What if your computer missed your keystrokes whenever it was playing music? Or what if it couldn't read from the hard drive when a picture was on the screen? Or maybe every time the CD tray opened, a random window would close? Imagine that all system functions work fine by themselves, but not in combination. You would probably send your computer to the repair shop, if not the dump.
What if it wasn't your computer that acted this way, but your child's brain? Now what would you do?
My son's brain can't handle all of the sensory input his body is sending him. Caleb has Sensory Processing Disorder, the human equivalent of a computer that can't adequately multitask, or a network that drops packets when there is a lot of traffic. All of his senses work individually, but his brain loses information when they are combined. This problem wasn't obvious to us when he was younger, but now that he is in first grade, the complications are growing.
This disorder affects everything Caleb does. New situations or rooms full of people are information-overload. He needs heavy routine and structure just so that he can learn without being overwhelmed by his environment. He can listen to what I'm saying as long as he doesn't have to look me in the eye. (If I demand eye contact, it takes so much concentration that he literally can't understand my words.) If he needs to say something, the effort of self-expression shuts out everything else. He doesn't notice he's blocking the grocery aisle, or that he's hopping on one foot, or that he needs to use the bathroom.
Caleb lives in the abstract, because the concrete world just doesn'tmean much to him. He is the epitome of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes;
reality competes with (and often loses to) his vivid imagination.
The conventional treatment for somebody like Caleb is occupational therapy, coping strategies, and even special education programs. But thatdoesn't satisfy me. I'm a software engineer, and I can't help but seethe human brain as a beautiful combination of software and hardware (or wetware, if you like.) It is hard to imagine Caleb in a special edprogram; he's brilliant and reads years ahead of his peers. His senses work fine individually -- just not in concert.
After reading about so-called "brain hacks" like that of Dilbert creator Scott Adams, I'vebecome solidly convinced that my son Caleb doesn't need a coping strategy, heneeds his brain to be recalibrated. With the help of some professionals and some surreal neurotechnology, I'm going to try doing just that. We're going to try to hack my child's brain.
Today our family will travel to a clinic in Boulder, Colorado to do initial tests with Caleb. The treatment itself begins in earnest next Friday, which is when the neurotech comes into play. In this multiple-part series, I'll take you with us on the journey. I don't know what the outcome will be, but we can watch it unfold together.
Mark Woodman is a software engineer who lives in Colorado. He also writes about software and technology topics at TechBrew.net.
