THE JOURNEY BACK
by Ann Enssle
Bill and I were married on Valentine’s Day, 2002. I had just turned sixty and was a high school math teacher. Bill, eleven years older and a retired accountant, was one of the sweetest people I had ever known. When I was asked why I wanted to marry him I answered, “Because he is a Christian, he likes music and he laughs at my jokes.” But, of course, there was so much more and I looked forward to many happy years with him.
On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving I came home from school looking forward to five days off to enjoy family and friends for the holiday. Bill was just getting up from a nap and I began telling him about the annual Christmas party Joyce was having for the ladies at the high school. Bill couldn’t remember who Joyce was and I began explaining what she taught. He was coming down the steps to the family room and began saying things like “Why are they singing that song?” which seemed to make no sense. I asked if he was feeling okay and he said “No, not really.” I told him to put his coat on so we could run to the doctor’s and he replied, “Why don’t you just let me smoke?” Bill had quit smoking long before I met him.
I began to get scared. In August he had had a blood infection and had become delirious, so I was afraid that was happening again. I called our HMO and the nurse I spoke with ordered an ambulance. Bill had had a stroke–but without any paralysis, which, I had believed, was always part of a stroke. I called a friend from the small group I was supposed to lead that evening and she contacted the other ladies and they were the first of many to begin praying for Bill.
Soon a new word became an integral part of my life–aphasia. The stroke had affected the part of Bill’s brain that processes vocabulary. The next day it sounded as though Bill were speaking a combination of English and some foreign language that made no sense to any of us. He seemed to understand what we were saying but could not form a response that we could understand. He could not repeat words back to us either. What he would say might or might not be related to what we had said.
Our HMO sent a speech therapist to our house. She had just left a job as an elementary school speech therapist and did not have much experience with stroke victims. She said she had seen people in worse shape than Bill recover completely. If so, it was a real miracle. As time passed and we worked with more experienced therapists, we learned that recovery is an ongoing process and that when one has the kind (Wernicki’s Aphasia) in which he makes up words, as Bill did, complete recovery is much less likely.
We began with lots of flash cards–object recognition, word and number recognition, arithmetic facts, etc. As we would sit together I might say, “Name five kinds of fruit,” or “Tell me some things that are green.” If Bill wanted to tell me something we would often play something like Twenty Questions, but I couldn’t trust his answers because he would often say the opposite of what he meant (and still does).
On the way home from church the first Sunday back, he wanted to say something about one of the men there, but couldn’t remember his name, I finally realized he was trying to get me to come up with the name by describing the car he drove (but not accurately). This might have helped more if I paid attention to cars! I finally figured out whom he meant as we were approaching home, and felt an overwhelming relief, until his next words were ”And you know this other guy.” I wanted to cry!
A few weeks later Bill wanted me to help him take his car to be washed. His driving was not impared by the stroke, but his ability to know where to insert the coins and how many to use was. It took several minutes for me to understand what he wanted. Then he got out some dollar coins (which the wash required) and said, “And we have to use these magic nickels.” I couldn’t help laughing, but he was always a good sport and laughed along.
As I said earlier, Bill would make up words as well as use real words incorrectly. One morning at breakfast he dropped his knife, looked at me very seriously and said “I schniffed my schnef.”
Many friends and family helped us tremendously. As I returned to teaching but felt uncomfortable leaving Bill alone at first, many people were available to come and visit with him while I worked. Later, when he could not drive himself into the city for appointments, his daughter-in-law helped with the driving and talked with his therapists to see what else we could do. Other friends and my daughter came and worked with him on reading (which was also affected) and basic arithmetic (which seemed to suffer the most). “If Harry bought 4 apples for 50 cents each and paid with a five dollar bill, how much change should he receive?” seemed like atomic physics to this former accountant.
We also learned that three commands in one sentence are too many. He might be able to “Touch your nose,” or “Touch your nose and look at the door,” but never “Touch you nose, look at the door and stand up.” I still forget that when I ask for help around the house or try to give a complete set of directions at once.
If Bill tries to say a word and mispronounces it, often it helps for me to slowly spell it aloud. Bit by bit “sverse” becomes “purse.” We have also found that when he says something wrong and I say, “You said ….” he’ll look at me as if to say, “So?” He hears what he meant to say. Some time has to pass before he can hear his mistake. We have lots of problems with his telling me one thing when he means the complete opposite, and I don’t realize that until he wonders why I didn’t listen to what he wanted.
Bill is wonderful about being willing to go places and talk and be vulnerable. I know that is why he has improved so much. I am much more embarrassed than he is. I’ll tell people that he has had a stroke, which has affected his speech so they won’t think he’s drunk or retarded. They are always quick to say they hadn’t noticed and that they often forget words as well.
While his sweet personality has not changed and he is still a very considerate lover, the vocabulary he uses during tender moments now incorporates more offensive terms that he never used before. I try to ignore them, as I know he does not mean to offend, and I appreciate the fact that we are still able to love.
These days his speech therapy group at the Rocky Mountain Stroke Association uses computer programs and he works at the center and does not bring home work sheets to finish for homework as he used to. Of course he gets frustrated when he can’t say what he wants to, but he never gives up.
At one point Bill decided that we should learn to play the accordion. He can play trumpet and piano and does so beautifully, so his right hand, on the keyboard, is easy. But to play the buttons with the left hand is a different story. (His ability to read and play music was not affected by the stroke). He can’t always remember all that our teacher tells us about the buttons since that is new to him. I can remember, but I struggle with both hands and do not sound at all musical. So that keeps us even and he always encourages me in my efforts.
His doctor says this is wonderful therapy for him, learning a new task and making those new eye to brain to fingers connections. Now that I have retired we will have more time to devote to that, as well as to the travel and woodworking we plan to do together.
Sometimes friends will ask about how the stroke has affected us, and our marriage. It sure isn’t the journey we signed up for, but it’s the one God gave us and it is a good one, just different from what we expected!
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