|Neil has the beard.|
Exactly four years and two weeks ago but who's counting, my husband and I moved to Maine after his identical twin Neil had a bike accident that put him in a coma for six weeks, then a rehab hospital for several months, followed by years of therapy for a traumatic brain injury and a host of related ills. It has been a long road back, but ultimately Neil has made an all but complete recovery, one in which he can drive, purchase and renovate a new home, get a puppy and enjoy social engagements with friends and family, although working again in his former profession was deemed out of the question and he's not that good at the movies or a play. Nevertheless, he escaped the jaws of death to live fully and eat pizza, even if he doesn't always remember he ordered it and can't really taste it. Things were bubbling along just fine.
Then along comes yesterday. Neil was attending a high-school fundraising auction--he has two teenagers--when, by all accounts, he simply fell straight backwards onto the hard wooden floor in the cafeteria and cracked the back of his skull. There was blood. People screamed, an ambulance was called, and presto, he's back in the very same hospital room where he lay comatose four years ago. And so were all of us, huddled around him lying still in his neck brace under a pile of blankets attached to many machines and surrounded by doctors and nurses and interns.
It sucks, I tell you. God in his infinite wisdom? WTF? Anyway, if you are reading this and you are not in a hospital with a fractured skull and bleeding in your brain, thank your lucky stars and have a great day. You never know where you'll end up tonight.