The Case of T.P. Wallace
Chapter One
“Sir, could you tell me what your name is?”
As I bring the man in the ER examination room, I slowly look at the man’s brain scan once more. The brain has been staggerly divided by the splitting of his Corpus Callosum. His frontal lobe has the most damage compared to the other parts of his brain. I called for a Neuro consult about thirty minutes ago but our guy seems to have a full schedule down at the pit. I’ve read some articles and journals about split brain patients who’ve had the two hemispheres of their brain separated. All who have gone under this particular surgery suffered from epilepsy in their past. With this guy, I don’t have a clue what he is going to say about his past.
“My name’s Thad.”
“Thad,” I repeat, “what’s your last name?”
“Wallace.”
“You mentioned to me about experiencing seizures for seven months now. How often have you been experiencing them?”
“Once a week, maybe twice a month, I don’t know. I lost count after three months of having them.”
I nod slowly as I shine a light on his eyes. “Pupils are fine. Can you stand up for me?”
Thad Wallace springs on his feet with a hand on my right shoulder for support. He coughs, “I can walk, my eyes are fine, it’s just my head that’s bothering me.”
“Tell me Thad, how did this happen? Never in my years of residency have I seen a patient with his brain separated. This type of procedure only happens on our neighbor planets but not here.” Nia Desai assures her patient, “Not on Station YozMa.”
As I shine a light on his eyes again, I notice his eyes dilating. His mouth quivers into a stiff line before Thad starts to bobble his head. While circling his head, his arms begin to shake. Before I know it, Thad Wallace’s conscious state is no longer with me.
As I bring the man in the ER examination room, I slowly look at the man’s brain scan once more. The brain has been staggerly divided by the splitting of his Corpus Callosum. His frontal lobe has the most damage compared to the other parts of his brain. I called for a Neuro consult about thirty minutes ago but our guy seems to have a full schedule down at the pit. I’ve read some articles and journals about split brain patients who’ve had the two hemispheres of their brain separated. All who have gone under this particular surgery suffered from epilepsy in their past. With this guy, I don’t have a clue what he is going to say about his past.
“My name’s Thad.”
“Thad,” I repeat, “what’s your last name?”
“Wallace.”
“You mentioned to me about experiencing seizures for seven months now. How often have you been experiencing them?”
“Once a week, maybe twice a month, I don’t know. I lost count after three months of having them.”
I nod slowly as I shine a light on his eyes. “Pupils are fine. Can you stand up for me?”
Thad Wallace springs on his feet with a hand on my right shoulder for support. He coughs, “I can walk, my eyes are fine, it’s just my head that’s bothering me.”
“Tell me Thad, how did this happen? Never in my years of residency have I seen a patient with his brain separated. This type of procedure only happens on our neighbor planets but not here.” Nia Desai assures her patient, “Not on Station YozMa.”
As I shine a light on his eyes again, I notice his eyes dilating. His mouth quivers into a stiff line before Thad starts to bobble his head. While circling his head, his arms begin to shake. Before I know it, Thad Wallace’s conscious state is no longer with me.