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of my three children from my first marriage (the
rocket girl,
who has been unfailingly supportiveof me), has been with me most of her life—and exclusively so from early high school through the completion of her master’s degree at Brown University in
combinatorial optimization
. Peter, my second, lives close by, and has visited with me off and on. Lucy, my third by age, was always with me, even when her mom was frequently out of the country on long business trips. Paul, my fourth (who was crucial in getting me through my most difficult challenges with his little sister, and who often just
helped
with whatever I needed at the time), spent almost half his time at my house. So, during this entire period I was often the single parent for a houseful of bright and thoughtful children.
    My good friend Jake, who also figures prominently in this narrative, lived nearby in Chicago until he moved to take a job in San Diego in 2002, where he continued to support me remotely.
    Although none of the treatments I pursued ever helped with any of the actual root causes of my brain problems during this eight-year period, I kept hacking away at it, leaving no stone unturned, so to speak, in looking for such help. In addition to my visits to the emergency room, and to the first neurologist, I later visited a nationally known rehabilitation center, a balance clinic, a neurotherapy clinic, a homeopath, various M.D.s, and had every diagnostic psychological test available at the time. I saw two prestigious neurologists and a psychiatrist. All of these practitioners and institutions were serious about their work. Some of my visits were informational—which in itself was helpful to me—but beyond that, no one had anything to offer a TBI victim beyond compassion and the suggestion that I learn to live with my permanent symptoms.
    Additionally, I had some success with various treatmentsfrom an electrostimulation therapist, an orthopedic physical therapist who specialized in brain injuries, a standard chiropractor, an Atlas-specialty chiropractor, an herbalist, an acupuncturist, and a sports-medicine specialist. Each helped me to somewhat manage my symptoms, and to persevere. I studied Tai Chi for many years, with a gifted and deeply spiritual teacher who had a profound effect on my ability to experience joy in my much-altered life, and to manage the physical pain. Lastly, I had several years of deep massage with a superb Chicago therapist. His treatment was a godsend for the pain, and always helped, temporarily, to restore some cognitive function.
    But, again, none of these avenues of treatment, no matter how effective at briefly addressing my
symptoms
, helped with the brain injury itself.
    Besides simple survival, my main task during the years after sustaining my concussion was to figure out the
principles of my impairment
so that I could conserve my resources and make it through the week. Which activities were the most taxing, and why? What were the rules behind the complex interplay of sensory input, brain-body states, and human cognition? Gradually, themes began to emerge—captured here in the ten broad categories that make up this section of the book.
    We will consider each of these topics as essential in understanding the cognitive breakdowns occurring in a damaged brain, but should also see them as a unique set of windows onto the fascinating workings of the
healthy
human brain as well. We’ll look at many facets of what makes us human at some of the lowest levels of our cognitive machinery. Then, at the close of this part of the book, we’ll meet
the Ghost
, who ushered in the period of my miraculous recovery almost a decade after the crash.

THE HUMAN MACHINE IS BROKEN
    THE THREE LEVELS OF COGNITIVE BATTERIES. Under certain circumstances, for varying but generally short periods of time, I would appear to act—and respond to challenges—normally. Then, under what would appear to outsiders as identical