I was a writer, photographer, gourmand, and a hiker . but then . I became an Aphasiac.

What is Aphasia? Aphasia is a complex disorder, caused by brain damage, in which impairment or loss or language occurs. When brain injury occurs, persons may have a reduction or loss of ability to comprehend and use language. These problems originate from the brain damage itself, not from a sensory, motor, or intellectual disorder. Aphasia is only one of the behaviors that may be associated with brain damage.

The person who has Aphasia may have difficulty understanding, formulating, or using language symbols for communication purposes. Language involves a complex set of listening, reading, speaking, and writing skills; one or more of these skills may be adversely affected by brain damages. Aphasia may be caused by a number of conditions that cause brain damage, including stroke, cerebral hemorrhage, cerebral vascular accident, or other head trauma.

Stroke is the term used by physicians to describe the abnormal condition that occurs when a blood vessel in the brain is blocked and the brain is deprived of oxygen. Due to a reduced blood supply, the affected area of the brain is no longer able to carry out its expected functions. These functions may involve gesturing, reading, speaking or writing, and that was my nightmare!

My nightmare became on August 12, 1997. This is the day when I died and was born again. I couldn’t sleep that night, waiting to visit the operation room in the Veterans Hospital in Puerto Rico. I tried to read or work on my novel, which I had just started three months before. Isn't that weird since the novel begins on a staircase with forty steps when Alexandre, the character feels he is going to die soon. At that time, I didn't know that I had an aneurym in my brain, which I was born with. An aneurym is like a little pimple or a small balloon, as you have them on the body or the face when you are a teenager. The problem was that my little pimple was inside my brain.

Now I have learned that aneurysms may be something that may be a chronic in families. My sister Flora had a cerebral hemorrhage about 17 years ago. We thought she was going to die. But thank God, right now she is doing so well, like a new teenager in her 60's. Then several years later, her daughter, Lili, had a brain stroke and now she lives with Aphasia. Then in 1998, my younger brother, Roberto, died from a cerebral hemorrhage, six months after my operation.

A month before my operation, July 11, I woke up at 1:20 am and was so thirsty that I started to walk to my kitchen. Immediately I felt dizzy. Took out the gallon of water from the refrigerator and set it down on the counter and within that moment, my knees buckled and everything went black. Thirty minutes later I woke up on the floor under a pool with blood from my head. Since I have known about those things like from Flora, I checked my body to see if I was feeling numb anywhere. But I didn't so was feeling wonderful that I was not getting a brain stroke. The blood had come from my fall on the ceramic tiles floor on my head. Yet I was still dizzy and fell again and had to try crawling into my bedroom. I had no strength and had to wait several times, but at that moment I decided that I had to try open the apartment front door, just in case I could die, so perhaps some one will get in. There I vomited, clear liquids whatever they were. Then I got my strength back.

I showered and cleaned the kitchen and the blooding mess, then tried to go to sleep since I was feeling much better. The next five days have been terrible, like I looked down and felt dizzy and the right arm had no strength, even for making drinks, since I was a bartender at that time. Then finally, I woke up and felt so tired and couldn't breathe and for the first time in my life, I told Wayne that I had to go to an Emergency Room.

They checked my heart (44 beats a minute -- the machine must not be not working well, they though and did it again and still the same) and my blood was okay. Finally, there I met my first "angel," Dr. Arturo Ortiz. a neurologist who asked questions about me; that's when I told him about Flora and Lili. He decided to take me get a CScan. Some doctors don't work very well unfortunately, since that woman said I had no problems -- negative -- and I could go home. But Arturo said he was seeing something different and sent me to take an MRI test. I don't know why, most people would rather lose these doctors because they just want to make a little more money, but somehow I really believed him and I went to get the test.

Right away he told me I had to go to a hospital, otherwise I would die soon.

I decided to use the Veterans Hospital, since it was free for me. Well, I always hated doctors, hospitals, and especially needles, but what could I do. Dr. Ortiz wrote a letter to the neurology clinic about my problem and had to take my MRI scans.

There I met Dr. Yolanda Reyes and she looked over my MIR in just a few seconds she told me I had to go to the Emergency Room to start a file on my name. And I did and I waited for three hours until they called me to see a doctor and I told him my story and showed Arturo's letter and the MRI's. But what did he do, that stupid doctor? He sent me back to Emergency Room and told me that I had to make an appointment to see the neurology clinic. There they gave me an appointment for November 4, three months later. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to go back home, but I felt that I was going to die before my appointment. So I went back to the clinic to see Dr. Reyes, and she was so angry that she took me back to the Emergency Room and she told them that she wants a bed for me today!

My first night in the hospital I tried to go to sleep early and I did, but around 10:30 pm, a man came to my bed with a mask over his mouth (was I dreaming I thought) and he told me had to put give me an IV. That was my first Dracula meeting, and wow, that was painful on my hand. Then the next day in that morning, I had to meet my second Dracula to take blood tests. After a few days though, I was no longer afraid of needles.

That evening, I met my second "angel," Dr. Rifkinson, a neurology surgeon. An old man who never smiled and I hated him about what he said to me, made me so afraid of what was going to happen to me. He told me I could do one of two things -- go home if I wanted to leave the hospital and die within two weeks or three months, or have an operation. I asked questions about exactly what they are going to do, and told me he cannot answer anything because first I had to get several tests, especially for an arteriogram. "And what is that," I asked?

I must say that Rifkinson was good about what he said and I trusted him, though I was scared of course. He told me exactly what he they were going to do the next morning. "We make a hole on the leg, close to the crotch, and put a tube with wires on your arteries, so we can inject a radiopaque substance where we can get some x-rays to see your brain." I was sweating already, yet thought it would be okay since I could sleep what they were doing. "No," he said. "Sorry, you have to stay awake for that." Oy vey!.

That morning I was wheeled to a very cold room, and was thinking that it was a like a morque, and I was sweating so much. There were so many machines around me. The nurse was a great woman and that's when I first really liked doctors and nurses. The nurse knew I was very afraid, so she said to me, "Would you like a drink?" They had told me I couldn't drink or eat anything before and since I didn't drink for many years I told her, "Yes, please, a Beefeater martini, and make it very, very dry, with three olives!"

I laughed and she laughed so I got my drink via a needle. Best drink I have ever had. Wow! I had such a nice time, really! I felt nothing at all and I was talking so much and everyone was laughing all the time. I loved them, although I wouldn't do it again, especially since they were telling what they were doing on every moment. "You have any pain," the doctor asked. "No," I said and I felt good about that. "Okay, Bil. First we are going to check your stomach," and they took x-rays and came back to the room. "That was good, Bil. So now we are going to check your heart." Oh Lord! A few minutes later they came back to the room and he said that I have a great heart, very strong. Felt great about that. Then the next x-rays were for my neck and then finally, they told me that now they were going to do most important thing, checking my brain.

All together, I was in the room for about an hour, then before I was leaving, they asked me if I wanted to see my brain -- in technicolor -- on a monitor. I said no, but since I have always ready for adventuring, I really had to see it. And what did I see, like a comic book where the character gets an idea -- a big yellow bulb over the dialogue balloon.

They told me that I had to lay on my bed for 24 hours, which I hate since I always liked to walk a lot. The next day, Dr. Rifkinson came to see me and then he told me that I really had to have the operation and I could ask any questions I wanted. The most important questions were, will I live? Be able to walk? See again? Talk? Read? Write? He said they didn't know exactly: 50-50! I told him I didn't care about any of other things, except that I needed to keep living to read and write forever and keep seeing the world!

Rifkinson told me that the operation would be done in 5 days later. I thought I could go back home and come back for the operation but he told me I had to stay in the hospital for other tests. I must say that I felt as if I was a criminal and hoping to leave the country before they found me. Nevertheless, those five days seemed like years and every night I prayed to God, whom I had forgotten.

Dr. Rifkinson had told me that the operation would just take 3 hours, but no way! It took them nine hours to work in my brain. I remember that they picked me up around 6:15 am on my ward and they gave me something on the IV, another drug trip when they took me to the operation area. Incredible, I was singing, "Cucucurrucu Paloma" with Lola Beltran, and "How Long Has This Been Going On," with Sarah Vaughan. Wow, I was thinking, they are waiting for me in Heaven. Then I heard my mother's voice and I cried and finally went to sleep at 7:11 am.

What happened to me after that, the doctors cut me up on the head (17 inches), and they saw that my brain was a mess! They couldn't believe this. The veins and arteries were different and they were very deeper and like crooked, like a puzzle and entwined. An AVM, they called it, and they didn't know what to do. Some of them thought it would be easier to sew me up and let me die and a few days, since my aneurysm was very deep inside my brain!

Rifkinson told them to get lost. He would do it himself and he did! Had to cut veins and retract them and put them into a straight order since before those veins and arteries was like a mess when you go into a subway station and don't know how to get home. Ah, Dr. Rifkinson, a great train conductor, and he took me home!

The next day I woke around at 1 p.m. and didn't know where I was but saw this old, tall and thin man and I thought that must be God or is it Danny who had been visiting me before my operation. I was so sad, thought Danny had died also. He spoke and I was happy that we were both still alive. A few minutes later, my sister Flora came to see me and I was also happy to see her and with her husband, Frank and my other sister, Luisa.

Then the next visitor was a wonderful moment and I cried. Wow, Randy (left on the photo, Wayne on the right), how is Paris? Couldn’t believe it, Randy came to see me from France to help me and Wayne. Bil, Wayne and Randy: The Three Musketeers are back again, I told myself, the old roommates, the writer, the actor and the singer. Then finally I saw Wayne, my brother, my best friend. It was so great to see him again because then I knew that I was still living.

Randy stayed in Puerto Rico for 16 days and there he helped me a lot to get my Social Security and talk to the doctors, especially since after two days later after my operation I had a brain stroke.

I don't know what happened since I was lying on my bed, sleeping in the IC ward. A nurse had told me to try to sit on a wheelchair the third day and I did, but didn't know what was going on or where I was or who were those people who were visiting me! Wayne must have known from that moment that I had had a brain stroke. He talked to the doctors but they didn't think it was a stroke and he kept talking to them and finally they agreed that it was a stroke. Yet they didn't know how bad it would be.

Eventually, when I was moved to another ward, I began to remember the faces but no names and the worst thing was that I could not talk, more like baby talk. The doctors thought I could go home in a few days, but Wayne told them that he doesn't want to take me home because he knew that something worse had happened. The doctors thought I would be able to speak soon and remember things. But Wayne was also afraid that perhaps I might try to kill myself, since many people who have brain strokes want to die, so I had to stay in the hospital for another three weeks.

And depression came to visit me. "Hello, Bil, my name is Depression and you will be my friend for the rest of your life."

It is very important to all brain injury patients to learn about that. You can do one of two things; welcome to the depression and become a vegetable or say good bye to the depression and learn to laugh again. I had been feeling terrible because I couldn't talk and tried to say things but made no sense and I was angry and started shouting and I wanted to cry. Wayne and my sister Flora started to cry and left the room, and Randy just stayed there and held my hands and tried to tell me what my problem was. At that moment, feeling so sad for them, I told myself that I WILL NOT MAKE THEM GET DEPRESSED, AND I WILL MAKE THEM LAUGH!

Well, guess God was listening to me, because since I tried to make people laugh and they did, I wrote this on my mind, "Forget depression and learn to laugh.

Laugh! Wow, I learned a new word and a new world. Of course, sometimes I was saying things, which I didn't understand, yet they knew that I was making many mistakes with words. I guess many people who have brain injuries say things that they don't understand, like foul language. The nurses looked at me sometimes and would say, "That's not nice, Bil" with their laugh, because I had used a bad-bad word. Hey even I made that old, serious, non-smiling neuro-surgeon Rifkinson made to laugh.

Since I had to stay in the hospital, I became the adventurer again, woke up early and went out of the ward and looking all over the wards and the long corridors and trying to get coffee from the cafeteria or machines. That's where I learned that I was not doing well at all, because I tried to buy coffee from the machine and I didn't know what I had to do with the buttons and didn't understand the words. I would buy the newspaper and look at the words while I was having breakfast in my ward and didn't understand what they were saying.

And that is where I met Aphasia. I knew that I couldn't talk, but the worst thing was that I couldn't remember a single word. They thought that I would never ever again be able to speak, read or write. Jesus! I might as well have died, because you see, I knew I was born to be writer.

Then I met my third "angel," Martha Aleman, my Speech Pathologist who didn't know how to even smile. So serious she always was, made me feel as if she were a teacher who just had to work to help the student, like one of those terrible nuns, ready to lash you with her whip. At the beginning, Martha started showing me some photos; a cup, a bed, a comb, a toothbrush and a pencil. I knew what they were, but I couldn't remember the words. I thought she was angry with me that I couldn't say the words. She told Wayne, Randy and my nephew Edward, that I had the worst Aphasia, global Aphasia where I had no function available for either comprehension or speaking.

So day by day, Martha decided to just make me look at the photos and try to show what they are for. That was simple, I knew what they were and how I can use them. Yet when I heard words, I didn't know what they were. For example, she would say to me, point to your eyes and what would I do? I would point to my ears. Then she would say, point your ears and I would point my eyes. Then finally, she said to me, "Make a fist."

Well that was easy. I made a "face" with a grin and open my mouth and showing my teeth. Martha was "laughing" out loud. Hallelujah! Yet I didn't know why she was laughing until she showed me that what she wanted to make a fist with her hand, not a face. Oh, Lord, we both laughed. At that moment, Martha knew that I could be able to do other things so I would not be a vegetable for the rest of my life.

Finally, I went back home. I kissed my kitchen floor because I was happy that I was still alive. It was just so wonderful to be back home. The only thing I didn't like but it was the best thing, is that I had index cards all over my apartment, which Martha and Wayne had suggested, so I could learn words again. I couldn't say any of those words or what the hell they meant: "What the hell is a kitchen, or is it a chicken? Or door, or the bathroom, a closet, a mirror, a vcr, or a tv, and how do they work?"

I had to visit Martha four times a week for an hour to look other photos to try to remember words, and at night, when Wayne came back home after work, he would give me quizzes with the index cards. He would put down several items, like a belt or toothbrush or shoe and I had to try to put each index card on each item, not trying to say the words though, just trying to remember them. I also had to learn how things worked, like making coffee or using the micro oven. I had problems with numbers also. When I went to make coffee I would put the coffee grounds on the basket and all the time I would forget how many spoons I had to put in. As always, I lost counts after three - would go from three to seven and sometimes more, so I had to do it again. And one time I started to make my oatmeal (since Wayne always made it for me) on the micro oven and I thought I could do it but unfortunately I put it for 20 minutes instead of the usual 2. Had to clean the doggone oven alone.

Since I could not speak, I had to point things like if I was hungry I had to pat my stomach and when I wanted to go to sleep, all I could say was, "Mimi," a word that I had made for my dog many years ago.

Then one day, Wayne asked me if I wanted have coffee after dinner. I always felt as if I was a puppy who didn't know what he was saying. He'd point on the cup and show me the coffee maker. "Bil -- would -- you -- like -- coooo-fff----eee?" I always nodded, smiling. "Yeah," I said, "co-ff-ee."

Oh, yes, "Coffee" is the first word I learned. We couldn't believe that I had said it. So then, every time I say a word, he would pat my head, like he was saying, "That's a good boy!"

So my apartment was like a Spelling Bee book where there were all those index cards all over and I liked that because I will always remember many things and we can laugh about them now. "Where are you going, Bil." Wayne would ask. I would point to the kitchen. "What is that word?" I would try to say the word. "Chicken!" I said. He would laugh and I didn’t understood why, so he took me to the refrigerator and showed me a real (frozen) chicken. Then put them together, the chicken on the card in front of the door - "This is a 'kitchen' and this is a 'chicken.'" I understood the different on the accents and spelling. "Oh!"

I always called Wayne, Weenie and sometimes Walrus. But then one morning, three months later, I was sitting in the kitchen looking over the ocean with the beautiful colors on the sky and felt so wonderful that I said very out loud, screaming to him, "Come, you have to see this beautiful morning, Wayne!"

He came running, his face full with shaving cream. He was afraid that something had happened to me. I think he was crying. "What did you say?"

"Beautiful morning," I pointed to the sky.

"No, no, what did you say?"

"Huh? I called you, WAYNE!" He couldn't believe this. I had said his name -- laughing -- "Waayyynnneee!"

A few days later, Martha was thinking that I was going to be okay since I have learned a lot in those months. As always, they felt that I was still a miracle. I was supposed to stop the speech therapist after four months, but Martha asked the doctors to keep me in the therapy when one day, she placed some index cards for me to try say the words: "I-am-Bil," and my address and telephone number and my age. She laughed. I didn't know why. "I know I'm 51," woman! I thought she had lost her mind, but she told me I made a mistake.

"How old are you?" she asked, pointing the card.

"I-I--aaammm-tweeeennttttyyy -- oooneee."

She laughed again. "No! You are not 21, Bil. You are fifty-one!"

Huh? She wrote the numbers. "Yeah," I tried to say, "dats wha I am."

"No," she said. "You are 51 but you say," she wrote the new numbers, "you are twenty-one." I laughed and we both laughed -- right away, we became very, very good friends. So now when we get together after 4 years, she will still ask me how old I am and I tell her -- "I am still 21!"

I also had to go to see a neurologist in the clinic once a month. I hated that because that doctor wasn't worth a dime. He never asked questions of how I was doing, just put a quick note on my file and sent me home. All he did when he was in the clinic was talking on the phone and then went to the bathroom to check his moustache and looking at himself in front of the mirror, as if he wants to kiss himself. Also sometimes I would get new neurologists and they always asked what is wrong with me today. I tried to tell them that I came here because I have an appointment and then they have to try to read my longer files. One day I told the new neurologist when he asked what was wrong with me, "Having problems with my toe today."

The dummy neurologist told me I was in the wrong clinic. I screamed. "Why the hell don’t you read the files before you see the patient. Just read what happened to me!" I pointed a page where it shows Rifkinson's report: an aneuryms operation, brain stroke and Aphasia. Then I decided that I just wanted to see Dr. Rifkinson, and I did all the time. Whenever I had to go to the clinic, I would look for him and he took care of me. He always checked my eyes, my ears and how I was walking and trying to talk. At that moment, he suggested that I try to read simple things like the comics or try to write and use a recorder to listen to the words and try to say them. I also told him that my right side is numb and he didn't know that but that is nothing they can do for that. He told me I would eventually get better.

Those first months, Edward my nephew would take me to the hospital for appointments with Martha and the Occupational therapist, Zelda, where I had to use my hands making macrames. Zelda was wonderful also since she told me to take use small memo books so I could try to write words that I didn't understood. I was also hoping that I could go back to work on the bar so Zelda decided to make a bar in her office for me. It was fun. We had to use Monopoly money. Edward and a new person in her office would ask for a beer and I would give it to them. I knew exactly the beers, but the problem was that I would tell them it was $2.25 and they would give me a $10 bill and I would give them too much money back, like sometimes $10 became a $20 or $50 and I couldn't add at all. Yet one day, she put an IBM Selectric in her office for me because she felt that it would be good for me to try to write. And it was wonderful.

Edward had to stay with me every day while Wayne was working, since I could not be alone, and my sister, Flora, stayed with me one day every week. There they always gave me quizzes with the words. I really wanted to be alone at home, probably because they thought I wanted to kill myself or if I could go out alone and get lost or have a seizure or something. But the funniest thing is that they were always afraid when I had to take a nap. Sometimes I would wake up and they were looking at my body and they were embarrassed. I had to laugh, so finally they told me that they were afraid I may have died in my sleep from a heart attack or some seizure.

Eventually, I told Wayne one day I love them for what they are doing for me but at that moment, I am feeling so much better and I can stay home alone (especially after I left them, Edward and Flora and even Wayne sometimes to go somewhere else). I guess that the most important day is that when Edward did not appear in my apartment while I had to see Martha for an appointment. Immediately, I took a taxi to the hospital and I knew how to get there. Wayne was happy and so was I.

Those were my caregivers and I love them a lot. Yet it is sad that no one, family or friends, never tried to call me to see how I was doing, from New York or even neighbors. But Randy went to see me again two months later and my nephew Carlos, Flora's son, who lives in New York went to visit me in Puerto Rico. Carlos and I had been in several adventures, like to White Mountains and a Penebscot River canoe trip. When he went to see me in Puerto Rico, I took him with Flora and Frank to hike into the Mina Falls in the rainforest. Flora was afraid that I would not be able to do it, and she was right. The next two days I was feeling terrible, no strength at all. Yet at least, at that time I had tried to use the computer again, trying send e-mails but I always had problems, because I couldn't read what the computer was saying, Carlos was good for me to learn it again to send emails.

The best long-distance caregiver was Marcia, Wayne's mother. I had always hated the phone in my life, but then one Sunday, as Marcia always calls to Wayne, Wayne wasn't in the apartment and I had to answer the phone. I couldn't talk at all and I didn't know what to do and tried to tell her that Wayne was out. So what did she do? Love that Marcia (right on the photo - Roz (Marcia's sister) on the left side and Wayne in the center). She told me, well since she called, I had to try to talk to her (she lives in Long Island).

Oh Lord, what could I do? She talked to me, slowly and used simple words. I don't know exactly what we were talking about, but I remember that we were laughing. So we talked for 12 minutes and I was so happy and I decided that the next time, I would try to talk with her for at least 15 minutes. Wayne must have told her and so the next time, we talked for 18 minutes and then from that moment, she would call us twice a week, Thursdays and Sundays and we still do. It was great for me to be able to talk, even simple things and since then we talk too long now, about between 20 to 45 minutes and still love talking with her.

One night, she told me that perhaps I should try to listen to musicals, since I have always loved, so I could try to remember lyrics. I did it that night and let me tell you, I was so happy because my brain could remember scenes and the songs and so every day, I did it for many months.

In December, I called an old friend from New York, Odella, who lives in Sweden. I started to cry because I couldn't talk and didn't know what to say. Then Wayne told Odella that it would be nice if she would e-mail me regularly so I could try to read and she did for a few weeks. I hated that because when I got the emails I had to have Wayne to read them to me and I tried to write to her, and she didn't understood what I was writing. My writing was a sad time. For example:

"I know I have needs been able to get you my name. Show I might me have been able toget ready with me. I would I were really to have the might me of my sound for you too much. I wish I would really to much closed you so cry -- I to me, and I went I wish I wish could sell to my bear, by number wo wants to much was may me been -- a man who may neer be able to sad his mind the marty of morning when evernest - the man WRITER."

After a while, Odella and I were not emailing anymore. But then God sent me another and wonderful emailer, Lori. An old friend from New York. She called on January 2, 1998 and I tried to talk to her and Wayne told her that it would be good for me to email with her. And that was my lucky day. We email regularly now after four years.

Lori would send me long letters about movies and plays and I couldn't believe that I could really read them, simple sentences and interesting, like Leo Tolstoy. She asked about my problems and tried to help me back to writing and things about other things because that was good for my brain, getting me exciting for living again. Yep, I started to write a play which I titled "The Aphasiac Guy. Lori also tried to tell me to go see films, even if I didn't know what they were saying or what the plot was. I have always been going to see films since I was a child, so going back to movies was another wonderful discovery.

Another discovery that I have learned is that because after my operation, I had no taste for food and I started to eat food that I always hated that, like salads or vegetables. I used to eat Angus beef but I started buying the cheaper beefs (like chuck). And also I had started to go back to cooking and so many mistakes I made. I would put the pepper, garlic, oregano and salt on the food and would forget it I did put in the pepper, garlic, so I would put more in them. Poor Wayne, he couldn't eat my food.

I had a funny day on October 20, 1997 when I made lasagna for Edward's birthday. I put the lasagna on the oven and I went to watch television and forgot that I had put it in, until Edward and Flora arrived, and one of them said, "Something is burning." Didn't know where it was coming from. I checked everywhere in the apartment until I just remembered the lasagna. They said the lasagna was good, but then Flora asked what had happened to my right arm. I looked at it and I didn't know where it had come from. There was a big bubble on my arm, burnt on the oven, yet I had never felt it at all, because I had no pains on my right side.

In March, 1998, six months later after my operation, I had to go to New York because Edward's brother, Angel, had died. Angel was my godson also, but I was very sad because I had no feeling at all. But then my younger brother Roberto died also two days after Angel's funeral. Seeing my old nephews and nieces and brothers and other families was sad for me because I couldn't talk. You see, many people don’t know what to do when you are there or what to say to me. Yet, I cried when I saw Roberto in his coffin, thinking it could have been me.

I always remember the day that Roberto's body was put in a funeral home, on March 11, the day my father had died in 1963 and I went out that morning to see New York City again, wanting to buy musical CD's and I went to see a musical, The Capeman from Paul Simon and I thought myself, well Roberto will understand why I am not in the funeral home. Seeing a musical was very important for me and I was happy that I knew what the plot was and the dialogues. Being in a Broadway theater for me was as if I had been born again.

I went back home in Puerto Rico and was happy that I had gotten my first Social Security Disability check. Wayne and I went to a restaurant and I ordered Osso Bucco and felt that the food was great but didn't think about it. The next day, I went to a store trying to get bread crumbs. At that moment, I felt dizzy and had to kneel. I was afraid, the first time it had happened. I took several breaths and wow! I smelled something. I checked the shelf. It's Juicy Fruit, the gum I have always loved.

Oh my God. I picked it up and smelled it. I checked other shelves and tried to smell everything: that is spearmint gums, that's perfume. I can smell again. I ran out of the store and took a deep breath. They were planting a new palm tree and there was soil all over and I could smell it. I went to check the other trees and flowers. So happy I was, and my taste was back also -- good-bye chuck and welcome back to Angus. Even a homeless bum was walking toward me and he smelled terribly but I loved him, to me he smelled like gardenias and I gave him a dollar.

So I was happy, getting money again, and my wonderful friends, and Wayne and my computer, and I could stay at home alone again, and take a bus to go wherever I want, and all those things I couldn't remember, and a morning when I looked over the newspaper and tried to read a short article, as Rikinson had suggested, outloud, and I laughed, feeling as if I were a new Tom Brokaw.

Then I tried to read a novel, a Perry Mason mystery. I could read a paragraph but had to read it again to make sense. I finally read the whole novel, although it took me three months to read it. Now I can read much better now, but still not ready for another "War and Peace." And my writing has gotten much better, thanks for Lori and my new friends on the TBI chat room.

Since I was learning the computer again, I checked for chat rooms and I found the TBI. There I met ax, Patch, smuzzy. dash, rons, jonboat and gail (the first one I met), and a great person, sundance (RPI) who chatted with me every morning! and several others who have always helped me. At the beginning all I could write was "Hi," and stupid things because I couldn't remember words that I wanted to use. Most people would quit but those survivors/caregivers always told me that I had to keep trying every single moment. So when I couldn't remember the word I would use the ????'s and for me it was like charade game and I loved it. So I thank you all so much, especially Sagasha who started this chat room. I mean, what would I or we be doing now if I didn't have the TBI chat room? I wake up every morning, have my coffee and then run to the computer to say "Good Morning," to my chat room friends. We are trying to help each other chatting all the time, and there I learned that the word "depression" is forgotten, and always remembering to "laugh."

Last summer when I was visiting New York City (as if I have been doing for the last three years) I walked all over the city, because it was good to be able to remember the neighborhoods -- my brain was working well. Then at that time I wanted to get information about Aphasia and I had found hospitals and clinics for speech and one day I went to check out the NYU Speech Clinic and they put me on a group every Friday. Seeing my first Aphasiacs was great -- I felt as if I were with old friends. I also went to visit the Veterans Hospital in Manhattan and there I could go to see another group. After that I felt that I wasn't the only one Aphasiac anymore.

I cannot write again like I did (not that I was great), but I'm also trying to remember how to keep writing a play, "The Aphasiac Guy." This is the story about -- Well, maybe you'll be able to read it.

I haven't been lucky about my novels or plays, but I have been produced before my operation. "The King of Dominoes" was staged in Trenton, Jersey City, Newark Symphony Hall, and New York City (in Spanish and English). And "A Murder of Angels" (in English) was produced in the Bellas Artes (close to where I was born) in San Juan on November, 1994. My best one is called "Naked Among the Wolves" which people were afraid of. They didn't know what to do with it. Like life, or producers, or brains.

I am very sad many times, especially about "Alexandre and Isadora." I had started to write it in May, 1997, just after I got my computer -- I always thought this was going to be a bestseller. Unfortunately, I knew I was never ever going to write again. The last words I wrote were on August 3, the night before I went into the hospital:

"Papi? Who is Isadora?" Alexandre said.

"It's a very long story," his father said. There was a pause, and he sighed finally. "I think it's time you know about it."

I think about it all the time. Well, at least, I am very happy that I am still living and trying writing! So who knows, maybe one day I will be able to finish that play or the novel. But at least I am happy now, especially today, January 28, 2002 when Dr. Rifkinson told me that I was discharged from the hospital!

Hallelujah, and…

… never say goodbye, just …

~~Later~~