This appeared in the Jan.-Feb. 2005 issue of Science & Spirit.

In my favorite photo of us, we’re astride Ken’s BMW motorcycle in our Tucson driveway. Ken is laughing at the camera as I, sitting behind him with arms clasped around his waist, kiss his ear. We wore none of our usual protective equipment—full-face helmets, boots, jackets, gloves—because we had jumped on the bike strictly for the photo. Months later, Ken was wearing all his gear when he took his other motorcycle, a Ducati sport bike,  to run some errands. But when a white sedan turned suddenly in front of him, there was nothing he or his equipment could do to prevent what happened next. Ken hit the passenger side near the back wheel; helmet striking steel, face smashing into helmet, brain slamming into skull. He crashed to the asphalt. The sedan disappeared.

An injury to the brain is unlike any other. Along with physical functions, the brain controls awareness, personality, temperament, and cognitive processes like memory—all those things that commingle to form a “self.” And while that self does not necessarily reside in the brain, the brain is the part of us that animates it. So a traumatic brain injury can kidnap the dear self of someone you love, dragging him far from shore as a riptide does a swimmer, sometimes beyond rescue, even though in reality he is holding your hand or smiling at you across the dinner table.

The day of the accident, exactly nine months after our wedding, Ken left around noon and had planned be home in a couple of hours. Instead, I found myself at the University of Arizona Medical Center’s ICU around 7 p.m., staggered by the sight of my husband. There was a ventilator tube in his mouth; a cervical collar around his neck; a stitched cut above his left eyebrow; left eye purple and swollen shut, right eye nearly so; nostrils filled with crusted blood; broken right hand captured in a sling; left hand tethered to the bed rail. Naked under a single sheet and his face streaked with dirt, Ken moaned and tossed in delirium.

A CT scan showed two minimal contusions on Ken’s brain. The neurologists told me worse injuries invisible to imaging machines were likely. The brain floats within the skull, and if the head’s momentum stops suddenly, as Ken’s did when it came to an instant halt against the car, the brain rebounds within its bony home in a motion called coup contrecoup. Neurons are sheared off: Millions of connections in that tiny, internal universe can, like exploding stars, blink out of existence in an instant.

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