Rising Against the Wind: From Mental Turmoil to Opportunity

“You should leave now, Mr Mort”, came the calm words of the psychiatrist in charge that night. I watch in horror as the person I love is restrained, drugged and dragged away. She is screaming and pleading with me to help. I blink, stunned at the events unfolding in real time. I shakily stand up and fumble with the chair as I turn to go.

In disbelief, I walk mechanically out of the hospital’s giant oak doors with some friendly neighbours there to give me a ride home. I am aware of one last blood-curdling scream before silence envelopes the scenic grounds on the shores of the beautiful Lake Neuchatel in Switzerland.

As I move slowly into the dark, my neighbour, Rosemary, gently touches my shoulder.

“Oh, Haydon.” She says sadly, not knowing what else to say.

I’m not religious, but at that precise moment, I have what feels like an out-of-body experience. My ‘spirit’ slumps to the ground and clutches itself in a foetal position against the cold limestone wall. But my physical body, empty now, marches on. It takes until I arrive home for my soul and self to reunite. Alone, in pieces, I am consumed with a deep and overwhelming grief. She’s been sectioned. Again.

It was in this crucible of emotions that I made a decision. The only possible way for me to help my wife was to understand what was happening to her. So as not to risk my PhD, a quiet mission started in secret. What were the neural correlates of behaviours and pathologies? What makes us who we are? And why do things go wrong? As an external agent, what could I do to alleviate the suffering?

Exotic-sounding names became familiar, and I quickly understood the biological reason why you should and shouldn’t say and do certain things at specific times.

‘I’d better not say what I’m thinking,’ I’d ponder to myself ‘...otherwise, I’ll end up activating the anterior circulate cortex, creating feelings of confusion and cognitive dissonance. This could activate the amygdala and provoke potential hostility.’ The broken ceramic bowl that had been hurled across the room two months ago still haunted me.

She is home from the hospital and on medication. Things feel calmer. I feel more optimistic.

But now the desperate and dreaded look on her face and in her eyes tells me I’ve lost her. It was just a tiny thing that made it happen. Was it a glance from a neighbour? Was it the way I put my cup down? She now stares at me with fear and mistrust.

“You are not Haydon”, she states coldly, teeth clenched.

“It’s me. You know it’s me.” I reply calmly, reaching out my hand to touch hers. But she withdraws.

I know her fusiform gyrus - a collection of neurons involved with facial recognition - has become biochemically severed from her amygdala - which orchestrates the appropriate emotional response - provoking a transient form of Capras Delusion. The symptoms are as devastating for carers as they are for sufferers, who believe that those around them, even family, are imposters, merely pretending to be loved ones.

I read in a paper last week that the olfactory centres of the brain play a powerful role in memory formation and recall. I race to the bathroom mirror, pull out a perfume she’s always liked me using, and spray some. I sit back down, scents of denim and mahogany rising off my neck.

“It’s me. I promise you. It’s me.” I say with a smile. Her shallow, panicky breathing becomes calmer. A minute passes, and I see her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Haydon. This is awful. What is wrong with me?” She’s back and I feel a wild mix of emotions. Immense relief, sorrow with pity and a sense of pride that I may well have staved off a full-blown psychotic episode.

The winds created by mental illness are uprooting and I almost terminated my PhD. In fact, I penned a resignation letter that I took to my geology department, intending to hand it to my supervisor. I stood perched, letter in hand, upon the first rise of the Jura Mountains. Neuchatel’s Science Faculty has a fine view of the lake and the majestic Alps beyond. It was no wonder the Godfather of Glaciology, Louis Agassiz, had found inspiration from where I was standing.

In the end, it wasn’t Agassiz but Winston Churchill who persuaded me not to resign from my position. “Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it.” he once said. We never know what we are capable of until we are challenged. I realised that the free access to neuroscience literature I had enjoyed as a doctorate student had been a gift, and I was forever changed.

I perhaps should have felt a little guilty that I had spent around 40% of my time researching the neuro-correlates of attention and memory rather than 100% of my time on Mesozoic oceanic anoxic events, as I should have. But I didn’t feel guilty because it was simply too fascinating.

Geologists pride themselves on their ability to read the landscape. Our rose-tinted lenses enhance the beauty. Written into the rocks, we see seas rise and fall, mountains build and erode, basins open and close and global extinctions come to pass. Neurology has given me another lens with which to see others and myself.

Despite being the most complicated object in the universe, the human brain operates with surprising predictability across all cultures. This realisation was beautiful and filled me with hope. The science of genetics had already confirmed the concept of ‘race’ as totally superficial and consigned it to another embarrassing period of human history. Likewise, neuroscience showed me that much more unites us than divides us.

Every piece of content I create is guided by one fundamental question: How will this resonate with the human brain? This neuroscience-driven approach has refined my teaching methods and enabled the development of Geologize LTD 's training program. Gradually, this training is reshaping the public's perceptions of geosciences, proving that when science speaks the brain’s language, the world listens.

It took me years to fully realise how caring for someone with a mental pathology could help me make a difference in the world. But a slow-motion collision of geoscience and neuroscience has inexorably led me to where I stand today.

And for that, I am grateful.