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justanotheridijiton:

Language is something we so take for granted. Look at the nearest object to you right now. For the normal person, the name your native tongue has for that object will come to you at first glance. For me, I knew conceptually it was the object that you sit on at a table, but I didn’t have a word for it. The neural pathway to my voice was unable to decode the word. I could only make noises that weren’t even close to being correct. I was a caveman. A newborn.

After this initial test I felt painfully alone. I needed to be with someone who knew me. I wanted to see Rich. But I wasn’t sure if he’d left. I tried to tell the nurse but I didn’t know how. I moaned until she handed me a piece of paper. “Wa-wa-wa.”

“Can you write it down?”

I sat holding the pencil to paper, but I could only make scribbles. I tried miming it to her. But how do you mime, “I need to see my friend, the guy who brought me in”? I just made faces until, miraculously, she said, “You want me to get your friend?” I nodded. Yes, yes, oh, thank god. It was such a victory.

Moments later Rich was there.

“Hey, buddy!” What a breath of fresh air. He proceeded to tell me that in the waiting room fellow Supernatural actors Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles were making phone calls, working on getting Mollie here. And Mandy, Jen, and Jen, bless their hearts, were still there as well. I would find out later that the waiting room was like HQ: Misha was assigned getting my wife to Canada, not an easy task because Mollie, who had been in Cleveland on business, would be driving up and didn’t have her passport. Meanwhile, Jensen was calling Los Angeles and getting my best friend, Bruce, to wake my house sitter (in the middle of the night) to get Mollie’s passport just in case, and additionally buying Bruce a ticket to Toronto. And Rich, of course, was at the helm, managing the entire operation. At this point, the gravity of the situation was very high. No one knew what might happen to me.

No more than two visitors could be in the ICU at one time, so that first night – which felt like an eternity – they would come in shifts. I remember Jensen and Richard talking over me as I lay there like a guy in a full-body cast, unable to speak. It was dreamlike. I remember having the urge to offer a thought, finding a window into that familiar banter that we had developed. We all think so fast when we’re together and share a quick sense of humor. But that night I could only watch. Later, Misha came in. He hugged me and looked very upset. “I’m just so sorry, man,” he kept saying.

And, every hour, the nurse was there to see if I was still alive and to give me “the test.” Which I failed time and time again. “What’s this?” “G-g-g-g-g-g–” “Feather.” “Feather, yeah.” “What’s this again?” “P-p-p-p-p–” “Feather.” “F-f-feather, yeah.” Morning came, and with it Jensen and Misha’s departing flights.

Richard had his flight pushed back a couple of days so he could stay with me. My wife finally got there, and by that time I could no longer say her name. I looked at her and knew exactly who she was, but the nurse said, “Who’s this?” and I opened my mouth but nothing came out. It was soul crushing for both of us. There I was, tubes coming out of me, machines beeping, this constant pulsating coming from the apparatus around my legs, and I had lost all of my words. It was the rock bottom of the entire experience.

Excerpted from: “Stroke of Luck” by Rob Benedict. In Family Don’t End With Blood: Cast and Fans on How Supernatural Has Changed Lives, edt. Lynn S. Zubernis. Smart Pop: 2017.