Aufklärung (![[info]](http://klab.lv/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} avralavral) rakstīja,@ 2015-06-08 16:17:00 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
fooled by the brain
I am a very visual person, and one of the reasons I believe I’m successful in the things I do is because I think things through very thoroughly, paying attention to details. Over the course of a few minutes, I visualized myself carefully and quietly getting Jenna out of the van when we arrived at the babysitter’s. I pictured myself undoing the straps of the car seat, gently lifting her out to cradle her in my arms. I saw myself cover her ear so the sound of the babysitter’s door would not wake her and I whispered to the babysitter, who I visualized wearing a black and white floral shirt, “Jenna is asleep. Can I put her in the crib so she can finish her nap?”
Somehow, and I know it is hard to understand, my brain flipped a switch as I continued my drive toward work. As the remaining 15 minutes passed, I went from knowing she was in the backseat to firmly believing she was safely at the babysitter’s. After I thought through dropping her off, I began thinking about what I needed to accomplish at work once I got there. My university’s email had crashed and I lost an important document I needed for a 10am meeting. I started thinking about how I could get another copy of the document and retrieve some of my lost emails.
I’m not an expert in how the brain works, but since Jenna died I’ve learned a little bit about how the brain processes routine behaviors and memories. I’ve learned that the part of your brain that controls routine behaviors (in my case the usual routine was to just make one daycare stop, taking both of my children to the same place) can override the part of the brain that controls newer behaviors (which, in my case, was taking the kids to different places). The change in routine plus the detailed visualization was enough to convince my brain I had done something I really had not done. This processing error allowed me to leave her in the van without realizing I had done so.
It was not unusual for me to approach the parking lot at my work without my children in the car as I often dropped them off at the babysitter’s before heading to off campus meetings and then returning to campus alone later in the day. Instead of going just a half of a block further, I pulled into the parking lot at my work confident that my valued mother responsibilities had been taken care of that morning. I took my bags out of the front seat of my car and walked into my office. It breaks my heart to think that I had a normal, productive day at work not knowing Jenna was in danger. I still wish I could turn back the clock and give my life to save hers.
One of the more painful things I heard strangers say about me once the news carried stories of Jenna’s death was, “How could you not think of your child all day? How could you forget your child?” In my mind I hadn’t forgotten her. I had misremembered. I thought she was dropped off safely. Just 20 minutes after I got to work, I emailed a friend and included a paragraph about Jenna and how big she was getting. I cleaned my office that day and hung up a new picture of Jenna and her big brother on my bulletin board. Because the babysitter would occasionally call me when Jenna wasn’t feeling well from chronic ear infections, I carried my phone with me all day. I even took it to the bathroom with me just in case I would get that rare call that one of my children needed me. I was eager to leave work at the end of the day to go get her and then my son. I thought of both the kids throughout the day. I even talked on the phone a few times during the day with my husband, never thinking that anything was amiss.
Around 4:00, feeling happy and carefree, I walked to my van, got in and started to back out of my parking space. Only then did I see by looking in the rearview mirror and the child safety mirror that Jenna was in the van. I felt horror and panic as I raced around to her door as I called 911. I knew immediately when I saw her that she had already died. I was so confused. I didn’t know who put her there so I looked further into the van to see if someone also put my son in the van. As I tried to understand what happened, I frantically searched my brain for that memory of dropping her off. When I couldn’t recall what the babysitter said to me during drop-off, it only took a moment for me to realize that I had made a horrible mistake. It is impossible to convey the depth of pain I felt. I wanted to die and felt as if I might. I barely had the ability to talk and had to lie on the ground because all of the strength had left my body. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. I felt like my life was over. I couldn’t scream or cry out, but was tormented beyond words on the inside.
http://www.kidsandcars.org
I am a very visual person, and one of the reasons I believe I’m successful in the things I do is because I think things through very thoroughly, paying attention to details. Over the course of a few minutes, I visualized myself carefully and quietly getting Jenna out of the van when we arrived at the babysitter’s. I pictured myself undoing the straps of the car seat, gently lifting her out to cradle her in my arms. I saw myself cover her ear so the sound of the babysitter’s door would not wake her and I whispered to the babysitter, who I visualized wearing a black and white floral shirt, “Jenna is asleep. Can I put her in the crib so she can finish her nap?”
Somehow, and I know it is hard to understand, my brain flipped a switch as I continued my drive toward work. As the remaining 15 minutes passed, I went from knowing she was in the backseat to firmly believing she was safely at the babysitter’s. After I thought through dropping her off, I began thinking about what I needed to accomplish at work once I got there. My university’s email had crashed and I lost an important document I needed for a 10am meeting. I started thinking about how I could get another copy of the document and retrieve some of my lost emails.
I’m not an expert in how the brain works, but since Jenna died I’ve learned a little bit about how the brain processes routine behaviors and memories. I’ve learned that the part of your brain that controls routine behaviors (in my case the usual routine was to just make one daycare stop, taking both of my children to the same place) can override the part of the brain that controls newer behaviors (which, in my case, was taking the kids to different places). The change in routine plus the detailed visualization was enough to convince my brain I had done something I really had not done. This processing error allowed me to leave her in the van without realizing I had done so.
It was not unusual for me to approach the parking lot at my work without my children in the car as I often dropped them off at the babysitter’s before heading to off campus meetings and then returning to campus alone later in the day. Instead of going just a half of a block further, I pulled into the parking lot at my work confident that my valued mother responsibilities had been taken care of that morning. I took my bags out of the front seat of my car and walked into my office. It breaks my heart to think that I had a normal, productive day at work not knowing Jenna was in danger. I still wish I could turn back the clock and give my life to save hers.
One of the more painful things I heard strangers say about me once the news carried stories of Jenna’s death was, “How could you not think of your child all day? How could you forget your child?” In my mind I hadn’t forgotten her. I had misremembered. I thought she was dropped off safely. Just 20 minutes after I got to work, I emailed a friend and included a paragraph about Jenna and how big she was getting. I cleaned my office that day and hung up a new picture of Jenna and her big brother on my bulletin board. Because the babysitter would occasionally call me when Jenna wasn’t feeling well from chronic ear infections, I carried my phone with me all day. I even took it to the bathroom with me just in case I would get that rare call that one of my children needed me. I was eager to leave work at the end of the day to go get her and then my son. I thought of both the kids throughout the day. I even talked on the phone a few times during the day with my husband, never thinking that anything was amiss.
Around 4:00, feeling happy and carefree, I walked to my van, got in and started to back out of my parking space. Only then did I see by looking in the rearview mirror and the child safety mirror that Jenna was in the van. I felt horror and panic as I raced around to her door as I called 911. I knew immediately when I saw her that she had already died. I was so confused. I didn’t know who put her there so I looked further into the van to see if someone also put my son in the van. As I tried to understand what happened, I frantically searched my brain for that memory of dropping her off. When I couldn’t recall what the babysitter said to me during drop-off, it only took a moment for me to realize that I had made a horrible mistake. It is impossible to convey the depth of pain I felt. I wanted to die and felt as if I might. I barely had the ability to talk and had to lie on the ground because all of the strength had left my body. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. I felt like my life was over. I couldn’t scream or cry out, but was tormented beyond words on the inside.
http://www.kidsandcars.org
