You fell, she said, just remember you fell.
I fell, is all he told the doctors
in the big hospital. A nice lady came
and asked him questions but because
he didn't want to be sent away he said, I fell.
He never said anything else although he could talk fine.

He would, when engaged in an animated conversation with a friend, talk quickly and well for a few minutes, and then suddenly and without any very apparent cause would begin to stutter so much, that it was often difficult to understand him.

It's my nature to go around in high spirits most of the time and then to collapse.

On Friday, April 27th, he took a walk in the afternoon. That night he fell violently ill. He remained conscious and when informed by the doctor that he could ‘live only a few days, he exclaimed ‘Good!’ Before losing consciousness he said to Mrs. Bevan (who was with him throughout the night) ‘Tell them I've had a wonderful life!’ By ‘them’ he undoubtedly meant his close friends. When I think of his profound pessimism, the intensity of his mental and moral suffering, the relentless way in which he drove his intellect, his need for love together with the harshness that repelled love, I am inclined to believe that his life was fiercely unhappy. Yet at the end he himself exclaimed that it had been ‘wonderful’! To me this seems a mysterious and strangely moving utterance.

Me Die Laughing!: Waking From The Nightmare Of A Brain Explosion

We just spent a lot of time talking, getting to know one another, and laughing and joking around. He was a very animated person like that.
He wasn’t down there as a rioter or a looter
Why was he there? I have no answer. I ask myself that question every day.
I did explain to him that things had gotten bad the last few days because he was not in town and did tell him explicitly not to go downtown.
There was the mark where Joe had been laying.
I put my hand in it, and my hand was wet with his blood and that’s when, again, I collapsed on the ground.

I know this is not a very popular idea. You don't hear it too often any more … but it's the truth. I have taken drugs before and … I had a real good time. Sorry. Didn't murder anybody, didn't rape anybody, didn't rob anybody, didn't beat anybody, didn't lose – hmm – one fucking job, laughed my ass off, and went about my day. Sorry. Now, where's my commercial?

When we finally had a patient, he welcomed me with open arms. He invited me to sit down and it was obvious that he was eager to speak. I told him that I did not wish to hear him now but would return the next day with my students. I was not sensitive enough to appreciate his communications. It was so hard to get one patient, I had to share him with my students. Little did I realize then that when such a patient says “Please sit down now,” tomorrow may be too late. When we revisited him the next day, he was lying back in his pillow, too weak to speak. He made a meager attempt to lift his arm and whispered “Thank you for trying” — he died less than an hour later and kept to himself what he wanted to share with us and what we so desperately wanted to learn.

"My first book, "Let Me Die Laughing," details my ordeal of having a "brain explosion" and recovering enough to hike and ride my bike on great adventures".

The story of his downfall is soon told; for it came, as so often happens, just when he felt unusually full of high hopes, good resolutions, and dreams of a better life.

"Stay calm, sir," I cried. "Don't excite yourself, it could mean death." He took me at my word and instantly fell inert. I didn't know whether he was obeying me or had died.

Why are you breaking down, incidentally? I mean if you’re able to go into a collapse with all your might, why can’t you use the same energy to stay well and busy?

I fell,” he repeated for the hundredth time.
“But you didn’t fall very far,” Mary Sarojini now said.
“No, I didn’t fall very far,” he agreed.
“So what’s all the fuss about?” the child inquired.

What if the deaf person falls down?