One weekend my friend, a nurse, was looking after her
six-year-old nephew when he fell off a playground slide and
hit his head.
Worried that he might have a concussion, she checked him all
night. Every hour, she’d gently shake him and ask, “What’s
your name?” Soon, he began moaning in protest each time she
entered the room.
When Sally went in at 5:00 A.M., she found something white
on his forehead. Leaning close, she saw a crayon-scrawled
message taped to his forehead.
It read: “My name is Daniel.”