The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Bauby opens this chapter by intimating that, although shocking, the revelations that wheelchair provided are helpful. They have helped him to be more realistic by giving up on his grandiose plans and freed his friends to speak freely, rather than sugarcoating the situation. As it is no longer taboo, he and his friends begin to openly discuss locked-in syndrome. He reveals that it is an exceedingly rare condition. And because he is able to swivel his head, his is not a classic case. He also reveals that, if his nervous system decides to start working again, it will do so at an extremely slow pace. Therefore, he can expect several years to go by before he can wiggle his toes. He also that, in the long term, he can hope to be able to eat without a gastric tube. He also hopes to be able to eventually breathe on his own, and to speak. His short-term hope, though, is to be able to swallow the saliva that endlessly pools in his mouth.

He then reveals that “in every corner of the world, the most diverse deities have been solicited in [his] name” (12-13). As a result, he has taken to assigning each of the spirits being invoked for him a specific task. For example, the little packets of Japanese incense hanging on his wall have been assigned to his larynx. A Cameroon holy man enlisted by a friend has been assigned his right eye. The monks of a Bordeaux brotherhood, who regularly dedicate prayers to him at the behest of his mother-in-law, have been assigned his hearing problems. Each of these assignments, however, pales in comparison with the prayers of his daughter, Céleste, who recites a small prayer for her father every evening before she goes to sleep. About the prayers, Bauby remarks: “Since we fall asleep at roughly the same hour, I set out of the kingdom of slumber with this wonderful talisman, which shields me from all harm” (13).