Kerry Neff remembers opening his eyes to harsh fluorescent lights and white ceiling tiles speckled with little black holes. He hated those ceiling tiles. Lying flat on his back in the hospital bed, Neff noticed he couldn’t move any part of his body. Using one of the few parts he could, he peered over to his side and saw blood stained on the gurney that carried him into the bed he was laying on. “Is it bad?” he asked his sister, who was leaning over him, wearing an expression that already answered his question.