30. Are You French?

My first morning I was in the neuro rehab ward, they were obviously under-staffed that day, and very busy. They didn't get round to giving me a wash that morning before it was time for me to go to a group. This was called communication group, and I had been taken once before, whilst I was still in brain injury. This group would be a weekly fixture for me, the aim being to make my voice as loud and clear as possible. I didn't have any problems with voice fatigue, it was just quite slurred and mumbly.

Whilst it is common for voices to have to readjust to speaking after a traccy, there was more going on for me. My lung-power had completely taken a hit, as well as the cheek and mouth muscles on the left side of my face. With my tongue also becoming sluggish and inflexible, I needed a lot of practice at becoming clearer. I told Charlotte the speech therapist that it felt like I was shouting if I talked like that. She said I really wasn't. The increased muscle tension (tone) in the left side of my face also made it sound like I had an accent. I was asked if I was Scandinavian, Eastern European, German, Australian, Welsh, and most commonly, French. I've lost count of how many times I've been asked if I was French. Someone even asked when I came to this centre months later.

On that first day, the ward sister and the deputy sister bundled me into a sling and hoisted me into my chair so I wouldn't be late for the group. I said I didn't mind going without a wash. I was wearing pyjamas 24/7 anyway. The first time I went to the group, I had asked what we would be doing. I was told everyone was working on different aspects of their speech, and they sometimes talked about the news, or a topic, or did quizzes etc. I wasn't worried about my ability to contribute, as I was very used to talking in seminars at uni the last few years. In all my time in education, I've been the student holding myself back and waiting for others to volunteer information (which they usually don't), so yes, I was fine with groups.

I quickly realised the group was geared mainly towards those with memory problems. Everyone was 50 or 70+, apart from Katie, the young speech therapist leading the group. The questions asked were painfully basic, the sort you might ask 7 year old children learning another language. I found myself holding back not because I didn't have any answers, but because I had too many. Though part of me was indignant at the presumption to ask me such easy questions, another part knew full well that for me, it wasn't about what I knew, but how well I said it. This was about saying my answers as loudly and clearly as possible, not about the answer itself.

Despite understanding this, I still cracked. It was when Ethel over there suddenly piped up "picnic!" and I burst into laughter. It was a valid answer to the question, "what do you think of when you think of summer?". However, it came about 5 minute too late. I honestly don't know how speech therapists cope. How they even manage to mutter along reassuringly, "hmm yeah, this one's a bit hard," is inspiring, when everyone is sitting silently, stumped. While I was laughing, I was thinking manically, 'What are you doing, Liz? You can't laugh at people who've had a brain injury. Everyone has their own tragic story; this no laughing matter! And this group is important rehab for you... Pipe down and practise!' (story of my life). I was utterly mortified at myself, but luckily the speech therapists were used to me by then, and it wasn't obvious to the other patients why I had suddenly burst into hysterics.

By the time communication group finished, it was lunch time for everyone else (but not me. The joys of being nil by mouth), then I asked if I could have a wash. No other communication group I went to was ever that geared towards word finding, or that surreal. I guess it was just strange being much closer in age to the young therapists, but part of a patient group made up of such radically different people of radically different ages. Most were physically able but had maybe suffered a fall, or a tumor, or were in wheelchairs, having right-sided weakness following a stroke. (The different halves of your brain control the different sides of your body, so left and right control their opposites. The left also controls language, the right controls pictures. My haemorrhage was in the right side of my brainstem, so my hemispheres weren't affected.) I was by far the most disabled. I didn't mind though; I knew I'd catch up, and at least I was unique.

Me and mum in my new room.