Day14 A Reflection on My Stroke, Part 1

I had a stroke several years ago. I learned a lot from my stroke and I think it about it often. It's not that I'm worried about having another stroke. Rather, it was such a rich experience that I'm still chewing on it from time to time. It's not fear that motivates me; it's wonder.

Language was the thing that was most impacted by the stroke. A few days after my stroke, I was moved to a rehab nursing home facility. They didn't work for people who had had a stroke, particularly. They did do some speech  therapy with me. I remember the therapist showing me a deck of line-art cards to try to assess the extent of my language loss. My brother was there. There was several cards that I could name readily. There were quite a few that I almost knew the name for. Sometimes I knew I knew the word, but I couldn't figure out how to say it. I couldn't hear the word inside my own head. If I could figure out how to say the first sound, sometimes the rest of the word follows it out. In some cases, I could only get part of it out. Sometimes looking at my brother, he could figure out what I was trying to say. He would say it and most often I could repeat it. (He and I had been doing that together since I woke up after my stroke.)

Then there were some cards that I couldn't name, but I told the therapist that I would be able to write down the name. She gave me paper and pencil, and it worked. Although I didn't know the name, I couldn't hear even part of the word inside my head, and I didn't exactly spell them in my head, but I could write the name down. Having written down, I could usually figure out how to read the name aloud. 

I wasn't afraid. I wasn't worried. I wasn't angry. I didn't feel dumb. I was just fascinated! It was just wondrous to me. I remember one of the cards quite clearly.

I couldn't name the picture but I knew it started with a D sound and somewhat later in the word there is another d sound and I knew that it had multiple syllables (not sure exactly how many, but a long-ish word). I didn't know how to write it, but I knew I knew the name and it was just out of reach. Finally I said, "The other kind is a Bactrian." Neither the therapist or my brother had any idea what I was trying to get to. Although they could see the picture and they knew what the picture was, "Bactrian" didn't mean anything to them. After another minute or two of searching for it, I found the more general word for the picture. "Camel". The picture was a camel. Bactrian camels are 2-humped camels. The picture was only the head, but I knew it was a 1-humped camel. A few hours later, I was able to locate the word I had been searching for: dromedary.

When I told her the next day that the word is "dromedary", she said, "You know you don't have to impress me." The kind of bemused me and I thought about that reaction in myself for a few days. When someone gives you this kind of test, where they give you some kind of input and you are supposed to tell them the answer, one of the first things you have to determine is at what level are you supposed to answer. If they show you a picture of an animal that may be a common pet, you may see it as "a dog". But if you're a dog-person, you may see it as "a weiner dog" or "a dachshund". If you're a weiner-dog lover, you may see "a wire-haired dachshund". If you know that particular dog, you may see "Rover". But if it's some kind of test or assessment, you have to figure out what the appropriate resolution you should use in your answer.

The therapist didn't seem to understand that what I saw was "a dromedary" (either though I couldn't land on the exact word for a couple hours). When I was able to zoom out a bit, I was able to find the more general word "camel". 

I realized that this kind of negotiation happens all the time in conversations. We hare constantly adjusting the resolution of a conversation. I've become much more aware of that and more sensitive to it. 

My stroke was (and continues to be) such a gift for me!