Puzzling

It was my dirty secret for a while. Then I mentioned it to a friend … who confessed to a similar habit. And slowly they came out of the woodwork—other addicts. Or aficionados. In any case, many friends and neighbours with a predilection for jigsaw puzzles.

Rewind 40 years or more, to rainy weekends in my childhood home. Mum would break open a puzzle on the dining table and we’d hunch over it, drinking endless cups of tea, murmuring, ‘I might start on the horizon …’ or ‘Gee there’s a lot of sky …’ or ‘Ah, there it is …’. When Mum placed a piece she would give it a couple of taps—ta-dah!

I hadn’t done a jigsaw puzzle for decades. Then the Mechanic and I took part in a weekend houseparty for a friend’s 70th a couple of years ago at their property west of Cooma, and someone had set up a puzzle on a table in the corner of their lounge room. It was a busy, colourful scene, from memory: a river port, buildings and people and cars and boats. I noticed various guests drifting by that table, fitting a piece, or two … or ten. And I found myself there too, quite often, that weekend.

But it was only when a psychologist was helping me with sleep problems last year, and suggested jigsaw puzzles as a distraction to stop me from napping during the day (reading sends me right off), that the habit formed. I bought a couple at the gift shop in Bega before discovering the stashes at the op shops. That Cooma family heard and sent down a few boxes. Soon I had a dedicated table in the lounge room. Visitors noticed, word got around, and I started swapping with other locals. Then the Mechanic sourced a custom-designed ‘Jigsaw Organiser‘—a big board with a raised border and shallow drawers for sorting pieces. This was getting serious.

Now that board draws me, like a magnet. Just a couple of pieces, I think … I sit down, then look up and an hour has passed. Or two. I find it strangely satisfying, when the right piece snaps into place … ah, perfect … then the next, and the next. Much like in life (ha). Tap tap—ta-dah! I can’t help it.

So it was revealing to talk to a friend over coffee recently. D is a mental health nurse. Apparently, in the locked ward at her hospital, sitting an agitated patient at a jigsaw puzzle can calm them right down. ‘It’s as good as valium,’ she said.

And there’s something else about jigsaws—they’re easy on the eyes. I’m having trouble reading and writing at the moment, especially onscreen. It’s a side effect of a drug I’m on for muscle spasms—it weakens my eye muscles so it’s hard to focus. My eyes are tired all the time. And if I close them I tend to drift off to sleep.

But next Monday I see my new specialist, a neuro-immunologist, no less. He’s at the forefront of MS research and he’s offering me a new-generation treatment, an immune suppressant. The hope is that it will slow or even stop progression of my condition. But it depletes lymphocytes, a crucial component of the immune response to infections, and I might have to drop out of circulation for a while. So it’s scary, but doing nothing is scarier.

At least someone’s prepared to have a go. Tap tap …