The massive pool of blood in my head pressed precariously against my brain. The doctors marveled that I was alive, much less walking and talking.
They looked and shook their heads in wonder at the MRI results. I politely reminded them I was indeed alive, awake, and actually in the room.
On May 9, 2005, they wheeled me in for emergency surgery, and I said goodbye to my wife, not quite three-year-old daughter, and newborn son. I knew that sometimes people don’t wake up from brain surgery, and this might be the last time I saw them.