A Previous Encounter
Because of my previous experience with a colleague at work, I guessed that he was masking the tic with the cough. My colleague had confided in me that she had Tourette’s and had developed strategies to distract people when she would jerk her head and utter an involuntary sound. She had developed this technique so well that several people in our group never knew that she had the affliction.
I did not detect it until she alerted me to it and I started to observe her more closely. She managed to interact with customers and within groups with apparent ease, comfort, and self-confidence, as she did with us. She and I were part of a small circle of friends within this sales force. We were all comfortable with each other, which is why she confided in some of us, I am sure.
Upon doing bit of research, however, I find that the throat clearing may not be an attempt to cover anything. It may be part of the tic. It’s hard to tell in any case. Either way, this young man had the twitch, the grunt, and the throat-clearing going on persistently, sometimes at five or ten-second intervals and at times at longer intervals. With the first movement and sound, I knew that he had Tourette’s, and that recognition touched my heart immediately. I wanted to put my hand on this fellow’s arm and say, "It’s O.K., Son. Don’t worry about a thing. My name is Nick and I am quite comfortable sitting here next to you. If you need anything at all, just let me know. We are going to have a good flight. Where are you from?"
Of course, one just doesn’t do something like that. I could have offended him, made him more self-conscious than he already seemed. We all know that we are supposed to ignore such problems, act as though nothing is amiss and project an intense concentration on our book or close our eyes and feign sleep. Under no circumstances do we inquire, intrude, or in any way reveal awareness of the disorder or the malfunction.
Cormac McCarthy Makes It Easier
I always read on flights and I had intended on plunging ahead with my Cormac McCarthy novel, anyway. I started in and made sure that my head pointed rigidly at my book with no sideways movement at all as my young, I would say early thirty-something, traveler jerked, coughed, and grunted throughout the take off and the leveling off.
"Oh, Man," I thought. "This poor guy is going to wear himself out and coarsen his vocal chords in no time at all. What can I do for him? How can I strike up a conversation and distract him without it being too transparent?" I feared that he would not want me to make the attempt and that he would find it hurtful that I was aware and that I would attempt to intercede because I had noticed his imperfection. In my previous encounter with my friend, I had been invited in after a period of trust building. In this case, we did not know each other, we had not established trust. In addition, he was working furiously on his laptop and referring repeatedly to a notebook he kept at his side. He worked as though he was fighting a deadline and stressed about getting a project completed on time. This is not when you start chatting with someone. You wait for a pause, an opening.
I thought to wait for an opening to chat him up.
Previously, I had wondered how he could possibly relax or sleep with this affliction. I imagined that, with such severe symptoms, he would suffer from chronic fatigue because the physical exertion is significant and constant. I thought it unlikely that he had enjoyed a peaceful, uninterrupted sleep for years.
A Chat Deferred
"This is so interesting," I thought. I really do have conversations with myself like this. I even verbalize aloud. My wife and children will readily attest to it. He was relaxed and quiet now, no symptoms at all, but just a short while ago, while apparently working against a deadline, and likely stressed, his symptoms were severe enough to be distracting.
The Road captured my full attention again until I reached that wonderful point in reading when you can just doze off with the book in your lap or on your chest. What contentment. Does anything match it? At the end of my brief doze, quite ready to resume my reading, I realized the young man had resumed his work and his twitching, grunting, and coughing.
Trail Mix?
"Oh, thanks," he said, both hands full of the trail mix I had poured into them. He would be unable to return to the keyboard with his hands full of the trail mix. Had I planned that? It was either coincidental or a subconscious effort, because I'm not that smart or calculating. What made him accept the trail mix? I took it as an indication that, perhaps, he would permit some conversation.
"Long flight to have to endure airline snacks," I said.
"Yeah, really," he said.
We chatted briefly. I observed no jerky movement and no raspy, grunty sounds. He is from Boston, loves Hawaii, and goes there as often as he can. Although he was polite and didn’t seem to mind the interlude, actually seemed glad for it, I clearly understood that he had work to do and had to return to it. No extended chat would be possible.
I dove back into my novel and he into his work along with his jerking, grunting, and coughing. If Cormac McCarthy were not the great, engaging, compelling, skilled novelist that he is, I would have been quite distracted and uncomfortable. Sitting together in such close quarters, my shoulders were in constant contact with his on my right and my wife’s on my left. When he jerked, the movement travelled through the entire row. Yet, I was so engrossed in the book and Mary Lou was so engrossed in her reading that we remained mostly undisturbed.
Laptop Stowed, Seats Upright, Tray Tables . . .
After landing, as we were taxiing to the gate, he got on his cell phone, and it seemed to be a business call. Well, he sounded business-like and seemed to be in charge. He issued instructions politely and directly and he seemed to be comfortable in doing so. It appeared to be routine for him. I would say that he was in control and was symptom-free. This was in stark contrast to what he displayed while working on his laptop.
At the end of his conversation, when we were still waiting to disembark, we wished each other well before deplaning. Now, I have no way of validating this next thought; it’s just my assumption, or perhaps my self-flattery. Somehow, I think he recognized the intent of my gesture with the trail mix and appreciated it. He wasn’t starving at the time; he had just finished one of those horrible airline sandwich-wrap handouts that they pass off as nourishment. It looked big and he seemed to eat it with some satisfaction.
No, he didn't need my trail mix and he didn’t have time for a long conversation. He had to finish something that produced a bit of stress and perhaps amplified his symptoms. I think he finished the project and felt some relief and just a bit of gratitude for the presence of an older man who made a gesture with what he had available to him. I am sure it would not have mattered if it had been gold dust rather than trail mix, it would not have been more valuable. It was all subtle, but I think we both understood. I was glad I sat next to him, glad I offered him the trail mix, glad he understood. I'm still glad as I think about it.
"A nice young fella," I thought. "He seems to have it together. He seems to deal with the severe symptoms and he seems to be O.K. with the life he has. Good for him."
I observed him in the baggage claim area. His symptoms were evident again, he might have been a bit anxious about his luggage, but they were not as pronounced as they had been when he worked on the laptop.
It’s an interesting affliction, not frequently observed directly by most of us. It might be unusual that I got as intimate as I did with two different people and observed at least two others from a greater distance, a total of four separate encounters with a rare condition. If I have another such intimate encounter, I hope I have the presence of mind, with or without trail mix, to make a subtle gesture to indicate that it’s O.K., that I'm not distracted or put out, that I can patiently coexist with it as though it were nothing at all.
I became only mildly aware of his frequent involuntary twitches and sounds because I was deeply engrossed in the novel. Soon, the novel, The Road, which I highly recommend, took over. I was completely absorbed for long stretches. At some point, I paused, sat back to relax, and realized that my young traveler was quiet. Sneaking just a glance, I saw that the laptop was displaying its screen saver. His hands were in his lap, he had closed his eyes, and he looked peaceful and comfortable. I don’t know when all this happened. I was completely unaware. It did not appear that he was in a deep slumber, just eyes closed in relaxation, and I thought that interesting.
I thought that if he were to fall asleep, we would not have an opportunity to chat for a while, and thereby, I would be off the hook, not shirking my responsibility at all. If he is calm and relaxed, I don’t owe him an attempt. Cool. Back to the novel, then. After just a few moments and a few furtive sideways glances, I confirmed that he was just relaxing. There was just enough movement and shifting of position to indicate that he was not likely in a deep sleep, or not asleep at all.
Likely, on impulse, I dug out my bag of trail mix and reached over to offer him some, half expecting him to decline.
About an hour before landing, he folded up the laptop, put away the notebook, and picked up another book. I couldn’t tell what it was and I wasn’t that curious, but the symptoms did abate somewhat. However, after about ten minutes I began to anticipate the movements and sounds and when they did not occur when expected, I became distracted. Finally, he put the book away, leaned back with eyes opened and seemed to relax again. Then, his eyes closed and the symptoms slowly dissipated and finally stopped. He was not asleep, just relaxing.