An interlude.

A few months ago around nine on a Wednesday evening, my vision blurred, and I lost my sense of balance. It seemed like a fine time to go to bed. When I attempted to explain my predicament to my wife, it turned out I’d also lost my ability to communicate verbally. I was having a stroke. My wife–wiser than I and besieged by the mismatched words that I believed constituted communication–collected our infant son, coaxed me into the car, and we were at the nearby hospital a few minutes later.

With Co...