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N O V E M B E R / D E C E M B E R 2 0 0 8 W W W. T I K K U N . O R G T I K K U N 41 I nthesummerof1950,theyearIgraduated fromhighschool,myfuturehusbandandIhada forbidden but memorable love affair—after which we went our separate ways, married others , raised families, built careers, endured tragedy,divorced—butweneverforgoteachother.Bythe time we reunited thirty-four years later, we were in our fifties and with such separate, well-defined lives that we were able to build our new marriage on trust coupled with freedom, equality, and self-sufficiency—goals inspired by the feminist movement that had shaped me. During the two decades we shared our lives we prided ourselvesonourindependence,spendingmonthsofeach year apart, separately pursuing our vocations (he as a sculptor, I as a writer) until, on July 22, 2004, in a beach house on a small Maine island, our lives were completely transformed. As my love fell from the sleeping loft to the floor—suffering (as I was soon to learn) many broken bones, internal bleeding, and multiple blood clots in his brain—hisindependence,andwithitmine,vanished.He was seventy-five and I was seventy-two. Seeing him lying naked and deathly still on the floor nine feet below our bed, I dashed down the stairs calling outhisname.Noanswer.Ishookhisshouldergently.Still no answer. Somehow I managed to find my cell phone and call 911. After what felt like an eternity, but was actually perhapstwentyminutes ,thedoortoourcabinburstopenas, from every corner of the island, one by one the island’s heroicVolunteerFireandRescueTeamexplodedintothe room. I barely had time to put on my sneakers before I was scrambling to keep up with them as they started out thedoorwithScottonastretcher,downthericketystairs, toward the treacherous beach at high tide. The night was foggy and moonless, obscuring the path. My watch said 2 am. They carried the stretcher in relays across the long beach in the dark to where a dirt road began, then transferred him to the waiting fire truck, putting me in the cab—and off we raced across the island to the dock, where a rescue boat Love in Adversity by Alix Kates Shulman Barrie Karp, 1984, Fear & Hope (Blue), #2, oil, wax, on paper, 30x22.5 inches. Collection of Alix Kates Shulman and Scott York, NYC. Alix Kates Shulman has written twelve books of fiction, memoir, biography. Four years ago she became her husband’s caregiver, a life recounted in her newly published memoir, To Love What Is: A Marriage Transformed. BARRIE KARP Politics_3.qxd:Politics 11/5/08 1:35 PM Page 41 42 T I K K U N W W W. T I K K U N . O R G N O V E M B E R / D E C E M B E R 2 0 0 8 from Portland had arrived only moments before. As we pulled anchor and headed out to sea,Igazedbackatthatrecedingordinaryworldwherelifeproceedsbydaysandnights,not moment by terrifying moment, aware that our world would never again be the same. Most traumatic brain injuries are pretty impervious to treatment. Human bones normally heal in six weeks, but for brains the course of healing is unpredictable and erratic. “It could be a year or more before we know the extent of the brain damage,” warned Dr. Cushing , head of the Maine Medical Center trauma unit. A year! I reeled in shock but never wavered in my resolve. For nearly three months of hospitalization—sixweeksintheICUinPortlandfollowedbyanequaltimeinarehabhospital in New York City, where we live—I sat beside Scott from 8 am to 8 pm, determined to protect him from the inevitable daily institutional mishaps (including another fall on his head!), soothing his terrors and waiting out his delusions, committed to restoring his health. Somehow I convinced myself that the doctor had predicted that he would recover fullywithinayear.Asmostbrainhealingoccursinthefirstfewmonthsaftertraumabefore gradually tapering off, seeing his steady progress, I continued to believe in Scott’s total recovery , even though, by the time an ambulette brought him home to our apartment, his short-term memory was still completely shot, resembling advanced Alzheimer’s disease, and all his cognitive abilities were severely compromised. Although he couldn’t figure out how to work the phone, bring up...

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