Tom eventually left St. Olaf, to continue his studies at the University of Minnesota, eventually becoming a successful research scientist for St. Jude's Medical for ten years. After that, he worked for a German medical company and later, went on his own as a consultant.
He was happily married, with a wife and four daughters, when tragedy struck.
While fixing a toilet one day, he realized something was going terribly wrong. When he tried to grasp a plunger with his right arm, he couldn't hold it. With his knowledge of biology, he figured he was having a stroke.
By some miracle, he got himself to a local clinic, and was immediately transferred to the University of Minnesota Hospital. He lapsed into a coma, where he remained for ten days. Doctors gave him a 1% chance of surviving. When he regained consciousness, he saw his daughter Maria, and gave her a big thumbs up. Unfortunately, he realized he could no longer understand words, and had to start learning them all over again.
After more than 2 years of intensive rehabilitation, he managed to go home. He has spent nearly 10 years learning to live with a paralyzed arm and leg, and with a condition called, aphasia, which affects his speech. He often struggles to find words, or to express his thoughts completely.
Tom couldn't continue with his former career, but now runs a lawn maintenance business, and also gives speeches about his condition. He recovered some movement in his arm and leg, and drives around in a Jeep. He visited my 8th grade class earlier this fall, where he talked about what it's like to live with a brain that no longer functions as it once did.
Recently, I attended the wedding of his daughter Maria, where Tom gave a speech, toasting the bride and groom. As usual, he paused often, searching for his words, and sharing the basics of his story. His speech was funny, honest, and had a charming simplicity that had the audience spellbound. His humanity and struggles were on full display for all to see.
Thankfully, Tom is surrounded by supportive family and friends. When we meet for occasional dinners, he limps into the restaurant with his cane and curled-up fist, always with the same big smile on his face. Wherever he goes, he is direct and upfront about his condition, at times handing people a small card that says, I have aphasia.
But Tom sends other messages too, even if they're not written on a small card. One is to fully embrace the life you have, even with its challenges and frustrations- full self-acceptance, with no reservations. Second, the importance of support, whether from family, friends, or caregivers. And finally, persist. As he told me recently, "Never, never give up."
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