DATE OF OPERATION : 07-17-84
PREOPERATIVE DIAGNOSIS : L transposition of the great vessels, dextrocardia, double outlet right ventricle, pulmonary stenosis, atrial septal defect, ventricular septal defect, single coronary artery.
POSTOPERATIVE DIAGNOSIS : Same.
SURGEONS : Peter Mansfield, M.D.; 1st assistant Edward Rittenhouse, M.D.; 2nd assistant Kathryn Batts, Physicians Assistant.
OPERATION : Median sternotomy, cardiopulmonary bypass 2 hours and 45 minutes, body temperature 26°, heart temperature 8°, potassium cardioplegia. Noncoronary perfusion time 2 hours, 19 minutes.
I’ve been feeing irritated again with my inability to interact naturally with people, and of course I wanted metrics quantifying the phenomenon. So I headed over to Wrong Planet and stocked up on tests.
The Broad Autism Phenotype Questionnaire gives me 123 aloof, 92 rigid and 97 pragmatic.
You scored above the cutoff on all three scales. Clearly, you are either autistic or on the broader autistic phenotype. You probably are not very social, and when you do interact with others, you come off as strange or rude without meaning to.
What exactly do you do, when you realize there’s nothing seems interesting? That you don’t want to meet anyone, because there’s a limit to the elements that influence the human condition, and people are nothing if not predictable, instinctually driven automatons ultimately devoid of novelty. We’re creatures of habit, of our environment, of parenting, of any multitude within a cavalcade of influences both imagined and concrete. Yet our psychology is exquisitely unencumbered with the confusion this might imply.
It’s funny, how we grip so tenaciously to the labels that bind us. Those essentially meaningless syllables that rattle with vowels and consonants but are lost to history and tradition. Do we really identify with these words? Or are they surreal and disjointed to the majority, only accepted as society demands?
Your name is probably not known to me, though your presence be acknowledged, enjoyed, or anticipated. Regardless of your familiarity, sometimes I will forget your label, and may accidentally even use the wrong one.
What is this darkness? Can I see it, in this blackness full of light? A dawn of wonder crying softly all the while. For in those dreams of succor, there stands an empty hollow, a haunting, callow dread upon his smile.
And in that thunder of the sky which has ripped apart our souls, we lay broken on the shores of destined fate. And there’s no rest, and no release, from the torment looming here, madly thrumming in the aether like a shiver through our spines.
