Speech Therapy

Tomorrow, I will begin therapy again. This time, however, the course of therapy is not physical therapy, or even occupational therapy. Tomorrow, I will begin speech therapy.

"Wait, what?" you must say to yourself. "Speech therapy? Uh... couldn't you already speak, Vic? Didn't you learn that 35 years ago?"

Indeed, I did — until I had a stroke. Now, I have to re-learn to speak... and write.

Early on the morning of January 30, 2010, I began hallucinating. It was about an hour after I'd taken my customary fistful of pills before bed, and was waiting to fall asleep, when I noticed the mental images were not fleeting, but vivid. I was not drifting to sleep behind my eyelids, I was watching a movie — framed with blue noodles.

I told Rich what I was seeing, but when my eyes were open, everything seemed fine. A while later, when I was asking Gladys, my aide, to help reposition me, she could not understand what I was saying.

My words failed me. Every sound I uttered was unfamiliar — nothing coming out of my mouth was at all what I meant to say. Confused, then disconcerted, then frantic — the single intelligible syllable I managed amidst the mangled words: "Rich!!"

... and another chapter in my life unfolds.