Theodor Kittelsen’s depiction of a Changeling, 1887

Clay County Histories

Markus Krueger | Program Director HCSCC

I’ve been having fun the past few months reading about Scandinavian troll folklore. There are different kinds of trolls, from Nokken who try to lure you into lakes, to Forrest Trolls so big you think they’re mountains. Then there’s Changelings. Trolls, according to legend, would sneak into the house of a new human mother and replace her baby with a troll baby called a Changeling. According to the stories, this Changeling would grow up to be a big, unintelligent troll that looks nothing like the parents. If you believed you were raising a Changeling, the prescription was to beat the child until it ran away. My amusement disappeared and my heart sank. “Oh no,” I thought. “Hannah.”
Two hundred years ago, my family and yours used superstition to answer questions that science can explain now. My cousin Hannah Jensen has an acute case of Down Syndrome. In many ways, she more closely resembles other people with Down Syndrome than she resembles the rest of her family. Her father is an attorney and her sister is in med school, but Hannah is non-verbal. Because her mom and dad and sister love her and cherish her, Hannah can communicate through sign language, and she has a good life. I don’t want to think of what Hannah’s life would have been like if she were born in a time and place where people believed in Changelings.
I have Tourette Syndrome. If you spend any time with me, you’ll notice my facial tics. Coprolalia is a symptom associated with Tourette Syndrome that causes involuntary outbursts of obscenities. Coprolalia is very rare but, lucky me, I got it. For some unknown reason that I am extremely thankful for, my coprolalia goes away (mostly) when I’m in public. I think it’s because my mind is occupied. But when I’m alone in the car or in the shower or on a pleasant walk, my mind unwinds and words spew out of me unexpectedly and uncontrollably. Trying to hold it in is like holding in a sneeze. I have seen doctors, but the side effects of the treatments are worse than the symptoms I’ve been living with my whole life, so I just deal with it. My brain has a few crossed wires, but it’s otherwise mostly good.
Before the 1880s, people with my condition were thought to be possessed by demons. I can understand that. I do feel compelled to do and say things against my will. I would probably think I was possessed as well, but I was born after Dr. Tourette identified what I have as a relatively normal neurological disorder. How many people like me were tortured with useless exorcisms? They burned us at the stake. We died in dungeons. Today, it’s no big deal. Everybody knows bodies and brains are complicated, and we all struggle with our own stuff.
We praise science for developing medicines to regulate our blood pressure or diabetes. Let’s also be grateful that most of us by now find logical explanations more convincing than superstitions, so that birthmark of yours can no longer be offered as proof that you’re a witch. There are no sea monsters, just fish we haven’t named yet.