Proof of Heaven

was, he knew, essentially impossible. But once Holley finally had him
convinced that I really was in a coma caused by a rare case of E. coli
bacterial meningitis that no one could explain the origins of, he got
started calling infectious disease experts around the country. No one he
spoke to had heard of a case like mine. Going over the medical literature
back to 1991, he couldn’t find a single case of E. coli meningitis in an
adult who hadn’t recently been through a neurosurgical procedure.
From Tuesday on, Jay called at least once a day to get an update from
Phyllis or Holley and give them feedback on what his investigations had
revealed. Steve Tatter, another good friend and neurosurgeon, likewise
provided daily calls offering advice and comfort. But day after day, the
only revelation was that my situation was the first of its kind in medical
history. Spontaneous E. coli bacterial meningitis is rare in adults. Less
than 1 in 10 million of the world’s population contracts it annually. And,
like all varieties of gram-negative bacterial meningitis, it’s highly
aggressive. So aggressive that of the people it does attack, more than 90
percent of those who initially suffer from a rapid neurologic decline, as I
did, die. And that was the mortality rate when I first entered the ER. That
dismal 90 percent crept toward 100 percent as the week wore on and my
body failed to respond to the antibiotics. The few who survive a case as
severe as mine generally require round-the-clock care for the rest of their
lives. Officially, my status was “N of 1,” a term that refers to medical
studies in which a single patient stands for the entire trial. There is
simply no one else to whom the doctors could compare my case.
Beginning on Wednesday, Holley brought Bond in for a visit every
afternoon after school. But by Friday she was starting to wonder if these
visits were doing more harm than good. At times, early in the week, I
would move. My body would thrash around wildly. A nurse would rub my
head and give me more sedation, and eventually I’d become quiet again.
This was confusing and painful for my ten-year-old son to watch. It was
bad enough that he was looking at a body that no longer resembled his
father, but also seeing that body make mechanical movements that he
didn’t recognize as mine was particularly challenging. Day by day, I
became less the person he’d known, and more an unrecognizable body in