Ray & Me Read Free

you in the head, Joey,” my mom said, stroking my hand. “The doctor said it might have been traveling at a hundred miles per hour.”
    â€œYou fell on your shoulder and hurt that too,” my dad told me. “It was dislocated, but the doctors were able to pop it back into place.”
    For a moment, I had forgotten about my shoulder. Once Dad reminded me, it hurt again.
    â€œThe boy who hit the ball, Cameron Considine, was so upset,” Mom told me. “We were all upset. You were lying there on the ground, not moving. Cameron thought he killed you. He had to go into counseling.”
    This was all too much to absorb at once. Before this, I had never been seriously injured in my whole life. The worst thing that ever happened to me was that time in third grade when I ran into a tree chasing a Frisbee. But I never broke a bone. Never had to go to the emergency room. Never even had any stitches.
    On the table next to my bed was a stack of articles that had been clipped from magazines and newspapers.

    Nina Wallace
    â€œYou’re famous, Butch!” my dad said.
    I was reading the article about myself when a doctor walked into the room. He was a tall African- American man, and he had a big smile on his face.
    â€œDoctor, he woke up!” my mother exclaimed.
    â€œI can see that!” the doctor said. “Like I told you; your son’s head is as hard as a rock! So this is the famous Joseph Stoshack, eh? It’s a pleasure to meet you awake.”
    The doctor shook my hand and told me his name was Louis Wright. He said he was a Yankees fan, like my dad.
    â€œAm I gonna be okay?” I asked him.
    â€œI’m not sure,” he replied. “Did you ever hear about the time Dizzy Dean got hit in the head by a ball?”
    â€œNo,” I admitted.
    â€œDean was not exactly the smartest guy in the world,” Dr. Wright told me. “So after he was released from the hospital and it was clear that he wasn’t seriously hurt, one newspaper ran the headline: X-RAYS OF DEAN’S HEAD REVEAL NOTHING .”
    The doctor threw back his head and laughed. We all did.
    â€œDr. Wright may have saved your life, Joey,” my mother said. “He’s one of the most respected brain surgeons in the country.”
    â€œDid you operate on my brain?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” the doctor said. “We treated you with medication to reduce the swelling of your brain. And we put a pressure monitor on your skull to make sure we didn’t have to operate on your brain. We did stick a probe into your skull, though. That’s why we had to shave your head.”
    â€œOh, man, I must look like a real dork!”
    â€œJoey!” Mom said. “You’re lucky to be alive !”
    â€œYour mother is right,” Dr. Wright told me. “In more severe brain injury cases where the brain swells, we have to remove part of the skull to relieve the pressure. Even then the patient doesn’t always survive.”
    I didn’t want to think about that. But I was grateful that I was in good hands.
    â€œSorry,” I said.
    â€œYour mom was the real hero,” said Dr. Wright. “She knew exactly what to do. She made sure youweren’t gagging or choking or had your tongue blocking an airway to prevent you from breathing. Then she elevated your head and kept it stable in case there was a spinal injury. And of course, she got you to the hospital as quickly as possible.”
    â€œAny nurse knows to do that,” Mom said modestly.
    â€œBut not all of them think of it in a crisis,” Dr. Wright said, “especially with their own child. Now, Joseph, I want to try a few simple tests to make sure your brain is functioning properly.”
    â€œAre you going to stick more electrodes into my skull?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I just need to ask you a few questions. Let’s say you’re playing third base. There are runners on first and second. One out. The