“I don’t know,” said Cameron, still tracing something onto the window, the glass cold against his wandering fingertip. Yet his voice, moving seventy miles an hour in the open right lane, was without shakes and quivers, that vein in his neck pulsing gently and unseen. “I guess it’s like everything else. You just hope it was real.”
afterword
In November 2015, as part of a research initiative orchestrated by Janice Lorimar-Cuevas, MD, Cameron Harris flew to New Haven, Connecticut, to undergo a five-day battery of tests, including a spinal tap for evaluation of his cerebrospinal fluid, at the Yale School of Medicine’s Center for Neuroscience and Regeneration Research. His case is also under investigation by Stephen Levitan, PhD, professor in the departments of neurology and neurobiology at the University of California, Berkeley, a senior Veterans Administration medical research scientist, and one of the nation’s foremost authorities in the field of axonal regeneration and remyelination. At the time of this book’s publication, however, the research has yet to yield any conclusive determinations about Cameron’s recovery except—per Dr. Levitan’s terse formulation—that, somehow, “it happened.”
acknowledgments
The largest shareholder in my gratitude is, of course, Cameron Harris, who entrusted me with his story and then maintained his trust as that story, and his life, grew ever more unruly and complex. I’ve tried to merit that trust with empathy and accuracy.
Tanya Harris’s stricken reaction, when I introduced this book project to her and Cameron back in September 2014, went like this: “A whole book? About Cam?” I wish to thank her, very fondly, for all the tolerance and openness she provided me during my half-year stay on the Coast, as the idea of a whole book kept getting wholer and wholer. Her apprehensions about the project, as the story zigzagged forward, were to be expected. Less expected—extraordinary, even—was her refusal to go back on her word.
I cannot fathom how Janice Lorimar-Cuevas, MD, could have been more generous with her time or more open about her life and work. My initial presumption was that Janice, being the daughter of a novelist, was merely sympathetic to the weird delicacies of a writer’s craft; but I soon enough came to see that Janice extends her sympathies to everyone and everything. She showed infinite patience with reconstructing events and conversations and recollecting subtle (and sometimes regretted) thoughts and impressions. I am especially grateful for her willingness to share her notes, files, recordings, emails, and, most of all, the personal diary she kept during the events described herein. I’d be remiss not to extend thanks as well to Nap Cuevas, her husband, who could’ve rightfully grumbled about my constant intrusions into their lives but instead mixed up Sazeracs and cooked us all killer meals and more than once took it upon himself to soothe and quiet their daughter, Lacey, when Lacey longed to add some baby yowls to the conversation.
Quỳnh and Hat Lê were likewise gracious, their door ever open even as confusions and disappointments curdled their story. A soft pleasure of mine was babysitting Little Kim so that the Lês could enjoy a rare night out together; it helped ease some of the homesickness I was feeling for my own children back up north. Euclide Abbascia was reluctant to speak with me at first, but I pray—and I use that verb deliberately—that the affectionate care I tried according his story leaves him with no regrets about participating. I’ll say the same about Scott T. Griffin, who recognized the dark crannies in his role in the story the moment we first sat down in his office, but agreed that the story of Cameron Harris warranted a full and open airing, even if it was someone else doing the airing. The benevolence he showed by sharing hundreds upon hundreds of hours of footage with me, along with all his notes and recollections from the Miracle Man production, proved crucial to the writing of this book.
I also want to express deep and very real gratitude to the following advisors, guides, and sources who aided me in my research and reporting: Michael Stillman, MD; Steven Williams, MD; Tricia H. Kroth, DO; Bill Saxon, my Rome counsel; Mary Kay Gominger; Doug Stanton; C. Russell Muth; Angie Galle Ladner; Fred Lusk, Esq.; Julie Holder; Jay Carmean, Esq.; and dear Rayya Elias. And to gratefully acknowledge, as well, the information and/or inspiration provided by the following works: The Book of Miracles by Kenneth L. Woodward; The Last Deployment by Bronson Lemer; Outlaw Platoon by Sean Parnell; The Good Soldiers by David Finkel; The Viet Kieu in America, edited by Nghia M. Vo; Soldier of Change by Stephen Snyder-Hill; The Outpost by Jake Tapper; The Vatican Prophecies by John Thavis; and Medical Miracles by Jacalyn Duffin.
Tula, Mississippi, Dec. 2016
about the author
JONATHAN MILES is the author of the novels Dear American Airlines and Want Not, both New York Times Notable Books. He is a former columnist for the New York Times, has served as a contributing editor to magazines ranging from Details to Field & Stream, and his journalism has been frequently anthologized in Best American Sports Writing and Best American Crime Writing. He is also the author of a book on fish and game cookery, The Wild Chef, and competed in the Dakar Rally, an off-road race through Africa. Formerly of Oxford, Mississippi, he lives with his family in rural New Jersey.
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Anatomy of a Miracle Page 42