The next item on the agenda was letting me speak audibly again. The doctors weren’t prepared to remove my trache tube for good yet. They felt the need to have access to my lungs in case they became congested or, worse, failed again. There is a trache called a “talking trache” that has an air bubble around it that when inflated, prevents air from passing from the lungs through my nose and mouth. In this mode, I could be suctioned to remove secretions that would still be gathering in my lungs.

When the tube is deflated and the trache tube is closed, the air passes from my lungs around it and through my larynx, voice box, and mouth allowing me to speak. So he made the switch and closed the tube and said, “Now try to talk.”

Very carefully and quietly I spoke, "Testing. 1, 2, 3. Testing." And a smile grew across my face.

I had the ability to speak again. Try to imagine this. I’d lost the ability to move then the ability to speak, leaving only my sight, hearing, taste, and smell. You may have seen those silly movies of the mad scientist who has a collection of heads on a shelf. Imagine one fully aware and mute.

Why go to so much trouble and expense to keep a head alive? Therein lies an immortal question. What is a man? Is a man what he says? What if he is mute? Is a man what he does? What if he is paralyzed? Is it what he thinks? What if he is simple minded or gets Alzheimer’s? What makes a life worth keeping? Since I had all my faculties and was now breathing on my own, these difficult questions were not addressed at that time... at least, not by me. I’d seen Joni and others survive virtually totally paralyzed. If they can do it, I can do it. I will survive.

I spent about two more weeks in ICU doing breathing excersizes by day -- building up my partially restored diaphragm strength -- and breathing with a canula in my nose by night. You’ve seen these. It’s a tiny clear tube that comes from a designated hole in the wall (or oxygen tank beside you) and wraps around your ears and under your nose to supply oxygen to those with weak lungs. In a couple of weeks I talked Dr. Bregman into letting me go without it. They are terribly uncomfortable. It made my nose itch all the time and my paralyzed arms could not reach up to relieve me. So I was constantly twitching my nose as though I was practicing for the male version of Bewitched.

When he finally removed it, I was ready to be moved out of ICU and into a room in the Critical Care Unit. That was a Red Letter Day.