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$18.95 Autographed Copy of A Waking Mind Table of Contents Part 1: Cracks in the Foundation Chapter 1: Brain Teasers Chapter 2: Roots Giving Way Chapter 3: Departures and Arrivals, I Chapter 4: The Nature of an Illness Chapter 5: Departures and Arrivals, II Chapter 6: Departures and Arrivals, III Chapter 7: Departures and Arrivals, IV Part 2: Adjusting Chapter 8: Dating Carousel Chapter 9: Periods of Adjustment Chapter 10: Carousel Spin-offs Chapter 11: Tenuous Employment Part 3: Contemplations Chapter 12: Normacly Chapter 13: Perfection and Redemption Chapter 14: Reflections on Truth Chapter 15: Intelligence Measured Part 4: Knowledge Chapter 16: Family in Crisis Chapter 17: The Road to a Cure Chapter 18: Seven Years of Conferences Part 5: Death and Life Chapter 19: In the Mind’s Eye Chapter 20: Adrift Midstream Chapter 21: Our Better Angels Chapter 22: Celebration of Life Epilogue Back Matter Glossary Notes Selected Bibliography		Diana Lund brings her insightful and witty style to continue her story begun in Remind Me Why I'm Here: Sifting through Sudden Loss of Memory and Judgment. In A Waking Mind, she experiences three awakenings after a 1996 car accident and resultant mild traumatic brain injury. Eventually aware of her sudden ineptitude at her technical job, the onset of claustrophobia, and unexpected turns of events, such as setting out for a zoo exhibit and winding up on the kiddie train, Lund absorbs what it means to be a cognitively-handicapped adult. While acquiring this new view, she begins to see flaws in her core beliefs about intelligence, goodness, and truth; faults made by her once rational brain. Patterns grow clear. Others are struggling in the same neuronal waters in which she had nearly drowned. Having reached safe harbor, Lund keeps alive hope. Endorsements “With insight and unfaltering honesty, Diana Lund tells the remarkable story of her battle to restore her body and soul after a mild traumatic brain injury—an injury that is inflicted upon hundreds of thousands of people.” —Maurice Possley, Pulitzer-Prize winning journalist “A gifted observer and writer . . . Lund’s superb account of her visit with us reminds me of what a high school teacher of mine once said: ‘Love is blind, but the neighbors see.’” —Yehuda Ben-Yishay, PhD, Prof. of Clinical Rehabilitation Medicine, New York University School of Medicine, Director, Brain Injury Day Treatment Program, Rusk Institute of Rehabilitation Medicine “Diana Lund does a great service for all of us in the field, and I’m sure, for everyone who has been affected by brain injury.” —Ginny Lazzara, Chair of Board of Directors, Brain Injury Association of Illinois “Many books have been written about living with a brain-injured person. Almost all are written from the outside looking in. I even wrote one myself. But Diana Lund gives you a rare glimpse into her bewildering world  from the inside. Gut-wrenching queasiness in one paragraph and gut-splitting laughter the next. . . . You can't resist the urge to jump into the pages and help Diana in her cerebral Tug o' War against her uninvited alter ego." —Dan Montville, humor author of Disabled Fables: Celebrating the Lighter Side of Parenting a Child with Disabilities

Excerpts

From Chapter 6: Departures and Arrivals, III

“Hi, I have a reservation for Lund,” I started.

The desk clerk asked me a few easy questions and then said, “I’ve put you in a non-smoking room, number 647.”

On my slip of paper, I’d written King Bed. I inquired, “Does this room have a king bed?”

“No. It has two double beds,” he replied.

“Two double beds,” I repeated. “Hmm. On the phone, the receptionist promised me a king bed. I want what was promised.”

“Our reservationists,” he corrected, “don’t promise a particular bed size. She probably said your room will have a king bed or two double beds.”

“A king bed or two double beds,” I repeated him again and briefly paused. “But there was no or. She promised me a king bed. I want a king bed.”

It seems ridiculous to me as I write this, why I, one person in the room, had to have a king bed. On the other hand, I remember how illogical I became, how single-tracked my thoughts were, and how, by this time in the brain injury, I knew better than to deviate from my script on my piece of paper.

Looking agitated, the clerk popped into a back room for five minutes and then returned. “The hotel is full,” the clerk explained. “All I can give you are double beds.”

“But when I made the reservation, your receptionist told me my room would have a king bed. I expect a king bed.”

“And I already explained that our reservationists! don’t make such promises. Your room has a double bed.”

My misfiring brain remained stuck on one thought. I told him again, “I don’t want a double bed. I want a king bed.”

“A king is not available, ma’am.”

“I want a king bed. Find me a king bed!”

Frustrated with me, the clerk scurried to a back room again. I waited for ten minutes until he reappeared.

“There is nothing more that we can do for you.” he snapped. “Let’s complete this check-in. I’ll need your credit card.”

Over the previous year I’d been trying to construct coherent verbal retorts. Like an intruder had duct taped my mouth shut, I could only squeal yes or no. Expansion of my reply or movement of the conversation in a different direction hopped beyond me. Only later when I mapped out the chat on paper could I analyze the situation and then compose new thoughts.

Quite angry by this time, after having survived a wretched journey, I restrained my hands of guck from gesticulating and growled back, “If you are not going to live up to your promises, then you need to find me a room at another hotel.”

I felt startled by my response. How did I know to say that?

A look of disbelief came over his face. He pushed back. “That is not possible. We have a convention in town. All the hotels are booked.”

Holding my own, I demanded, “I want to talk to your manager.” It was as if the old Diana, the project manager who removed obstacles from her path, stepped back into my body and took control.

He hightailed it to the back room again. When the manager stepped up to the counter, without resistance, she gave me a king bed and upgraded my stay to include (at no extra cost) a living room, dining room, and kitchen. After we completed the transaction, I took the card key with my magical blue hands, obviously responsible for my special powers this day, and relished my monotonous focus, one of the few upsides since the brain injury. At last, I had penetrated my mind’s barrier and emerged with alternative tactics, and this re-surfacing attribute netted me a tangible victory. I smiled. Traveling with my head in the clouds might not be so bad after all.

From Chapter 15: Intelligence Measured

I had a fine brain if you don’t count the time I stapled my thumb when I was five years old (inexperience with loading staples). Or when I smoked marijuana in my teens (peer acceptance). Or when I locked myself out of my car on a date with a man I adored (preoccupied). If I ignore the time I surfed in dangerous undertow when my friend nearly drowned, and if I forget about driving alone to the top of a mountain during a blizzard to go cross-country skiing (no challenge too great), then I can consider my young self smart, a person who basically kept herself safe.

Since chance intervened (a car accident) and changed my biology (my brain), the frequency and essence of my stupidity changed. I move a pot of soup from the stove and into the refrigerator, and forget to turn off the burner (unable to keep parallel thoughts in my head). The open flame burns for five hours before I discover it. I socialize beyond my bedtime (unable to keep track of time) and then later that night can’t sleep because the mental activity has overstimulated my brain. Grogginess renders me useless for the next couple of days. During an in-class assignment for a required course at work, I complete the first three exercises, then take a break. The teacher had asked us to work on the first seven exercises (short-term memory loss). I know better, but for months, and for some tasks, for years, and for others, possibly forever, I don’t do better.

But what of my intelligence have I lost? On the inside, I still feel bright. I remember how my brain used to get from problem to answer, and I still have a wealth of hard-earned answers locked inside. With the brain injury, intelligence didn’t leave the confines of my body.