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By Ronnie Polaneczky
"Clearly, Robert's thought processes are very highly tuned," says his friend Ciaran Slevin, who spends 12 hours a day helping the therapists at Moss coax Robert's atrophied limbs and struggling brain synapses into remembering their functions. "That's a very, very good sign." Indeed, Robert Drake's recovery has been more encouraging than anyone expected back in May, when I first wrote about him. At that time, he was slowly awakening from a coma that left his eyes flat, his voice silent and his limbs useless. He was alive, but not present in any way that resembled the smart, funny and self-effacing 36-year-old who'd become a well-known figure in the gay literary world.
When I met him, Robert was strapped into a wheelchair, his eyes vacant, his motions slow, underwater ones. He could not speak or swallow, nor could he move his limbs with any deliberation. At the time, Scott was struggling with Robert's insurance carrier to get him transferred to Moss to receive the intense and expensive rehabilitation that would most benefit Robert's recovery. "Without this rehab, we'll keep Robert alive," Scott told me at the time. "But we won't get him back."
I'd never known such a severely brain-injured person before, and I left
Robert that day with both a skeptical mind and a heavy heart. I'd read some
of the essays he wrote in The Gay Canon and was struck by Robert's
thoughtful and intelligent prose. He had been on a serious spiritual quest,
his friends said, and to my mind, it showed in The Gay Canon which rang
with intellect and emotional bravery.
I'd searched his eyes that day for some flicker of the spirit that lit his writings. I didn't see it, but Ciaran said Robert's eyes registered more cognizance than he'd seen in previous weeks. I hoped he was right. But I wondered if it was possible to come back, in a way that is recognizable to those who love you, from such a far-away place. Which shows that I know nothing. During my visit yesterday afternoon with Robert, I watched him feed himself a hamburger and spoon green beans into his mouth. I grinned as he commented that the new "Star Wars" movie, which he saw with Ciaran on a recent outing, was "not as good" as the first one. When I asked how long his speech therapy session lasted that morning, he rolled his eyes and said, very slowly, "Too long." Yes, his paper bib was stained from the forkfuls of food that didn't reach his mouth. And the healing cuts on his forehead, suffered when he slipped and fell into a table, are evidence that it will be a while before his arms and legs obey his brain's commands. But Robert is back, from the neck up, where it matters most to those who love him. Ronnie Polaneczky is a columnist at The Philadelphia Daily News, where this article first appeared. E-mail her at polaner@phillynews.com. |
Author Robert Drake (right) with lover Scott
Pretorius, was gay bashed during a trip to Ireland earlier this year. 
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