This is about several things – in true rambling fashion. And I apologize now for these posts where dialogue (internal and otherwise) are presented without quotations in some places. I know it’s wrong of me not to be consistent, but I decided I’d keep this in true ramble fashion, which is as close to my stream of consciousness as I can allow you to get right now.
How does one get back to the person they used to be?
(I don’t know if that’s the exact question that was asked sometime after 5:30 today or not, but it was something like that, and instantly struck me as awfully timely.)
I’ve been wondering about that and so I’m going to talk about that tonight a little bit.
The first thing I thought about when I heard that question was my mother. Will she ever be her full self again, I asked myself last night on the plane ride home. But people change everyday, I thought. I’m not the same person that I was yesterday. But I thought harder about what I really wanted to know when I asked if she’d be herself and it means many things – will she regain her independence and not need us (or someone) to watch over her? When will that be? Will her voice return to that warm, assured timbre or will it remain as it is now, this girl-like warble, slowed and deliberate and shy? I wonder if she sounded like that as a young girl even.
The doctor said on Monday that she doesn’t expect her brain will ever make that 100% recovery – she’ll always have trouble reaching for certain words, but in the meantime we’re to coax her as much as possible, even to the point of annoyance, because the harder her brain works now, the sooner the chips will fall back into place. The doctor saw my face twitch, she saw my lips sort of buckle when she made that statement, and later she tried to reassure me, saying your mother had a stroke and it’s still really early, she’s doing remarkably well, but you have to prepare yourself. She won’t be the same person she was before this.
Ooooh, cue the denial kids, because immediately I opened my mouth to protest, and she held up her hand and I let her finish. You have to prepare yourself because this is going to take time. She will always have trouble conjuring up words and fully expressing herself because of this stroke, and it’s going to mean that you may have to work harder to help her express whatever it is, she’s thinking. Consider yourselves lucky because she understands you completely, but she just can’t fully express what all she hears … broca’s aphasia. Interesting and fascinating, beguiling and baffling all at the same time.
Alarming, too. I know my mom knows what she wants to say, but I’ve little clues to help plug the right word into her mouth and mind. So we’re both gesturing at each other when she really wants a blanket from across the room, or the blinds need to be drawn, or for me to shut up and sit down and stay out of her face and out from in front of the television.
It’s amazing, this aphasia. She was in speech therapy on Monday and was doing some sentence completion and she kept getting hung up on completing every sentence with “buying a present” or something to that effect. It was all about some buying a present.
Today I would like to … buy a present. If I could do anything today it would be … to go and buy a present. One thing that makes me happy is … buying a present.
We (the therapist, my mom, Kim, Rob and myself) were like, damn, that’s a lot of shopping. My mom was totally laughing every time she said buy a present, but she seriously couldn’t stop. She’d be like, no. Not buy a present. Buy a present. Then we’d bust out laughing, and the therapist was like, no you don’t want to buy a present, do you? And my mom would say affirmatively, NO. And turn right back around and say it again. That’s called preserveration, and it’s important to redirect aphasics to an entirely different point in order to try to stop it.
That was my one concern with her recovery, and now that I’m aware of how to manage it, I feel better. But still I wonder, what will 75% of mom’s old self be? Is that even possible, meaning is that still her?
And before I could say, of course it is, silly, I found myself scared. Will she still know me and I her? Will the way she expresses her love, her concern, her guidance change? Will it cease? How will we work through it? I am overwhelmed by my need for her to remain a part of my life. The past two weeks, we sort of swapped places. I buttered her toast. Helped her to the bathroom. Dried her off after her showers. Combed her hair. Thankfully, her sense of humor is in tact, as I was horribly shaky in each task; partly because as warm as I am, I’ve had little experience in actually caring for someone. I mean, I was a damn good camp counselor and I thought I was mothering those girls, but uh, this gave me greater perspective. Plus it’s different since it was mom. Mom who folds her shirts this way and not like that, who likes her coffee just so, who makes a better bed than anyone in this world, whose sandwiches aren’t mutilated and mashed, but full and delicious looking. In trying to do things as she would to her, I realized just how much of my own person I am and have to become in order to be fully comfortable with myself …
Which leads me to ask tonight’s question of myself. How do I get back to that girl I used to be? I liked her. It’s not that I don’t like myself now, but I really have no bloody clue who I am right now. The arrival at this decision has been coming for some time, and while the results aren’t near being conclusive, I do know that I’ve got my work cut out for me.
What do I mean? Who did I used to be that I apparently seem to like and miss so much? Well for one, given the events of the past two weeks, I want to regain my sense of familial security. I had taken the importance of this for granted, and I am telling you all now, to please be thankful and mindful. I know we’ve all had our foundations rattled at times, but this is my page so you’re getting a lot about me. That’s what the holla button is for – for you to tell me about yourselves.
Anyway, I’m the youngest. There have been times when I’ve despised being spoken down to, ignored or told to wait until I was older. This wasn’t one of those times. I returned home and found myself rattling off a series of questions that left both my brother and sister taken aback and impressed. There was no need for anyone to be impressed though. It was like magic in some moments, where one doctor looked from me to my mom, my mom’s siblings and my sister and brother and said, well, it looks like she basically has it covered, I’m just here as backup to explain this more thoroughly.
When my mom fussed about us fussing over her, I was the one who said, suck it up. What can you say? Say something, woman. Ha. Tough luck. Should’ve listened to me two weeks ago when I told you to take a vacation. She frowned, but I also got her to laugh hysterically when she dribbled food down her shirt and I demanded she change her nightgown. She curled up into a ball and I smacked her on the butt and said, Life’s a bitch. Get your tail out of that bed and change your nightgown. No mama of mine is going to bed stinkin’ like hospital food. I’m raising you better than that.
I had to catch myself there. You know it’s an alarming and frightfully funny moment when you realize that you sound like your parents. You hear yourself the whole time you’re talking, and you say to yourself, oh my god, what is happening, but you keep on talking. We just sat and laughed in each other’s arms, but she changed that nightgown, though.
But yesterday as I got ready to return to my new home, this city that’s currently too damn hot, she looked at me and shook her head seeing that same forlorn, hazy-eyed expression that overtakes me every time I have to leave home and say goodbye. Immediately I started crying, and when she asked what was wrong she immediately assured me not to worry about her and that she’d be fine. She always says this, so that was comforting in a way. It was also comforting that she knew that wasn’t really what was bothering me.
She surprised me when she said, you workin’ too hard. Damn. If that’s not 100% my mother I don’t know what is. She took me by the shoulders and started to try and express her concern, but gave up after a few moments of fumbling for the words and the preserveration kicked back in – you workin’ too hard. You. Work. Hard. Too. Hard. Slow down.
As is my usual defense, I cracked the joke. Yeah, that’s what I recall saying to you miss lady, not too long ago as a matter of fact.
Ha. She said. She gestured with her hands in a way that said, voila, and look at me now.
What’s wrong with your job? She asked. I told her what I’m telling myself right now and what I’ll tell anyone who asks. My job is great. I don’t hate it. I do hate working, but that’s so widely-known and felt by so many people that that’s nothing new. The people are excellent, the work is challenging and I’m constantly learning new things, which is what I said I wanted when I took the job. There’s really absolutely nothing to complain about, and the best I could do was say, I just don’t know if it’s me, Mama. The job may not be me, and it’s not the end of the world, but I’m seriously trying to figure out what the best thing to do about it is, and I’ve no idea how to do that right now.
And that’s basically it. Will I do a good job? Yes. I always try my best. But once again my soul is searching for its purpose, and I’m wondering where my place is (again) in this world. I swear my life is one big circle. I go ‘round and ‘round with these jobs, staying too long in them for the most part before my heart nearly breaks and my sanity with it.
This is not to say that I see that happening at this time because I don’t. This is curiously about me, the girl who used to set goals. Mini ones, big ones, lofty ones, but goals. I don’t do that anymore. I am not sure if I know how and more importantly, I question the reason behind them. I do think goals are important, but I just don’t know …
I feel like I need a vision. A plan. Goals. Steps and contingency plans. But there are few areas in my life and my actions that lead me to believe I’ve the tools to create visions and plans. I wonder if I even need them. What is wrong with letting life take you places?
I am torn between a need to make half-ass plans and then just see what happens with them. This job is the perfect case of that. I filled out the application – driven by the belief that this was a good thing (it was and still is). I mapped out in my mind and began seeing myself in New York City – yeah, I dig that. I mailed the skutter and waited. When I got the call saying I’d been accepted, I was speechless. Part of me was like, damn right and about time, but the other part was like, oh shit – I should’ve planned for this. Oh well, I’ll just pack up and move there and check it out, see what happens, live a little.
I’m doing just that, and it’s okay, but like Ariel at the bottom of the sea, I want more. I am basically haunted by the feeling that not only is this not all there is, but I am no closer to being what I need to be than I was when I was working those purgatory-ish temp jobs. This disturbs me. Sure we may always be changing; it depends on one’s perspective and what not. But I feel like I need to become clearer – much clearer – on being aware of how and when I’m changing. Perhaps I’m spending too much time going with the flow. I swear I feel conflicted. Like I’m part Type A and the other part, Jess B. Cool. Part of me lives by my dad’s mantra, never hurry, never worry, while the other part is like, you gotta get up, get out, get into it, get it on, to be strong. Once again I am cut in two, straddling existence; relishing the freedom of making my own choices but also hating the fact that I have to consciously make my own choices or else be plagued by self-doubt. What makes us as we are? Why do I keep asking myself the same questions (each year)? Why do I ever doubt myself and how can I stop doing so because I'm beginning to think doing so is just dumb. Am I even asking the correct questions? Do I have any answers?
I feel like I’m a perfect candidate to receive one of those free Mormon videos or a copy of the Purpose Driven Life (which I read and worked through until I got to the part about finding and joining a church …). Don’t get me wrong, I feel certain that the answer lies with the Higher Power who is just watching and waiting for the right moment, and I fully believe that God is the only being that can set me straight on these matters, but I had to tell y’all about it all the same so you know where I’m comin’ from, ya dig?
I guess for tonight at least I’ll stand by my faith that God dreams bigger dreams than I can imagine right now; that my steps are ordered; that this ol’ heart of mine, as weary and as wanting as it is, guides me still; that everyday and in every moment – even ones like this that are laden with wonder and worry – I am exactly where I need to be, tucked in my own place in this world keeping hope alive.