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Trapped by Disease

Sonya Hessey

I spoke to this man, but he never spoke back. I smiled at this man, but he did not smile back. I walked through the corridors of this man’s home, but he did not follow. I drank tea in this man’s living room, but he had none.

This man is the focus and inspiration for my creative piece. His story was told to me entirely by his wife, his main carer. He was diagnosed with Motor Neuron disease following a sudden onset of impaired speech and several episodes of clumsiness more than a decade ago. Over time, his slurred speech has degraded into incomprehensible grunts and airy sighs. He is unable to eat solid foods or drink liquids, and will soon have to obtain all of his nutrients intravenously. He is able to slowly manoeuvre around with a walking device or wheelchair, but otherwise his mobility is considerably limited. He is unable to bath himself, and dressing in the mornings is a strenuous task requiring assistance.

What had the greatest impact on me was that despite these extensive physical boundaries, inside he was alive. He could hear me, could understand me, and could feel emotion. He has thoughts, memories, values, desires and no real way to express them. I use light tones to represent the sense of mental liveliness I felt sitting next to this man. The paler areas of the painting are enveloped and pierced by dark tones in the way I understood his personality to be restrained by his physical state. Abstract shapes of varying darkness, size and texture surround the crouching human figure. The diversity of these figures represents the many different degrees and extents to which this man was trapped by his condition. From his wife’s explanation it was his loss of speech that had affected him most as it put immense strain on his relationship with her, his children and his grandchildren.

It is also significant that the human figure has his back to the drowning dark tones. I gathered a sense of fight left in this man. Although he was left with little physical ability, the disease had not overcome him. There was a life in his eyes and in the small movements he made. He and his wife even exchanged a bit of banter as she revealed his story. This continued willingness to live is represented in the painting by the remnants of light areas amongst the darker sections of the piece.

One of the grim realities of Motor Neuron disease is that it is progressive. Although the progress is slow in this man’s case, he is deteriorating. I found this a particularly difficult fate to grasp and accept as I spoke to his wife. The raised plaster creases that project from the right corner toward the figure represent the fact that his condition will continuously worsen with time. The folds covering the red ridges portray the inevitability that eventually the disease will completely consume this man.

As the home visit came to a close, the man was insistent that his wife showed us photos of his son as a navy cadet and a photo of himself in the Second World War. The man had not forgotten his past, values, or interests. I was touched by his desire to show us these things. These were the things that kept him alive inside. These were the things that Motor Neuron disease could not take away from him.

G.P. Attachment, Year One, 2011