Thoughts about aphasia part 1

My parents and family in 1968 did not know the word ‘Aphasia’. They skimmed through the report from the doctor ignoring’ technical ‘language. After all, I survived. Because I was shy they convened and decided not to employ a speech therapist. Instead each one of my family accepted the gauntlet to make me speak, read and write again. No one uttered the word aphasia. Happily they succeeded but only to a point.

There are some who felt relieved that my quick tongue was silenced. My wit, the ability to play with words, something I always thought endearing and fun were destroyed. My writing was irretrievably damaged causing sentences not to be grammatically correct. Reading, an activity I have always enjoyed, was doomed. I was compelled to re-read a book, and even then the wealth of the plot was obscure. Arithmetic I understood and the times table was secure in my memory, but now, as it was right after my accident, the numbers are unfathomable. I find the whole process of dealing with facts and figures nearly impossible. Aphasia was and is a word on paper.

Unfortunately I could not go back to university so my brother enrolled me at college. Single course upon single course I undertook, which gave me slight encouragement and some confidence but the career of writing I wanted was totally destroyed.

I dated the boyfriends I had before the accident. But was smitten with an English gentleman who I met six years previously and we fell in love and were married.

The accident threw me back to my early teens in my mind. My parents and older siblings observed my actions and consequently treated me as such. I married early after the accident, and in my altered mind I began to have babies.

In hindsight I must ‘grow up’ again this time with children. Difficult times were ahead but doable. I relished the fact that I was “normal” in my pregnancy, and birthing our four children was my delight. Raising the children was challenging but fulfilling.

 I didn’t know how deep and devastating depression could be, however, I can only now appreciate this insight as I was unable to express my feelings then. The strength of despair was such that I was not aware it could exist. The events were comparable to a kaleidoscope, coloured glass in mirrors in the tube constantly changing. It was not a toy though.  On the outside I was cheerful, practical, but did not say much because people would find out. I was ashamed of having brain damage, realizing that if I said I was crushed by a truck, they would treat me differently. So I kept this horrific accident a secret.

Part 2 to follow

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