The stroke: Part 3

By Jack Krayenhoff [Read part 2 here]

For the uninitiated: I had a stroke which has left me with a speech defect. I can pronounce short sentences, but if I want to say more than that, I get hopelessly stuck. The words simply don’t want to come, or they sound like a mumble. Thinking, reading, and even writing are OK. The rest of the body that is usually affected by a blood clot on the left side is not seriously affected,

The stroke is now about six months old and the improvement has slowed down to a crawl; I think that it is a good moment to assess what sort of guy I’m going to be from here on in.

The worst first. That is my contact with people who don’t know me. Casual meetings, in other words; for instance, sales clerks. For example:  I have bought some yoghurt and as I pay, I ask if it is homogenized. She says “Pardon?” I repeat the question, taking care to pronounce the word as clearly as I can: h-o-m-o-g-e-n-i-z-e-d, but while a normal person, according to me, would pick it up easily, it is still an unintelligible mumble to her. She says with more emphasis, her eyes squinting: “PARDON?” probably thinking: what are you, a simpleton? I look behind me where four people are standing waiting, and decide it is not vital to know the answer to my question. I say “Never mind” and walk on, concluding that perhaps it is better to let my wife do the shopping.

Then follows the next category, people who have known me from before, and who are aware that I am basically a normal person, apart from the speech defect. They say “How are you?” to which I reply “I feel fine, thank you”. If they say “That is wonderful” and keep moving along, all is well, but if they say “How is your speech coming?” I know I’m in trouble. I know I cannot possibly explain what I have written above, and now I get nervous to boot. I try to say that I still can’t explain in detail what I want to say, and soon am in a hopeless jumble of words. The questioner gets also embarrassed, and cannot think of an exit line. So a casual meeting is turned into a hopeless mess. The next time this nice gentleman sees me he stays a safe distance away from me. No, as a social being I am a dead loss.

The third, much smaller group of people are my friends. They have already learned that it is better not to ask me how it is really going and they wait until I get the opportunity to speak because I want to. If I feel strongly about something I can usually say it, without getting embarrassed. But that is not very often, so it is usually in a small group of four, five people. If the conversation flows, it is not too evident that I do not participate until I truly want to say something. Then I can say it, uninhibited by awareness of blood clots in the brain. An important part of this group is my children and grandchildren, of whose affection I am certain enough. 

The fourth and absolutely essential group consist of one person only: my wife. She understands me practically always, because she knows what I think, and so is able to get it even if I cannot express it completely. She is also vital in the small groups, where she fills up the gaps in the conversation that I leave.

The result? I feel pretty much as usual, only with my casual circle of friends much smaller, and with my good friends…well, I hope that they will remember for a long time that I am basically a normal person and remember to include my wife when they invite me!