clive Wearing,a British Musicologist and Conductor came home to his lovely wife Deborah,complaining about a splitting headache.They took no heed of it,siting it to syntomes of flu and cold.This continued to the next morning,and Deborah was shocked to find Clive's teeth chattering uncontrollably,and when asked to call her at the office if he felt unwell,he told he that he couldnt remember her office's number,despite having called the number everyday since the day they got married,18 months ago.On the sheet of paper where Deborah wrote the office's number,Clive wrote "Deborah Wearing",as if he didnt know her at all.

The monster reached the gates of Hippocampus,and before the guards of the temple he yelled,"My name is Herpes!Herpes Simplex,and i am here to destroy Clive Wearing".From his bag he then hooked out a sword,long and terrible to behold.Upon the sword,deeply carved into the blades,the word "Encephalitis".Herpes went on killing the guards before the Temple of Hippocampus,leaving behind a trail of blood and mess,amongst those,leaking from the walls of the tmeple,Clive Wearing's memories...

Clive Wearing reached the hospital with his wife Deborah,with his head burning to a staggering 104 Fahrenheit,all the time hand in hand with his wife,unwilling to let her go."Don't let me go Deborah",he whispered."Stay with me." Clive slipped in and out of consciousness,and everytime he did so a part of the old Clive left him,drained into the gutters of his mind along with the blood of the guards before the temple,and as the Neuroanatomic area of his brain disintegrated under the sword of the mighty Herpes,Encephalitis.

Eleven hours later,the doctor informed Deborah of the nature of the virus,Herpes Simplex.It remains in hibernation most of its life,and springs to life to attack a host of the virus.Though it rarely reaches the brain,once it does it will attack the Neuroanatomic area of the host's brain,causing acute and long lasting case of anterograde amnesia,the disease whereby the memory of a person is wiped out,and at the same time unable to create brand new memories.In the summer of 1985,Deborah was first introduced to the term "Encephalitis",the word so deadly,that took her beloved husband away,and almost her own life as well as she recalled the times when she called the suicide hotline."It wasnt because i wanted to die," she said."I just didnt know how to live anymore."

Deborah moved to Manhattan in 1987,after two years of Clive caring.She admitted dating a man or two,but none of those ever worked out.She couldnt leave Clive behind,missing "the Cliveness of Clive",she later mentioned.She never considered suicide,but never thought much about living her life either.Clive was in a serious state of Encephalitis,losing much of his memory to the disease.At times,he would act like a child and jump out of closets to frighten people.At other times,he would be frustrated with himself,for not being able to remember the slightest details of his past,his life.There was once when he banged a nurse's head against the wall in the hospital,and even threw Deborah to the ground once.But Deborah survived through it all,and returned to Britian,to his husband,eventually.

Love conquers all,they always say.And the days,or rather the seconds without Deborah was dreadful for Clive.There would be no life in his eyes,telling people that he hasnt seen anybody for the past twenty years.His habits and information remains back on that fateful day in 1985,and his days darkened with the absence of his wife,despite not knowing full well that his wife was always around for him.He kept a diary soon after contracting the disease,and because he his memory spanned never more than seven seconds,he would cross out the previous entry(Which is usually a couple of words long at the most),since he doesnt remember writing those words,and dismisses them as untrue.

(A quote from Clive's diary)

8:31 AM: Now I am really, completely awake.

9:06 AM: Now I am perfectly, overwhelmingly awake.

9:34 AM: Now I am superlatively, actually awake.

Clive's world revolved around every seven seconds of his life.In fact,his brain would restart every seven seconds,even in his sleep.And he would be wide awake for a few seconds every night,and falling back to sleep,only to awake again a few seconds later.However,despite the disease,Clive's ability as an musician remained with him.That is because the cerebellum,which is responsible for the maintenance of procedural memory,was to no extent damaged by the virus.There were times when Deborah would bring Clive to a chapel,and there before a piece of music,Clive would start playing the music on the piano.Nonetheless,as soon as the music stops,Clive forgets that he has just played and starts shaking spasmodically. These jerkings are physical signs of an inability to control his emotions,stemming from the damage to his inferior frontal lobe. Unable to comprehend its structural deficiency, his brain is still trying to fire information in the form of action potentials to neurostructures that no longer exist,thus causing the encephalic electrical disturbance that leads to fits like those experienced by persons suffering from severe epilepsy.

Whenever Doborah enters a room,the light would return to Clive's eyes,telling everybody just how beautiful his wife is."You are gorgeous,i love you" he would say,spinning his wife around on her feet.She would giggle,and return Clive with a kiss on the lips.Love prevailed,despite the destruction of Clive's previous memories,and the inability to create more memories.It is a wonder,that despite the loss of his memories,he remembers the love he had for his wife,and whenever she appears he would be pulled from his abyss of depression,and proclaim to the world just how much he loved his wife.

"The most important things cannot be spoken; that's why there's music," Clive once said to Deborah,when they were still dating.That sustained Deborah through the years,the years of losing Clive every seven seconds,repeatedly."He gives me unconditional love, undivided support, his whole attention," she continues. "When we are together, his every other thought is of me. How many women can say that about their husbands?"

On a recent weekend, Deborah pays Clive a visit just before lunchtime. In his room are photographs of his life before he became an amnesiac - Clive conducting an orchestra, his wedding. They are intended to help habituate him with himself. The white sofa, in front of the window overlooking the garden, was a wedding gift to the couple; the Shaker chest of drawers is from their former home together.

The room also holds a piano and a small organ. Clive sits down to play and, to the unschooled ear, sounds extremely accomplished. "He makes errors now in timing, which he'd never have done before," Deborah says. Sliding onto the piano bench next to him, one arm around his waist, she picks up some sheet music and places it in front of her husband. As his fingers ripple across the keys, she looks at him adoringly, and begins to sing one of Schubert's lieder in accompaniment.

"On top of the world, or in the depths of despair..." --- Goethe