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ON THE FINAL day of my sophomore year of high school, I was hit in the face with a baseball bat. As my classmate took a full swing, the bat slipped out of his hands and came _ying toward me before striking me directly between the eyes. I have no memory of the moment of impact.  the bat smashed into my face with such force that it crushed my nose into a distorted U-shape.  the collision sent the so tissue of my brain slamming into the inside of my skull. Immediately, a wave of swelling surged throughout my head. In a fraction of a second, I had a broken nose, multiple skull fractures, and two shattered eye sockets. When I opened my eyes, I saw people staring at me and running over to help. I looked down and noticed spots of red on my clothes. One of my classmates took the shirt off his back and handed it to me. I used it to plug the stream of blood rushing from my broken nose. Shocked and confused, I was unaware of how seriously I had been injured. My teacher looped his arm around my shoulder and we began the long walk to the nurse’s office: across the _eld, down the hill, and back into school. Random hands touched my sides, holding me upright. We took our time and walked slowly. Nobody realized that every minute mattered. When we arrived at the nurse’s office, she asked me a series of questions. “What year is it?” “1998,” I answered. It was actually 2002. “Who is the president of the United States?” “Bill Clinton,” I said.  the correct answer was George W. Bush. “What is your mom’s name?” “Uh. Um.” I stalled. Ten seconds passed.