Initially, I found Jean-Dominique Bauby’s “Diving Bell and the Butterfly” a harrowing description of the harsh reality of locked-in syndrome. But, on further reflection, I realize the book is, undoubtedly, a triumph of the human spirit. Paralyzed from head to toe due to a massive stroke experienced in 1995, the author ends up imprisoned in his body. He can neither move nor speak, but his mind is fully intact. Yet he did not despair. Through the blinking of the left eyelid, the patient communicates with those around him and documents his experiences before and after the immobilizing. Bauby does what the world has never heard or seen. Incredibly, he uses the left eyelid to painstakingly dictate – letter by letter – his remarkable story.
The “Diving Bell and the Butterfly” is a tale of endurance. What is more plausible than the narration itself is the existence of the essay. No one has ever written anything – leave alone a book – with the blinking of the left eyelid. Gracefully, the author bore one of the worst imaginable fates humans could ever experience. Its poignancy lies in the author’s ability to simplify an extraordinary story with a touching and skillful avoidance of the depths of despair. He accepts his new life with satirical cheerfulness and smiling qualms of an ordinary man, remembering with nostalgia the pleasures taken from him – baths, meals, conversations, and work. These descriptions provide a mixture of extraordinary sadness and beauty. When he imagines visiting his wife to “slide down beside her and stroke her still-sleeping face,” I come to terms with the realities of his suffering. When Bauby’s son visits him in hospital, Bauby wishes “to ruffle his bristly hair, clasp his downy neck, hug his small, lithe, warm body tight,” showing how much he loved and missed his family.
I found the author’s strength and refusal to yield to his “diving bell’s” loneliness the most surprising component of his story. He used beautiful memories of his past as an anchor, considering them beautiful as a butterfly. This attitude represents the author’s triumph over his life. Although the description of the grieving stages for a still alive man is heartbreaking, it teaches the importance of appreciation of life. For a man who was once the editor in chief of a popular French magazine, this drastic change represents a brutal downgrading of personal, professional, and familial hope. Not surprisingly, he infuses the final stage of acceptance with a deep sense of self-awareness, that is, acceptance of an immutable loss and transformation. On Father’s Day, Bauby spent time with his children “affirming that even a rough sketch, a shadow, a tiny fragment of a dad is still a dad.” All through, the author survives by surrendering to his destiny as a detained intellect.
The acceptance of an ill-fated destiny may have been the author’s only way out of his troubles. He mentally grasped the freedom that had evaded his physical self. Henceforth, his diving bell became “less oppressive,” and his mind took flight “like a butterfly.” In this situation, Bauby’s imagination flourished further as his body languished. Bauby’s imaginative mind took him to deep memories of the past. His musings became unexpectedly delightful, with a wit transcending the Bauby’s physical limits. Instead of lamenting over the calamity of his changed existence, the author infuses his writing with sharp humor. When his dietary intake decreases to a few daily tube feedings, he notes, “I’ve lost sixty-six pounds in just twenty weeks. When I began a diet a week before my stroke, I never dreamed of such a dramatic result.” Bauby died two days after publishing his memoir, but “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” lives on as evidence of his indomitable spirit, unending intellect, and resilience in the face of disturbing circumstances.