Slow Down

"When people ask what Aphasia is I say, "............." and if they knew what Aphasia was -- that's it!"

Matt is one of the members of the Aphasia Support group, at the Krempels Center.  His speech is slow and it's not even clear whether he actually has Aphasia.  He may just have slow speech.  When asked which aspect of his life he misses the most, from before his brain injury, he said, "The women."

Another discussion question was, "Who is your hero?".  The woman who began said it was her husband, who had a stroke eight months ago, which left him speechless at first, but his persistent determination to recover has been inspiring.  He referred to his mangled silent self in the hospital as, "I was plotting my return."  He had been a librarian, but the stroke disorganized his letters, words, numbers, and jolted his memory.  "I've got a little more humility in my life," he said, "which I think is a good thing."

"I thought everyone was having a dream.  'Why isn't everyone listening to me? I'm speaking, and they're not.' It took me a long time to realize it was me."  said Henry, who counted on his fingers - 9-10-11-12-13-14-15 years since his brain was injured.  "That's a great technique," said another member, "Counting is a victory."  Henry told him, "I used to be an accountant.  Now all my numbers are gone."

What is so compelling about this population, of brain injured adults, is that they weren't born this way.  They were cruising along, when something happened.  I can see myself in them, which makes their situation even scarier: it could happen to me.  I think about my brain as I'm driving home from my internship, as most of the injuries seem to have come from strokes or car accidents.  Sometimes I wonder if I'll have a stroke.

"Life is so much faster.  No one has time to listen to us." said one of the members.  This always frustrates me about the Western lifestyle, in particular.  London's big tourist attraction is a clock.  We are obsessed with time, and it's only gotten worse the more technology we've created.  I love technology (I mean, I have a blog, right?) but I hate how obsessed we've gotten with it - and how it's made our lives even faster than they should be.  It's true.  We don't have time to wait for someone with Aphasia to find the files in their brain in order to finish their thought or sentences.

I learned today that Voyager One has finally left the Solar System.  What if we learned of other life forms out there?  How would that change our perspective on ourselves?  What if another life form finds our mash-up 8 track that we've sent them and throws it into their burning planetary river thinking, "Sheesh.  That sucked.".

On the ropes course the other day, I asked, "How do you deal with frustration?"  "You win."  "You win?"  "Yeah, when we were successful, the frustration went away."  "But I'm a loser, what do I do?"  "You need counseling."  "No I don't, I'm fine.  I just am not good at this, what do I do?"

My group told me I needed counseling and that I was in denial until they saw what game I was playing.  We're not good at everything!  And why the competition?  You WIN to beat frustration?  What if you DON'T win?  What happens then?

Slow down, you're moving to fast... in the words of Simon and Garfunkal.  Gotta make the moment last.  On the way to my internship this morning, to work with brain injured adults, I heard a doctor on NPR talking about his work with kids who had been diagnosed with brain cancer.  He said that the thing about kids, is that they're so focused on the present: whether their parents are happy, or on the dog that just came into visit them.  It breaks his heart so much to tell half of these parents that cancer will take their child, that he has made it his life's mission to beat cancer.  Parents have commended him on making the end of their child's life as beautiful as their birth.  When I was in the hospital for three weeks, as a two year old, getting my lymphnodes drained, the nurses loved me because I was all smiles and holding a pacifier in each hand with IVs in my arms and legs and a huge lump on my neck.  I hope I still have that same spirit.

These adults are dealing with frustration through humility.  They are supporting one another because they have to cope with what they have.  "I couldn't talk for a year.  It's degrading." said one of the members, who had been the mayor of his town and active in politics prior to his accident.  But he was positive as well, "It gets better," he said, "I am a perfect example - it can come back.  It just takes time."

We are stardust, we are golden - as Joni Mitchell says.  There is so much room for gratitude if we let it in, I love that.  Let's do it.