I am by trade, a speech pathologist and as such, have to work with many populations. While I was in graduate school, we had to do an internship at an off-site from college. By the luck of the draw, I received a rehab center in Erie, PA. Four of us college girls drove an hour each way along Lake Erie to arrive at work at 7am each day for 10 weeks. Before this, our clients amounted to walk-ins for hearing aids or kids needing articulation work. Nothing could prepare us for the real hospital experience.

Upon arrival I got my badge, speech "kit" and first ten patients of the day. The very first room I walked into had a twenty-something guy sitting on his bed looking dazed and confused. My mentor tells me he's awoken from a coma, his name is John and he had a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. I don't think there are words to describe seeing this, someone almost your own age looking for all the world a shell of their former self. My job? To evaluate him and decide the course of his 6 week therapy.

Around his room I noticed many things. Cards from kids, pictures of his young wife and a quilt brought in by his mother. I'd learn later that they came daily to talk with him, play music and even bring in baked goods to stimulate some sort of memory. They were all torn up over the fact that he'd tried to take his own life and couldn't quite look him in the eye. Heartbreaking more for them than him at that point.

At first, it seemed that 'Charles' could do little more than shake his head. Even "yes" "no" responses were random, meaning even basic cognition was impaired. I'd ask him if the coin was a penny and you could see the struggle behind the eyes; the confusion; the fear. Slowly, over the course of weeks, Charles came to see me, once a day for 30 minutes. I used to wonder why physical therapy got him much longer and realized that it is seen to be much more important for people to be "mobile" than to "communicate" (at least in the eyes of the medical community). Eventually with hard work and some tears, Charles gained minimal abilities.

Charles and I played games, did word finding exercises and dozens of memory tasks. He was actually one of the lucky ones. His smile was lopsided but he remembered his wife, and could speack a few words. The thing that I could never ask him was why he tried to take his life. I never knew the  "before" Charles, only the "changed" Charles. I wondered if he knew why he was there, and that at one time he didn't want to live.

As with all rehab, after 6 weeks you are "done"... Charles was taken out, went home and continued on in out-patient therapy for some time. I worked with about 50 people over my stay in Erie but Charles is the one I remember the most. I wonder what he's doing now, if he's happy, if he sees joy in his life. I certainly hope so.