Still Me Read Online Free PDF

was part of his attempt to process what had happened. During my first week in the hospital, Will repeatedly reenacted the accident for himself on a hobbyhorse in the playroom of the pediatric wing. Again and again he would deliberately fall off the horse in slow motion, saying, “Oh, my neck, my neck.” Dana would reassure him that he was fine but that, yes, my neck was injured and I wasn’t able to move.
    Like everyone else Mo was wonderful with Will. Later he took him to a playroom so that Dana could spend a little time with me before I went in for an MRI. He became friends with Will, and Mo was the first person outside our family that he was willing to stay with.
    Dana got Will something to eat, then went back to the emergency room. It was about five-thirty, still light out. Will was very hungry, and Dana was trying to keep him happy while keeping herself from falling apart.
    A doctor brought her in to me. I was lying on a gurney, intubated and still unconscious. She met with the chief of neurosurgery, Dr. John Jane, and Dr. Scott Henson, his second in command. They told her I was extremely lucky to have survived the accident, that my head was intact, and that my brain stem, so close to the site of the injury, appeared unharmed. If there is damage to the brain stem, your face doesn’t work; you can’t move your mouth, can’t move any of your facial muscles.
    I was on morphine and Versed, completely snowed. And whenever I did become conscious for brief moments, all they could do was wash my mouth out with flavored swabs—little pieces of foam on a stick that come in cherry, raspberry, and orange. I wasn’t allowed to drink or eat anything during the days before the operation. I would become semiconscious for a short time, not aware of anything much, then drift back under again. All the while Dana was sitting beside me. I felt absolutely nothing. I had no idea of my situation. Even in the brief moments when I was awake, I was still unaware.
    After a few days of heavy sedation, I developed what is called ICU psychosis. When sleep patterns are disrupted for long enough, you can become disoriented and slightly psychotic. This is temporary and disappears when the patterns are restored. It has something to do with dark and light, with sleeping in the dark but sensing that you’re in the light.
    Apparently I would wake up suddenly, still in a sort of dream, imagining wild situations. I would look at Dana and start talking—mouthing, actually, because I couldn’t speak—as if we were accomplices, members of a gang. I’d tell her, “Get the gun.” Dana would ask, “Get the gun?” and I’d say, “Yeah, get the gun out of the bag.” I kept saying, “There’s foul play.” “There’s foul play, they’re after us.” Dana would ask, “Who?” and I’d reply, “The bad guys.” It was like a kids’ game with cops-and-robbers talk. But I was clearly feeling persecuted and believing that people were out to get me. For Dana this was chilling. She left my room and told the doctors, “He’s really talking strangely.” They reassured her that there was no head injury. A CAT scan had shown that my brain was fine, and when I came off the drugs the hallucinations would disappear, which they did.
    I was extremely lucky to have come under the care of Dr. Jane, a brilliant neurosurgeon and professor of neurosurgery. In addition to being chief of neurosurgery at UVA Hospital, he is chairman of the Department of Neurological Surgery at the University of Virginia Medical School, where he has trained many of the world’s leading neurosurgeons and preeminent professors of neurosurgery. His curriculum vitae is roughly the size of a county telephone directory, listing accomplishments that seem too numerous for a single lifetime. In 1993 he was elected president of the Society of Neurological Surgeons and editor of