2. I don’t like poetry or Shakespeare. It’s way too confusing, especially with my brain wires in a kerfuffle. I love action movies. Simple plot lines, lots of excitement.

3. Oddly, I do like exercise, something I always avoided. I can hike if the path is not too steep and I use two walking sticks. Swimming in the ocean is the best! My arms and legs feel normal in water.

4. I don’t miss acting.

5. I do miss being a movie star.

Every morning Emme and I walk the three miles up and down Hanalei Bay as part of my rehabilitation. Then, after physical therapy, I work on my blog. Blogging is a perfect creative outlet for me. I am a one-handed typing wizard. I can translate my thoughts far faster by hand than converting them to speech. For now, I blog anonymously under the pseudonym Goldytalks writing movie reviews and commentary, but someday I’ll write under my name. I want to tell my story. Especially what it’s been like to recover from brain trauma.

“Waking up” is a major shock to a body pre-approved for takeoff to the great hereafter. Coming out of a coma takes way longer than what you see in the movies. In the beginning, I was alert only minutes at a time. Even as the physical therapists began to work my legs and arms or changed my positions to sitting or even standing, my mind slept. It’s hard to explain but I felt more conscious in the coma than in the early stages of being awake.

When I was able to remain alert for longer periods, they moved me into another part of the hospital to begin recovery. Then, after six months when my reflexes were restored and I could sit up without assistance and swallow food and water, I was pronounced “fully conscious.”

“Jackie Gold,” Dr. Foreman said, while shining his trusty penlight into my truly open eyes, “you have either blown science completely out of the picture or have given it new meaning.” He looked pleased though, and not as if I had destroyed the fabric of his whole existence.

I’d heard enough of my prognosis to know that even with significant progress, I would never again be “normal.” The brain damage had left me initially without any speech and paralyzed on my right side. For nine months, I relied on animal sounds to communicate: barking, yipping, whimpering, yowling.

I sank into a deep depression; not uncommon for someone with brain trauma. When my dad or Anna or Brett visited, I rallied to the best of my abilities, showing as much joy and enthusiasm the left side of my face could muster. After all, they were celebrating my miraculous return to life. But later, I would lie in bed thinking how we’d all have been better off if I’d died.