"To society he's blind," said Ben's mother, "but that doesn't make him handicapped. He just can't see."
She also said, "One thing that I truly get back from Ben being blind is that he truly sees people from within.
What is consciousness? You may say that it is to be aware. But what does it mean to be consciously aware of something? I can type this paragraph while outside my window a bird chirps, shadows dapple the window ledge, and here, inside this room, my fingers move on the keyboard, music plays on the radio, and other events also happen as I focus only on these words. I stop for a moment, and there they are, all these other things. Then I return my attention to the computer screen. In a sense, I see but I don't see. I am aware but I am not aware. Things are part of consciousness and, so to speak, they are not.

but every minute of the day you are are nagged by an exhausting need to scratch the hand. But there is nothing there to scratch.
"Is studying the brain a good way to understand the mind? Does psychology stand to brain anatomy as physiology stands to body anatomy? In the case of the body, physiological functions—walking, breathing, digesting, reproducing, and so on—are closely mapped onto discrete bodily organs, and it would be misguided to study such functions independently of the bodily anatomy that implements them. If you want to understand what walking is, you should take a look at the legs, since walking is what legs do. Is it likewise true that if you want to understand thinking you should look at the parts of the brain responsible for thinking?
So I am dead, see. Don't ask me how I can be writing this. You just have to understand that I am dead. The doctor says I suffer from Cotard's Delusion, but I know better. He's wrong. I'm dead. It is so clear to me, if not to him. This is real. He is deluded.

The last moments happened in slow motion as the car collided in a sickening crunch. His head smashed into the windshield, fracturing the frontal bones above his eyes and the orbital plates protecting his optic nerves. He was comatose for two weeks until he woke up. When he did, he could not walk or talk. For Larry MacDonald that was just the beginning. When he opened his eyes he could not "distinguish what was real from what was fake." He looked at the doctors and nurses standing by his bed. Behind and next them stood football players while Hawaiian girls danced the hula, hips swaying gently. His head was flooded with voices. He couldn't tell who was saying what, nor where the voices came from. He was thrown into panic and confusion.