My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist's Personal Journey by Jill Bolte Taylor Page A

stood by my shoulder, gently resting her hands on my arm, and spoke softly to me - not to her students, but to me. She leaned over the edge of my bed and got close enough to my face that I could hear her. Although I could not completely understand her words, I completely understood her intention. This woman understood that I was not stupid but that I was wounded, and it was clear that she knew that it was her job to figure out which circuits of mine were still active and which parts needed healing.
    Dr. Young respectfully asked me if it was okay that she teach her students about the neurological exam, and I agreed. As it turned out, I was the brain scientist who failed every task on cue and Dr. Young did not leave my bedside until she was confident that I had no more need of her. On her way out the door, she squeezed my hand and then my toe. I felt a huge sense of relief that she was my physician. I felt that she understood me.
    Later that morning, it was time for me to have an angiogram that would outline the blood vessels in my brain. We needed a really good picture of exactly what type of hemorrhage I had had, and the angiogram was the test of choice. Although I thought it absolutely absurd that anyone would ask me to sign a form of consent while in this condition, I realized that policy is policy! How do we define "of sound mind and body" anyway?
    Bad news certainly travels fast. Word of my stroke surged through the networks of both McLean Hospital and the membership of NAMI. Here I was, the youngest national board member they had ever elected, having a stroke at 37.
Two of my colleagues from the Brain Bank came to visit while I was in the Neurology ICU that afternoon. Mark and Pam brought a little stuffed bear for me to cuddle, and I was grateful for their kindness. Although I could sense their initial trepidation, they brought me positive energy and told me, "You're Jill, you're going to be just fine." This confidence in my complete recovery was priceless to me.
By the end of day two, I had accumulated enough oomph inside my body to roll myself over, sit up on the edge of the bed with assistance and then stand upright while leaning on someone for support. Although I found this activity to take every ounce of energy I had, I was making terrific physical progress. My right arm was very weak and continued to ache, but I could wield it around using my shoulder muscles.
On and off throughout the day, the energy in my body waxed and waned from a little bit of energy to a completely empty tank. With sleep, my reservoir filled a little and then I spent that energy trying to do or think something. Once my reserve was used up, I had to go back to sleep. I learned immediately that I had no staying power and once my energy was shot, I fell limp. I realized I had to pay very close attention to my energy gauge. I would have to learn how to conserve it and be willing to sleep to restore it.
Day two ended with a visit from Steve bearing news that G.G. would be arriving in Boston early the next morning. Initially, I didn't understand the significance of G.G. - as I had lost the concept of what a mother was. I spent the rest of my waking moments that evening trying to piece together Mother, Mother, Mother. G.G., G.G., G.G. I kept repeating the words to find those files, open them and remember. Eventually, I kind of understood what a mother was and what G.G. represented...enough so that I felt excited that she would be here tomorrow.

On the morning of day three, I was moved out of Neurology ICU and ended up sharing a room with a very interesting character. This woman had been suffering from epileptic seizures so the doctors had her head all wrapped up in a large white towel, with numerous electrodes and wires protruding from her head in all directions. The wires were attached to a variety of recording devices that lined her side of the room and, although she was free to move about between her bed, chair, and bathroom, she was quite the