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Brain Go BOOM!<br />

Author/Survivor: John Cooper<br />

Chapter 5: Big, Beautiful, Blue Eyes<br />

A<br />

s my eyes slowly cracked open from my Rumpelstiltskin-like sleep of my ten-day<br />

medically-induced coma, masses of people convened at my bedside. It was a madhouse.<br />

Doctors, nurses, students, lab techs, phlebotomists, x-ray techs, neurologists—you name it, they<br />

came to see me. The first question I remember being asked was “Do you know where you are?”<br />

I answered, “I’m in a Disney hospital.”<br />

I knew who I was. I knew I was married and that I had two daughters, but I didn’t know<br />

where I was or what the hell was going on. Place? Date? President of the United States? No<br />

clue! The days prior to all of this when I first saw my primary doctor had never happened to me,<br />

yet why did I think I was in a Walt Disney World hospital? Like a complex and confusing<br />

puzzle, I am still trying to put those missing pieces together. Some events are vividly clear and<br />

other events are totally erased. It’s as if those days leading up to the aneurysm bursting never<br />

happened. I remember dribs and drabs, but most memories of that family trip to Walt Disney<br />

World are nonexistent.<br />

I looked around and didn’t see any familiar faces. I had the wherewithal to do a quick<br />

nursing assessment of my situation. I could not move my left leg, my left arm nor my left hand.<br />

With my right hand I identified a nasogastric (NG) tube placed in my nose for feeding, a<br />

ventilator tube in my mouth and down my throat to force oxygen to my lungs for breathing, a<br />

Foley catheter in my penis to drain my kidneys, a central IV line for fluid intake, and wires that<br />

coming out of my skull. The pain was nothing like a vice grip or railroad spike. Instead, it was<br />

more like somebody had dropped a bucket of golf balls on my head.<br />

Through the tightly wrapped gauze dressing circling my head, I felt a large depression in<br />

my skull. Slowly sneaking my pointer and middle finger under the dressing, I could only feel a<br />

thin layer of skin, then my brain. It felt like ground meat through cellophane at a grocery store.<br />

I was dumfounded. It felt unnatural. (Why do people depress packaged, ground meat with their<br />

fingers before buying it? Is there a grocery store secret to that?)<br />

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