A Miracle Drug

One of my favorite songs released in the past few years is Miracle Drug by U2. It’s impossible to not be swept up by Bono’s sincerity in songs like this; his commitment to the subject turns simple words and a tune into something bigger than they actually are. (You can listen to the song by selecting it in the music player here.)

I admit that I’m a sucker for a great love song. I usually prefer the ones with unconventional angles or alternative themes, but when there’s genuine emotion I quickly find some aspect of it to which I can relate. So this song immediately made sense to me, I think I even put it on a mix-tape for my wife as part of a Valentines’ Day gift. The song works incredibly well as a sort of love letter (see the lyrics below).

While Miracle Drug is a love song, it’s not about a romantic love, rather it is a tribute to Christopher Nolan. And not the Christopher Nolan who directed Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, but the cerebral palsy stricken Irish-born Christopher Nolan.

Christopher Nolan’s body was deprived of oxygen for two hours at birth, leaving him unable to control his muscle movements. His arms would randomly flail about, he was confined to a wheelchair that he couldn’t even push about, and most frustrating he could not speak. He communicated with glances of eyes or the tapping of feet. His family, undeterred, enrolled him in a regular school and actively participated in his daily development. His sister sang songs and acted out plays for him. His mother taught him the alphabet while doing chores around the house. She would keep a continual flow of conversation going whenever he was within earshot. His father read to him James Joyce, D.H. Lawrence, William Butler Yeats.

And then, the Miracle Drug. At age 11 Christy was given Lioresal, a pharmaceutical used to treat spastic muscle movement. It allowed him to gain some control over isolated muscles in his neck. His head was fashioned with a rubber-tipped “unicorn stick”, and he craned and struggled to use it to point to the letters on a typewriter. He spelled out his thoughts and feelings, even though a single word could take 15 minutes to write. With so much to say he eventually assembled these words into stories, poems, an autobiography, a play, even a novel. After being silent for so long, he was able to express his ideas about church visits, family field trips, even the stuffing of a turkey became something fabulous in his writing. Any experience could be converted into something lyrical and poetic.

“My mind is just like a spin dryer at full speed. My thoughts fly around my skull, while millions of beautiful words cascade down into my lap. Images gunfire across my consciousness and, while trying to discipline them, I jump in awe of the soul-filled beauty of the mind’s expanse.”

Christy’s family adjusted their lives so that he could attend Mount Temple Comprehensive School. The school is a progressive and multi-denominational school in Dublin whose curriculum is “based upon a Christian, civilized and caring tradition” and whose ethos is “All of us are different, all of us are equal.” Coincidentally, upon has arrival at Mount Temple the future members of U2 were just completing their studies there. His indelible impression inspired them to later write the song Miracle Drug.

At the age of 15 a collection of his poems was published, titled Dam-Burst of Dreams. It included poems he had written from as early as the age of 12, with themes of faith, hope, humor and determination. He later won the Whitbread prize for Under the Eye of the Clock, an autobiography told in the third person that detailed his life at Mount Temple. He adapted the novel into a play titled Torchlight And Lazer Beams. His only novel was The Banyan Tree, a family saga detailing the 80 year life of a single mother, paying particular homage to her spirit of individuality and the strength of her will.

Christy eventually became a vocal proponent of the disabled, eschewing pity and sentimentality about his physical predicament. He instead wanted to direct the conversation of the disabled to focus on lives filled with “life, laughter, vision, and nervous normality.” Instead of dwelling the inabilities, he wanted to encourage the accomplishments. “My body is strangled. But my body never strangled me.”

On February 20, 2009, while at work on a second novel, Christopher Nolan ingested food into his airway and passed away. He was 43. His family released a statement that read “oxygen deprivation returned to take the life it had damaged more than 40 years ago.” Despite the damage, it is a severe understatement to say that his life was an inspiration.

So listen to Miracle Drug again, but listen to it with a new perspective. The song is beautiful and genuine, and while it is very moving as a love song, it is moreso a fitting tribute to Christopher Nolan. The miracle isn't just in the medicine, it's in the fact the Christopher's family believed in what was inside of him before even he did.