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Clive Wearing is a man of intrigue and talent. To the public, he is a once-renowned chorus master, conductor, radio programmer, and musicologist in London. In his personal life, he’s a husband to Deborah and father of 3 children from a previous marriage. Before tragedy struck, Clive was known to be charismatic and hard-working. He worked tirelessly and exhaustingly for his passion for music. Unbeknownst to all, he would soon become a fascination to science, music, and psychology.
The Illness
In March 1985, Clive fell ill with a brain infection, herpes encephalitis. In extremely rare cases, the virus crosses the blood-brain barrier and affects the brain; unfortunately, this was the case for Clive. The virus damaged brain regions concerning his memory, rendering him unable to retain new events and experiences. That’s not all. He also suffers from retrograde amnesia—complete memory loss of all past experiences and memories. Simply put, Clive cannot remember anything from the past, nor can he retain new experiences. He has a memory of only a few seconds. Clive’s case became one of the most severe accounts of amnesia recorded.
To understand the severity of his case, his wife, Deborah, described every blink is a new reality.
On one occasion, Clive held a piece of chocolate in the palm of his hand, and with his other hand, he repeatedly covered and uncovered the chocolate while exclaiming, “Look … it’s new!” Deborah tried to explain it wasn’t, which he ignored and responded, “Look! It’s different again! How do they do it?” Once his hand covers the chocolate from sight, it’s out of his mind.
The repeated confusion he suffered over the first several months of his illness led to agony and deep depression.
One can imagine the loss of all memory might spare Clive from psychological suffering. After all, how can he be aware of his condition if he lives in a perpetual state of new realities? This might be true if each reality meant a blank slate. However, Clive is conscious that something is terribly wrong. He senses he is deprived of a life. He feels alone and afraid of constant new realities he cannot build on. It is not the lack of memory that scares him, but the feeling of robbed life experiences. He described, “I haven’t heard anything, seen anything, touched anything, smelled anything.” “No thoughts, no dreams.” He has repeatedly expressed, “It’s exactly like being dead.”
Clive wrote in a journal to get a better grip on his days. His entries, within minutes of each other, consisted of phrases such as “I am awake” and “I am conscious” over and over again. It’s as if the new entry was the real one and the one before wasn’t. His inability to understand his journal often led to outbursts with Deborah. His writings record a life of confused torment.
VIDEO 32sec – Deborah asks Clive questions about his journal entries. Clive is confused and has an outburst.
Watch the full video posted by Real Stories | The home of award-winning and compelling documentaries you need to see.
Memories Not Lost
Deborah
As severely impacted as Clive’s memory is, he miraculously remembers Deborah; they wed 10 months before the onset of his illness. He cannot tell you what she looks like and fails to recognize her if she walks by. However, their powerful bond and undeniable chemistry allow him to remember what she means to him. He needs to experience her to recognize her. He’s so attached to her that the moment she leaves the hospital, he calls and leaves her voicemails pleading for her to visit. In one message, “Please come and see me, darling—it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.” Meanwhile, it had only been a few hours since they last saw each other.
Clive’s awareness of Deborah is incredible. However, his condition made it nearly impossible to share experiences with her. Nonetheless, Deborah hoped for a silver lining to weather the storm.
Music
One day in the ward, Clive was confused and disoriented, as usual. Deborah then discovered something new, a ray of light to hold onto.
“I picked up some music and held it open for Clive to see, and I started to sing one of the lines. He picked up the tenor lines and sang with me. A bar or so in, I suddenly realized what was happening. He could still read music. He was singing…his brain was still capable of music. When he got to the end of the line, I hugged him and kissed him all over his face …”
Suddenly, we had a place to be together, where we could create our own world…
— Deborah
Astonishingly, not only is he skilled in singing—he can still play the organ. “Clive could sit down at the organ and play with both hands on the keyboard, changing stops, and with his feet on the pedals…”
In the following clip, Deborah walks Clive to the piano, and an interaction follows. Clive is in complete denial of his musical ability. He says, “As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t heard a note of music or had any contact with music at all.” Even so, he sits down and starts conducting and playing at a mastery level.
VIDEO 2min – Deborah walks Clive to the piano, and an interaction follows.
Watch the full video posted by Mike Forte.
Music allows Clive to hold onto a memory longer than usual. A 3-minute song turns into 3 minutes of normalcy. Music is where he and everyone around him can return to a memory of who he once was at his best.
How?
There are 2 types of memory: implicit & explicit.
Explicit
Explicit memory includes memories of episodic events like concerts, weddings, or other momentous occasions. It is subjective, requires critical thinking, and can be reconstructed differently upon every retrieval. You have difficulty recalling whether you ate the chicken or fish at your friend’s wedding last year.
Implicit
Implicit memory involves older parts of the brain. It is objective and requires little critical thinking. Examples include memories of walking, swimming, or riding a bike. These memories are made through sequences and patterns that we practice, rehearse, or mimic repeatedly until we get it right. These repetitions are examples of fixed action patterns (FAP).
Examples of Clive’s Implicit Memories
Clive’s implicit memory is untouched (as is common with other brain-injury patients). This allows him to take part in procedural, fixed actions. However, his episodic memory, a category of explicit memory, is entirely affected. He can do things, yet he can’t tell you how he did them. That’s why his brain can remember and reconstruct the rhythm of walking, talking, shaving, etc. Through implicit memory, he can find locations in the house, such as the bathroom and kitchen, and the steps for making coffee.
Since music is comprised of patterns, sequences, and rhythm, it’s easier to remember. Musicians practice for years and years until it becomes implicit memory. Picture how a guitarist or pianist doesn’t need to look at their instruments when they play; their fingers glide through every key and string like second nature.
When you understand a song or melody, you can no longer separate it into fragments and forget its sequence. Your mind creates a network of connectivity through implicit memory. The same implicit network is how he remembers Deborah and the feelings and fondness he has for her. However, her face and experiences are gone.
Clive is supported by the implicit memory process when he plays the piano. Deborah speaks of this momentum as untouchable since it keeps Clive going from one note to the other. It is organized and connected. The music energizes him, and his creativity is then fully engaged. Once his performance is over, he falls back into his normal amnesic state.
These newly created, cherished moments don’t last past the final note. In one instance, when asked about the music he played moments before, Clive responded, “I haven’t heard a note since I was up; I don’t know what it’s like.” He does hear constant music in the background, but it’s coming from his mind. Clive suffers from musical hallucinations.
In a special moment in the documentary, The Man with the 7 Second Memory, Clive and Deborah visit a church where he performed a concert in 1982. Deborah tells him about his performance and how moved the audience was. Clive can’t help but get emotional as she retells the night. Despite only being temporary, Clive is touched by the memories of his most significant accomplishments.
VIDEO 1m 55s – Clive and Deborah visit a church where he performed a concert in 1982
Watch the full video posted by Real Stories | The home of award-winning and compelling documentaries you need to see.
Clive was transferred from a hospital, where he was first treated, to a more pleasant, small country residence for the brain-injured. This change of place did wonders for his quality of care and life. He is carefully attended to by dedicated staff who treat him as an individual and respect his intelligence and talents. Clive was taken off many heavy tranquilizers too. He now enjoys walking around the spacious village and has become more friendly and talkative. Due to his continued ailed condition and need for professional care, Deborah began a new life and lives about 85 miles away.
Coda
When immersed in Clive’s story, one is likely to take away the following: how many simple things we may take for granted and the power of music, even in the most diminished minds.
Clive captures this perfectly in a conversation with his sister. He tells her that he does miss his old life. She then asks, “When you say you miss your old life, what do you miss the most?”
The fact I was a musician and in love.
References:
- Sacks, Oliver. Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain. First Vintage Books, (2007)
- The Man with the 7 Second Memory. Directed by Jane Treays. ITV – Independent Television UK, 2005
- Living Without a Memory. BBC Production, 2003
