fully open, and her vision was dark
and hazy; when she tried to speak,
she couldn’t move her mouth or
make a sound. With dawning panic,
she realized her entire body was
frozen in place. She struggled not to
be pulled under again, but just as
Rikke felt Peter leaning down to her,
darkness closed in.
Rikke continued to drift in and out
of consciousness. Because her
memory was impaired, she had no
recollection of discovering her
paralysis; each time she woke, she
had to encounter the horror of
imprisonment anew and discover
that all she could do was scream
inside. Finally, two weeks after
entering the hospital, she managed
to fix her gaze on her husband,
trying to show him she was still
there. A couple of days later, a nurse
suggested that Rikke try blinking
to communicate: once for no, twice
for yes. It was the beginning of the
long road back.
In her memoir, The Blink of an Eye ,
Rikke describes how, with the
help of hospital staff from more than
20 departments, she broke free
from her paralysis, relearned basic
human functions, and, after five
months in the hospital, rejoined her
family at home. Though she still
deals with blindness in one eye and
the partial loss of nine fingers, she
cofounded a company that helps
patients manage their personal
health data, as well as an after-school
science program for children. Rikke
spoke with O about the struggles
and joys of learning to live again.
O: WHAT WAS THE
WORST PART ABOUT
BEING, AS YOU
WRITE, “ENTOMBED”
IN YOUR BODY?
RIKKE SCHMIDT KJAERGAARD:
The loneliness. Not being able to
express myself, to be myself, made
me feel like an alien. Even though
I had Peter, my children, friends,
nurses, and doctors around me, I
was utterly alone with my thoughts
and fears—possibly forever. It was
such a nightmare that I still shiver
when I think about it.
O: HOW DID
YOU FIGHT YOUR
WAY BACK?
RSK: We had to start from the
beginning, with teaching me how
to breathe on my own. The first
time they were about to temporarily
turn off my ventilator, I was scared
out of my senses. I blinked once—
no!—but the nurse ignored me.
The experience lasted less than two
minutes, but I felt as if I were
going to die. I was pining for air;
my body was exploding from
within. Each time they turned the
ventilator off and on was painful
and frightening. Finally, though, I
started absorbing oxygen.O: HOW DID YOU
LEARN TO
COMMUNICATE
AGAIN?
RSK: I started with a spelling
board, which is the alphabet printed
on a piece of cardboard. I’d follow
someone’s finger moving over the
letters and blink when they pointed
to the one I needed to spell a
word. Then one day I summoned
everything I had and moved my
lips ever so slightly—a breakthrough.
As I gained more control of my
facial muscles, I was able to form
letters, then simple words, and
my family would read my lips. Over
the next six weeks, we used the
board less and less.O: WHAT WAS YOUR
FIRST WORD?
RSK: “Weird.” My first word in four
weeks. Everybody froze when
I said it. But it was just so weird to
talk! And to have been unable
to move. And to have woken up and
gradually realized what had
happened. And to lose so many days
without ever being aware of them.
We i r d. My family laughed like a
thousand bubbles of happiness had
been released into the room.O: BREAKTHROUGHS
WEREN’T ALWAYS
THAT PLEASANT,
THOUGH, RIGHT?
RSK: No. Progress also meant that
I started to feel pain and discomfort.
My nose would itch or my arm
would hurt from lying in an
uncomfortable position, and this
could last for hours because I
couldn’t do anything about it or
bring it to anyone’s attention.
Imagine that you have an itch on
your back at exactly that point
you are unable to reach and
nobody to ask to scratch it for you.Yet it doesn’t go away; you can’t
will it away. This wasn’t only
uncomfortable—it also emphasized
my total aloneness.O: AND YOU HAD
TO REGAIN ALL
YOUR PHYSICAL
STRENGTH.
RSK: Yes. Muscle weakness set
in only a few days after I went into
the coma, and my body started
to waste away. This affected my
blood circulation and breathing,
which reduced my chances of a full
recovery. So while I was still
unconscious, a team of specialists
would gently shift my limbs. One
week after I awoke, they maneuvered
me into a semi-upright position: It
took three attendants plus Peter plus
a robotic arm 30 minutes to get me
up. They kept me in a sitting position
for ten seconds, then lowered
me back into bed—after which I fell
into a deep sleep. After a week,
I was able to remain sitting for eight
minutes. It was exhausting work.
But whenever one of the physical
therapists asked whether I wanted
to continue, I blinked yes. I rarely
blinked no. Each step forward gave
me confidence that I could fully
recover. I wanted to get back so badly.O: HOW ARE YOU
DOING NOW?
RSK: It took two full years after
leaving the hospital to finally feel
the strength of my old self. Today I
still need more rest than I used to.
And I miss my fingers. Since I also
developed gangrene when I was in a
coma, all but one essentially died and
had to be partially removed. Because
of the thin skin and the destroyed
nerves, they constantly hurt, and I
find it painful just to button a shirt
or bag my groceries. But emotionally,
I’m pretty okay at the moment.O: HOW DID
THIS EXPERIENCE
CHANGE YOU?
RSK: Just lying there, unable to move
or do anything for myself, I had to
accept that I was totally dependent on
the people around me. I just had to
endure. I’ve taken some of that with
me: I’ve learned to live in the moment,
which is something I realize I didn’t
always do before. Having patience and
embracing stillness have been the
most effective lessons of the illness.“I was locked
inside my own
body and had to
come to terms
with a different
life.... I spent
my days
sleeping and
thinking....
It was
fragmentary
and personal,
pieces of my
past, flashes of
memories,
feelings,
episodes, tiny
moments
of life with my
family, friends,
and colleagues
making me
sad, warm, or
fuzzy. I was
grasping for
scraps left over
in a brain
battered from
scores of
blood clots and
cerebral
hemorrhage.”
—From The Blink of
an Eye: A Memoir
of Dying—and
Learning How
to Live Again by
Rikke Schmidt
Kjaergaard@OPRAHMAGAZINE SEPTEMBER (^201975)