When Damage to the Back Causes Injury to the Brain

Because of a severe back injury, I have spent the past week close to my bed, screaming every time I make an imprudent move. My wife has learned to ignore my cries, even though they must sound mortal.

She has made ice packs for me, virtually spoon-fed me and even driven me to Dr. Muller; the exertions required for that outing were extremely painful, but an X-ray showed no broken bones, and the doctor said the pain should subside in six to eight weeks.

What I am more worried about, however, is not my back, but my mind. In my immobility I have turned to television for company. In my semi-retirement I had tended to watch more daytime television than usual, but I have religiously avoided soap operas and talk shows. I have yet to watch Oprah, Donahue or Geraldo.

On the other hand, for months I have been addicted to reruns of “Hunter,” an L.A cop show. I don’t know what I like about “Hunter,” but I suspect that it’s because I was a fan of Fred Dryer, the hero, when he played defensive end for the Rams. He was reckless on the field and a free spirit off it. Also, I can’t deny that I’m attracted to his luscious sidekick, Stepfanie Kramer, as Sgt. McCall.

It has been running five days a week for months, and, as a result, the sequences are often grotesquely mixed up. In one episode Stepfanie marries some bounder and quits the police department to go off to London with him. That is the last we ever see of him. Stepfanie turns up on duty in succeeding episodes as if he had never existed. (Good riddance.)

Also, in one episode Dryer (Hunter) goes into McCall’s place for a cup of coffee and winds up in her bed. This seems perfectly natural for a couple who have worked together in danger and playful intimacy for so long. But the next day they wind up consulting a police psychiatrist about their lapse. Nonsense. It was about time.

As you can see, I was already slightly deranged by my new addiction. However, I wasn’t prepared for the shock of my total submersion in the medium. I spent one day in bed watching “Hawaii Five-0,” “Matlock,” “Love Boat,” “CHiPs,” “In the Heat of the Night” and “Hunter”--nonstop.

Just to be doing something, I kept count of the commercials I endured during those six shows. There were 85, not counting some I missed when I dozed off or struggled to the bathroom. (I had declined a bedpan.) They advertised injury compensation, car financing, weight loss, home security, legal help, health care, medical training, used-car search, psychic help, sliced meat (17 varieties), tarnish remover, health plans, chocolate-covered doughnuts, computer training, management training, a motorcycle injury lawyer, Rolaids (for upset stomach), Hal Fishman news, Robinsons-May spring sale, Nissan, Tylenol, Crown rentals (rent anything), auto wrecking, Doublemint, Jacoby & Myers (law firm), Lysol spray, nail polish (dries in 60 seconds), Krazy Glue, Beltone hearing aid, Wrap ‘n Go (pain relief bandage), Encyclopedia Britannica, life insurance, exercise machine, hair Rogaine, pianos, brakes, Listerine, Progresso soups, Texaco and Maidenform.

That is not all of them, by any means, and most of them were repeated more than once. I caught the Hal Fishman promotion three times (not that he isn’t a good newsman).

What worries me, obviously, is what all this is doing to my mind. Despite recent revisionist arguments to the contrary, I suspect that massive doses of TV, especially commercials, tend to desensitize the brain. Is the brain insensitive, like a stone, or can it be deadened by such an onslaught of deadly trivia? How many times a day can the same message be absorbed without damaging the cells?

Our brains are tough, I know; but why would advertisers spend millions on repetitious commercials unless they expected them to produce results? In other words those repeated messages will sooner or later cause the consumer to get in his or her car and go to the mall and buy whatever it is she or he is conditioned to buy.

If you hear Tylenol repeated often enough, you’re probably going to buy some, whether it will do you any good or not. The same thing goes for nail polish, Listerine, Krazy Glue and Hal Fishman.

My point is that, sooner or later, my back pain will subside. But I wonder whether I will ever recover from the onslaught of commercials I have suffered in this week. Instead of watching TV, I might have read “A Brief History of Time” by Stephen Hawking, and improved my mind.

Once, when I was confined to bed as a kid, I read four of Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes novels. Doesn’t anybody read any more?

I asked my wife if she thought I had suffered any brain damage. She said yes.