In yesterday’s post, we talked about the term, “proprioception,” and how this term might apply to reading outside of its traditional treatment along the physical or kinesthetic applications. If we are talking about movement at all in this two-post series, it is about movement of the spirit level of the reader who has somehow become tilted against titles–avoiding them–or titled by titles assigned to them.

To review, Oliver Sacks presents the case of a Mr. McGregor who comes into the office titled to one side. Mr. McGregor is not aware of his own tilting and by video taping his walk and conferring with his patient, Dr. Sacks is able to bring his patient to an understanding of his Parkinson’s Disease and how it has affected what Mr. McGregor refers to as his “spirit level.”

What we find from this case study is that the balancing system of the person is based upon a “triple control system.” These include the labyrinthine, the proprioception, and the visual. In yesterday’s post, we equated these with the path, the person, and the perception. Today, I’d like to extend that third “p” to the idea of the plausible. . .the possible.

In Oliver Sacks’s findings based upon this case study presented in the book, THE MAN WHO MISTOOK HIS WIFE FOR A HAT, we are privy to the idea that–while a triple control system–any one of the controls can compensate for the lacking of another. In Mr. McGregor’s example we see that his visual has been thrown off, and if you you want to see truly innovative thinking in regard to patient care, read the chapter, “On the Level” to see how “spirit spectacles” helped Mr. McGregor and countless others to find a new sense of balance.

In the case of many who have lost–either from congenital defect or surgical intervention–the sense of the labyrinthine (see inner ear) then the proprioceptive entities come into play in helping the patient to find balance. And this is often done without much intervention by an outside party. The body will walk if the body will walk. And before we judge this manner of walking which might appear titled, remember that all of our walking is a series of swings and drops, a pendulum-like action that should cause all of us to stumble and fall (see toddlers) but our compensatory systems come into play to keep us moving forward, backward, side to side.

When it looks like we should be falling, we are actually walking.

And with an appreciation of how the control systems and how they work together–and an application of what we know of the systems–we can see how it looks like should be failing but they are actually awakening to the idea of reading.

Here is what Oliver Sacks says about one of the largest propriocepter elements in the human body:

“. . .the vast latismuss dorsi muscles of the back–the greatest, most mobile muscular expanse in the body–as an accessory and novel balance organ, a pair of vast, wing-like proprioceptors. As patients become practiced, as this becomes second-nature, they are able to stand and to walk–not perfectly, but with safety, assurance, and ease” (74).

Those who read this blog or know me and my work would begin to sense that I would unpack this passage for all it is worth to the learning and reading community. And I am. I see words like, “practiced,” “second-nature,” “safety,” “assurance,” and “ease” and I think of the readers who come into, read within, and exit Room 407 each year.

Oh, and the reference to a “novel balance organ” was not lost on me either.

But it is what Oliver Sacks writes about physicians who have used innovative–read “novel”–interventions that I want to explore today. The use of lines painted in the hall to assist gait sounds very much to me like guided reading, read-alouds, and Notice & Note strategies explored by Kylene Beers and Robert Probst. The use of counterweights on belts to aide in balance sounds very much like the “reading ladders” described by Teri Lesesne and the 40 Book Challenge which invites readers to read across genres to find balance as presented by Donalyn Miller. And the loudly ticking pacemakers to set the cadence for walking sounds very much like Jim Trelease’s Read-Aloud Handbook.

But it is when Oliver Sacks lends the credit of this work to Purdon Martin that I take notice. Here, Sacks writes, “He was a deeply human pioneer, and in his medicine understanding and collaborating were central: patient and physician  were coequals, on the same level, each learning from and helping the other between them arriving at new insights and treatment” (75).

And doesn’t this sound like the wonderful work of Penny Kittle in Book Love? Aren’t these kinds of collaborations and understandings found within people-sourced platforms like #engchat, #TitleTalk, and other education-based, on-line chats. Isn’t this what The Nerdy Book Club does each day in exploring new voices, new strategies and approaches, new insights into the reading life that is poised. . .and balanced?

Sacks says that the one thing that Martin did not produce in his work was any kind of prosthetic that would aid in balance. This is where Sacks and McGregor work together to create a pair of spectacles wherein McGregor can see a visual in front of him that helps him to judge his sense of level against the true sense of level offered by way of feedback from his environment.

Friends. . .we don’t have to outfit our students with this kind of apparatus as the book. . .any book our students may be reading with our guidance and our support becomes a sort of visual. See it? The reader holding the book up in front of his or her eyes begins to see the world in new–and novel–ways.

McGregor exclaims, “Doc. I got it! I don’t need a mirror–I just need a level. I cannot use the spirit levels inside my head, but why couldn’t I use levels outside of my head–levels I could see, I could use with my eyes?”

The quick answer to McGregor is that he can. We can. They can.

The latissmus dorsi of reading–and I sense that many would agree with me here are the balance that comes of conferring and choice.

Or–if you will–lattismus dorsi equals literature and discussion. Do we really begin to take the first step–ourselves–as lead learners when we understand that the offerings of literature to young adult readers is VAST. It spans across levels, lives, and loves. If we are proprioceptive in regard to what we know we know and that we don’t know what we don’t know, we can sit up from our chair, take notice of what is truly at stake, and take the first step toward offering an environment wherein readers can feel. . .

. . .a sense of safety.

. . .a sense of assurance.

. . .a sense of ease.

Perhaps this needs to go to a Part III, something I had not envisioned when first beginning to write about Dr. Sacks and Mr. McGregor. I feel like I still have more to say. And tomorrow is another day, isn’t it? Look for Part III tomorrow as we explore how those first steps look in Room 407 and how our visual system has changed for many of our students in the course of nine weeks.