Sitting up in a hospital bed after a seven-hour operation on her brain, Tara Doyle reached for her phone. She had already used it to take a picture of herself, carefully surveying her reflection and mentally noting every mark and bruise. Two black eyes, eyelids barely able to open. Face, swollen and bloated. Twenty-five staples dotted over the right side of her skull. Her left hand was numb, but with her right hand she texted two words to her husband followed by an exclamation mark: I’m alive!