Struck by Genius: How a Brain Injury Made Me a Mathematical Marvel

by Padgett, Jason

  For this test, I was told I wouldn’t need to lie down in a machine. Instead, the TMS device, which looked like a paddle with two loops, would be placed near my head as I sat in a chair. Short bursts of current would be used to inhibit my brain’s activity in specific areas so the scientists could find the neural correlates of synesthesia induced by mathematical formulas they showed me.

  One of the neuroscientists fitted me with the world’s funkiest glasses—oversize, gray, and angular—before putting the paddle device and its inner coils near, but not touching, my head. The glasses would flash the images to stimulate my brain.

  “You look like Anakin Skywalker!” he said.

  “Now, this is pod-racing,” I joked, alluding to the sport loved by the George Lucas hero; the races had always thrilled me as a moviegoer, but they paled in comparison to this. When the neuroscientist told me he’d never actually seen a Star Wars film, I clutched my chest like I was having a heart attack. I am a devoted fan of the series.

  I had read that the TMS would be only minimally uncomfortable, but I noticed I got zapped lightly by the device. It reminded me of the time my troublesome brother hit me with a stun gun; thankfully, this was much less intense.

  When it was all finally over, I couldn’t wait to see what the tests would reveal. To be able to grasp the information, though, I first had to understand a few basics about the brain, such as the concepts of left brain and right brain. Neuroscientists have long believed that the left hemisphere of the brain is involved in processes that are analytical, logical, and detail-oriented, while the right hemisphere tends to see the big picture, recognize patterns, and contribute to creativity. Newer research on the differences between the left brain and right brain have shown that the distinctions may not be as clear-cut as once thought. And of course, both sides of the brain communicate with each other, thanks in large part to the corpus callosum, a thick band of more than two hundred million nerve fibers that connect the two hemispheres.

  This left brain/right brain stuff was important because many studies on savants have shown damage in the left hemisphere of the brain. There are a number of theories about what this means and what role it plays in acquired savantism or acquired synesthesia. Would one of these theories be the answer to the mystery of my brain?

  Some scientists claim that the left side of the brain typically inhibits, or suppresses, activity on the right side. As Brit explained it, “The left hemisphere normally keeps the right hemisphere under control, but when there is a lesion or a disturbance in the left hemisphere, suddenly the right hemisphere is ‘out of the tyranny’ of the left and can develop hidden abilities.” Is that what happened to me? Had my left brain relinquished control of my right brain?

  Other experts, such as Dr. Snyder, suggest that it’s the left hemisphere that filters out much of the raw sensory data the brain detects. So when there are problems on the left side of the brain, the filter can go on the fritz. In a 2009 paper that appeared in Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, Snyder claimed it was this failure that allowed for conscious awareness of the unfiltered material. This is in line with what Dr. Bushell said, that the human retina is capable of seeing things at the quantum level but that the brain filters out what is considered unnecessary. Had my filters been damaged, allowing the raw material to flood in?

  Brit thought there was another mechanism at work. As she had already explained to me, she believed synesthesia played a role in some people gaining access to the inner zombie calculations that most others aren’t aware of. But that’s not all. In an interview with Popular Science, she explained, “When brain cells die, they release a barrage of neurotransmitters, and this deluge of potent chemicals may actually rewire parts of the brain, opening up new neural pathways into areas previously unavailable.” Had neurotransmitters in the injured areas of my brain spilled into other regions of my brain and caused some changes there?

  Research from Dr. Treffert indicated that when some areas of the brain were damaged, other areas were recruited to compensate, which may give rise to savant abilities. However, in an article he wrote, called “The Savant Syndrome,” he noted that “no single theory can explain all savants.” Did this mean that more than one theory could apply to me? Or that something completely different might have occurred in my case?

  I was about to find out.

  When my results were in, I felt so excited. After waiting nearly ten long years, I was finally going to discover what had happened to my brain. I noticed that Brit was excited too. She said she had been waiting her whole life for a case like mine and that the results were amazing.

  As I looked at my brain scans, I saw splashes of yellow, orange, and red. These were the active areas that had lit up in response to the mathematical formulas they showed me in the fMRI. I couldn’t wait for Brit to tell me what it all meant.

  She explained it to me and later summed it all up in an e-mail to Maureen. She even published an article in the journal Neurocase about her findings.

  She started out by saying that when my brain was being scanned to detect the neurological underpinnings of my synesthesia, there was activation in some of the areas of the temporal lobes, frontal lobes, and parietal cortex, an area that most people don’t have conscious access to. She wrote, “The parietal lobe is where sensory information is integrated from various parts of the body, but more importantly in Jason’s case, it’s also where knowledge of numbers and their relations resides.” She explained that in being able to consciously access math processes, I was actually seeing behind the curtain into how math works. The areas of the parietal cortex were activated when I was looking at mathematical formulas that gave rise to fractal imagery but not when I was shown nonsense formulas.

  Hearing this news, I felt like Dorothy looking behind the curtain at the Wizard of Oz—except I was not disappointed with what I saw. What a privilege to be able to not only do math but see it at every step and even draw its geometric foundations.

  “Even more surprising is that when Jason was looking at the stimuli which give rise to fractal images in him, he used only his left hemisphere to generate the synesthesia,” Brit continued. “When he was looking at nonsense formulas, he used both hemispheres.”

  This was the reverse of what the neuroscientists expected. Ordinarily, as previous brain-imaging studies had shown, the right hemisphere is dominant in people with savant syndrome; that’s most likely due to damage to the left side. Once again, I didn’t fit the mold. Brit explained what this might mean for me.

  “Exact mathematics is much more of a left-hemisphere activity whereas approximate mathematics (how many birds on a wire, how many apples in a bowl) happens in both hemispheres,” Brit wrote. “Jason is more engaged by exact math in the left hemisphere.”

  Apparently I had received more damage to the right side of my brain, specifically to areas of the visual cortex, which is involved in detecting motion and boundaries. Because of this, there was a possibility my left side was compensating, Brit explained. She also noted that the hyperactive areas of my brain are located next to those that were injured. This is important because it fits in with her hypothesis that dying brain cells release a flood of neurotransmitters into neighboring regions that may ultimately rewire the brain. In my case, the areas that became highly active were probably right in the path of the rush of neurotransmitters.

  Finally, after all these years, I had an official diagnosis. Based on my brain scans as well as those drawings I had done months earlier, Brit found that I had conceptual, or higher, synesthesia, as opposed to the more common perceptual, or lower, form. And to the best of her knowledge, I was the first person who had ever acquired both synesthesia and savant syndrome. More than that, I was apparently the first to hand-draw mathematical fractals and the first known synesthete to see objects and formulas as fractals.

  I was so happy to know that what I was experiencing was legitimate, wasn’t mental illness, and was, in fact, extraordinary. It felt wonderful to be “proven.”
I’d never had the evidence beyond my own behavior and experiences until then. It was real; it had been proven scientifically! I’d always felt in the core of my being something like this was going on, but due to some of the reactions of others—including that nameless professor who told me there was something wrong with my brain—I’d also always had a bit of doubt. I left Helsinki for home more confident in my abilities and motivated to use my acquired savant syndrome and synesthesia for good.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Pilgrimage to Wisconsin

  I NOW FELT LIKE I had proof of my unlikely gifts. It was hard to return to my life managing the futon business. My Scandinavian journey proved to me that I had to carve out a new path in life, but I had many responsibilities I couldn’t walk away from. I now truly wanted to change my profession to something more suitable for my new interests and abilities. I also thought I needed to change my living environment. I knew there were more inspiring places Elena and I could live.

  Maureen had interviewed the savant Daniel Tammet for her first book and pointed out that he, too, ultimately left a hardscrabble working-class environment in London for greener pastures more suitable to his sensitivities. He now lives in the heart of Paris.

  He told her he felt stunted as a child due to his autism. He wasn’t very open to the world in his youth, not even the world of art. “I was very much in retreat,” he said. “But since then the evolution has been a result of a lot of work, a lot of love, and a lot of effort, and today, art plays a big role in my life—all kinds of art: painting, literature, and so on.”

  Like Daniel, I needed to find my higher ground. I found a really good salesman whom I believed I could train to take over for me in the futon stores one day as manager, and that was a huge step in the right direction. He and I began looking for some great salespeople to add to the staff. However, I was still having some health issues and trying to stop taking prescription pain medicines. Between work and health problems, I couldn’t return to school yet. There were two groups of sufferers I could relate to now: people with TBIs, and people with chronic pain who got hooked on prescription medication. These two things clamped down on my life like a giant vise.

  I wanted to continue moving toward becoming the new me, however. One thing I wanted to do to put a final stamp of approval on my acquired conditions and give me more insight was visit the man who had offered me so much hope in my years of isolation: psychiatrist Darold Treffert, the world authority on savants. I’d found Dr. Treffert to be a paternal and caring physician during our previous phone conversations. If there was one person who could point the way forward, it was this octogenarian in Wisconsin. I’m not being facetious or religious when I say that receiving a confirmation of my diagnosis from him would be akin to getting the pope’s blessing. I wanted to see him partly because he was an internationally renowned medical professional but also because I had the feeling that this was where it had all started for me—seeing him on the television program with Tammet had been my first hint that I might be a synesthete and a savant.

  Maureen made the arrangements around Dr. Treffert’s busy schedule in late October 2012 and we agreed to fly from our respective coasts and meet in Chicago. From there, we would drive the rest of the way together to Fond du Lac, a beautiful little town whose name means “Foot of the Lake” that’s situated on the southern shore of Lake Winnebago.

  We were not there long when I declared, “I could totally live here!” It is a picturesque and friendly place, and I fell in love with it.

  We planned to meet the doctor at a restaurant he’d recommended called Theo’s. I found myself a little nervous to finally greet him face-to-face. He’d examined and befriended so many extraordinary savants in his career, some four hundred in fifty years. Only thirty of them had acquired savantism later in life. He’d written authoritative books on the topic, including Islands of Genius and Extraordinary People, as well as countless academic papers. How would I measure up?

  In Islands of Genius, Dr. Treffert called people like me halfway savants—the halfway not an indicator of abilities but a reference to having fewer tradeoffs than those born with savant syndrome. Even though I now suffer from OCD, PTSD, and extreme empathy, among other things, I do think I’ve had only minor cognitive and neuropsychological reactions to my injuries compared to other savants.

  Maureen and I walked into Theo’s, and there at the bar nursing an ice water was the unmistakable white-haired man, as big as a bear and with a kindly smile. We said hello and he stood and I felt he was as large as his renown; he simply towered over us. After a warm handshake from him, I felt all of my nervousness dissipate.

  We were seated for dinner and were joined by a colleague from Stockholm, Carrie C. Firman, the synesthetic artist; she was now teaching in nearby Madison.

  It was a fascinating night: Dr. Treffert spoke on the many cases he’d had over the decades and took the time to ask about the types of synesthesia of all present. We finished up early, our bellies full of Wisconsin cheese-connoisseur favorites like Parmesan fries and beer-cheese soup. We planned to meet him at his office at St. Agnes Hospital the next morning at 9:00 for my formal interview. Then we’d have lunch at a church-turned-restaurant called Trinity and go on to his home office for further discussion.

  I was tingling when I rose the next morning, and it was not the muscle tremors but the anticipation I felt about finally sitting down officially with the dean of savants. Maureen and I made our way over to the hospital, and Dr. Treffert greeted us in the glass-enclosed, light-filled modern lobby. First he walked us into a chapel to show us the labyrinth on the floor that people use for meditation there. He pointed out how much it looked like my drawings. He was right. I had never seen a more meaningful or intriguing space; it even had a waterfall that pulled my eye as much as the geometry of the labyrinth, given how much I love to watch flowing water. We headed to the hospital library and took our seats at a round wooden table.

  We began the conversation with my talking about the night of the mugging. It all came back into scary focus as I described the sights and smells and sounds. I answered questions about my complicated family history, my previous and current interests, and my new abilities. After having me demonstrate some of my drawing ability about an hour into our meeting, Dr. Treffert paused to reflect:

  “I think your case is truly amazing: the suddenness of it; the drama of your drawings as well as your newfound arithmetic ability is in itself startling. And there is also very little tradeoff of other abilities, which I think is encouraging . . . In that sense I think you’re a really good ambassador for traumatic brain injury individuals—showing a great deal of optimism and hope and indeed overcoming what happened.”

  Listening to him made me realize yet again that I was more fortunate than many. I was also encouraged to hear that although Dr. Treffert knew I had many tradeoffs, he considered them relatively minimal.

  After lunch, we followed Dr. Treffert’s SUV, with its SAVANTS license plate, out to his home, which was set on several acres of prime woodland. When I was a kid, my dad had an RV and took my family to every state, and this part of the country was as pretty as any I’d ever seen. We passed patchwork fields of farms on the highway and soon arrived at his residence. In a clearing on one side of his house, he had an orchard filled with many varieties of fruit trees, and he took us on a walk on a trail just beyond his home, a wide, level path where a railroad track had once been. We hiked across a bridge, and ahead of us to the left was the most picturesque waterfall. Even at a late-fall trickle, it was breathtaking. I saw, within the outcroppings of the rocks there, the webby water features I began every morning with when I turned on the bathroom faucet. In this setting, they were even more tantalizing.

  Dr. Treffert walked us back to his home and gave us signed copies of Islands of Genius. I was allergic to his cat so I waited downstairs near his office while Maureen toured the inside of the well-appointed home with him and his charming wife, Dorothy. I turned to the chapter in
his book that had meant so much to me. His summary filled me with a sense of pride and wonder:

  “Acquired” savant syndrome or “accidental genius” is the most important new development in the study of savant syndrome since it was first described over a century ago. It is particularly important to note how many such cases include left (dominant) hemisphere dysfunction with the release of dormant right (non-dominant) hemisphere capacity (paradoxical functional facilitation) as opposed to development of entirely new skills. In some instances there is a noticeable diminution of certain cognitive or other abilities with the emergence of new skills (acquired savant) but in other cases only minor, barely significant, detrimental trade-off occurs and these persons continue to function at a very high level overall (“halfway” savant).

  Even though the brain testing I had undergone in Helsinki had shown that this description didn’t exactly fit what had happened to my brain, the passage still made me realize how special and rare this all was.

  We spent our last night in Wisconsin at the American Club in nearby Kohler, Wisconsin, a town named for the plumbing-and-housewares manufacturer headquartered there. Dr. Treffert should really be the governor of Wisconsin, or at least its tourism director, because he showed us so many of the highlights of his region. The American Club is a luxury spa and resort now but it was built in 1918 to house the poor immigrant workers employed by the company’s founder. As we ascended the stairs at the club, I could almost hear their weary voices echoing through the remaining exposed brick that lent so much character to the place.