16. The Funny Voice

I always say I had way too much fun for someone in intensive care. When I was washed in the morning, I used to pretend my feet were much more ticklish than they were so I would have an excuse to laugh. When I was off the ventilator and had the speaking value on, I initially made a terrifying laughing sound. The sound made me laugh, and the more I heard it, the more I laughed. It was a vicious circle. I actually asked Joanna to record it and send it to all my friends as I thought it was so funny. She did record it, but didn't send it to anyone as she didn't want to worry them.

Our youth pastor brought a guitar when he visited me. He sang 'Reckless Love' in the ward. I mouthed along, as I wasn't even going to attempt noise. Everyone's eyes turned in our direction. Joanna said it was funny hearing the covert explanations: 'They're Christians' and comments, "He should go on X-Factor". Another time, I put Joanna on the spot by spelling out 'sing'. She said she did it for me, as heads turned again towards us.

At this time I was having a lot of dribbling problems. I couldn't swallow spit down. As my right hand was becoming more mobile, I was given my own 'yanker' (saliva-ejector), to suck out my own spit. At first, Joanna did this for me, but as I kept dribbling on purpose every time she'd just cleaned me up, I got to do it. My dad said I looked like I was sucking on it like a shishah-pipe. The image of myself lying in a 19th century opium den does make me smile ironically. I used to point the yanker at people and make kissing noises, or offer it round. (In my head I was saying "bang bang".) Sadly, no one opted for my little sucky-tue. I kept wondering whether they use it to suck up crumbs like a mini vacuum-cleaner.

A physio called Jacob brought in a few OTs and I had my first go at sitting on the edge of the bed. Here I coined my famous 'Whooah' noises as I lurched and whooahed and laughed at myself the whole time. We did this a few times that week, and Jacob really appreciated how lightly I took it. A speech therapist called Charlotte bought an iPad and I managed to stab out my name, proving I could do that much at least.

Then came the news that I was moving out into the Brain Injury ward. In ICU they had ECG stickers stuck on my chest 24/7 as standard. They measure heart rate, and all my stats were suspiciously consistent. Once I was weaned off the ventilator, I didn't need to be in ICU.  My bed was moved to a new space in the ward for the last night I was there. Brilliant entertainment was provided by Joanna and my nurse, as they tried to move all my cards we had hanging up. Imagine two people trying to move a full line of washing by holding it at either end. I could only lie there in front of the shambles, saying I didn't need them up for one night, but the nurse-in-charge insisted it was doable.

Later that evening, I was using my voice to try to say something but Joanna and my dad simply couldn't get it. They got me to spell it out on the letter board. It was that all-important, multi-purpose word, "wahoo". Then some friends came to visit, and one of them fainted. All in all, not a bad place to do so. I hope it wasn't my voice.

The next morning, Marilyn was nursing the person in the bed next to me. She had been off for a week for half-term, so was amazed by how quickly I'd progresed. I laughed about my funny voice. Then my nurse-of-about-4-hours dropped me off into a side room in Brain Injury, where you don't need one-on-one nursing. Sad, as I really liked her. Shame that now I could talk, I didn't have someone with me to talk to. I admit I did shed a few tears that night. Marilyn came to say goodbye to me the next night. I moved on October 22nd, a month exactly to the day since I had been admitted to hospital.

It kept growing.