I am becoming a cyborg. Not (unfortunately) like the Terminator, with superhuman powers, but as part of the struggle to regain some of the all too human powers I have lost. My computer and I are symbiotic: I feed it information and it enables me to think, write and communicate - but I don't mean that in quite the way you might think.
Long before my body became paralysed from the neck down, I had lost the ability to write with a pen. I had used a word processor for so long that, when I held a pen, my hand ached before a paragraph was finished and the result was all but illegible. With the keyboard I had become used to writing as a stream of consciousness, correcting and reordering afterwards on the screen. If you try this using a pen you end up with piles of screwed-up paper on the floor, a severe headache, and a filthy temper.
I used to be a 10-fingered touch typist; now I am a no-fingered dictator. I use a voice-activated system to dictate to my word processor, which writes what I say on the screen almost immediately. Fortunately, for me, this technology just came on stream in a usable form at about the same time as I had my accident. The occupational therapists in the hospital spinal unit were very sceptical, having tried an earlier voice-activated programme that was slow and got everything wrong. I had to buy it for myself before they could be persuaded. In any case, all their computers had been stolen a short while before I landed in the unit. I ended up being the one who drew up specifications for a new batch of computers and software programmes for them - but it took a year for the gear to arrive, just before I left the unit for home.
I had to dictate word by word in the earlier versions of the system I use (Dragon NaturallySpeaking), but now it's better to speak in whole sentences as the programme uses context to help decipher what you have said and learns as it goes along. Having no choice in the matter, I was determined to progress quickly, despite having only one functioning vocal cord (the nerve to the other was severed during the operation in Bolivia on my broken neck).
I can now produce more or less correct written work at the same rate that I could type it in the past. I have to read what I have written carefully as, particularly at first, "Dear Beth" could be rendered as "Near death" - not the way I wish to address my daughter.
After a session working on the computer, I also have to be careful how I speak to people - it's very strange having every word addressed to you enunciated ultra-clearly. Try it, you'll see what I mean. I also get into the habit of issuing peremptory orders: "Wake up," "Go to sleep." Easily misunderstood by my Polish or French PA as they jump to attention, thinking the orders are directed at them rather than my microphone.
Also developed in the nick of time (they clearly saw me coming) was the TrackIR head mouse. This consists of a little gizmo perched on top of the monitor that emits an infrared beam. The beam reflects off a tinfoil dot mounted on Velcro, which in turn is mounted on the bridge of my specs. (The Velcro is cut from one of my catheter straps.) The returning beam is translated into a grid reference for each pixel on the screen, which simply means that the pointer goes wherever I look. Add to that a little palette from which I can select the sort of click I would like - mouse left, mouse right, double-click, drop and drag - and I can more or less do anything that an able-bodied person can do on a computer. I have come to be slightly megalomaniacal, believing I can move objects around the room simply by looking at them. My friends are alarmed.
I can also make and receive phone calls through the computer using the same headset I use for dictation - no more frantically calling for my PA to answer the phone and flick it on to loudspeaker mode only to hear our answering machine switch on. Adjusting the sound level is a bit awkward as yet, but technological improvements are on the way - hurry up, hurry up!
Soon my body may become my computer. New Scientist reports development of the "nouse". A little camera sits on top of the monitor and photographs the end of your nose. Thereafter, wherever your nose points, the mouse-nouse goes on the screen.
My computer substituting for my body: my body becoming a computer: finally, a cyborg.
