Silent Chris

I lied when I said I would not dwell on my speech here on my blog. I’m struggling with adaptation. I don’t want to see people right now, really, but I think that may change as I get used to this voice and as I gain experience talking to people. I went walking with Sheba and our friends this morning, and for about 5 seconds, I could speak in my own voice and fluently. It was amazing, and then it ended.

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I talked with my bank and all issues there are resolved. Issam is handsome as stink, and a delight to chat with. We talked on Zoom. He is now my personal contact for any time I have problems banking, and my file tells Vancity staff not to ask me any security questions except for my verbal password.

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It was pouring rain when we walked, but there was blue sky and periods of brilliant bright sunshine by the time we got back. Regardless, I got on my chaise with my book and some Diet Coke, and the cats joined me there for a relaxing afternoon. Yay! Within an hour, it was raining but I was happy on the couch! And then, another hour later, it was still raining but the sun was also out. 

At 3:00, the sky was clear, and it was mighty warm. Sheba and I went to the park to play fetch. I couldn’t have felt happier to be with Her Highness in such wonderful bright sunshine and so, so warm. By 4:00 it was overcast and raining.

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I’ve been here before. Asking questions: When should I accept this as the new normal? Making rules: Never accept an invitation for gatherings of more than four. But most of all, making note of every discovery: speech is easiest with strangers on trail walks, same as before; my “party trick,” putting my hands on my face and becoming instantly fluent doesn’t work anymore; neither my other party trick of speaking fluently in my fabulous fake Australian accent anymore. And I’m making a list of speech deficiencies: D, N, S, T -ing, -er, -th, etcetera. It's like starting all over again, just like seven and a half years ago.

I posted that video yesterday, and I put it on Facebook. Doing so gives me two ways to let people hear me before I meet with them. That’s another rule: You must promise to watch the video before I agree to meet with you. As the video reveals, there’s more than my voice to warn people about. I do not want to meet with anyone who hasn’t seen it because when we get together, the person isn’t surprised.

I still have blocks. Blocks are 3 – 10 second intervals when I can’t say anything. And I still will suddenly stutter like mad, but it won’t last. My stuttering is rendered insignificant by my new form of speech impairment. I find this new form of impaired speech is nasty. Stuttering is accepted by people. It’s “understood.” What I do is unfamiliar to me and everyone with whom I’ve spoken.

You can see in the video how much spasticity there is when I speak. When I am alone and silent, I feel unencumbered by disability. Everything goes to shit when I try to speak. And I’ve been told that the wiring in my brain is scrambled. I like that explanation because when I try to speak, I do a very poor job but my head bobs, my mouth stretches this way and that, my tongue is going in and out, my eyes are closing and my head is moving up and down, back and forth. Also, my chest and arm muscles tense, often making my arms flail. It feels like bad wiring to me.

Silent Chris is calm and fluid and happy. Speaking Chris is a gesticulating speaker who has a very nasal voice that lacks various sounds required for speech. I’m glad that I can still communicate, but it’s not something I want to use. I really don’t want to be Speaking Chris anymore. I must speak here, on Gabe, to function. I’m considering asking the local newspaper to write an article about my speech so that people will know why I’m not talking anymore. Not yet though. I’m waiting this out a little longer.

Being Silent Chris feels dignified to me.

This blog is becoming a valuable form of therapy for me as I go through this again, and worse—as has been a recurring theme in the comments under my video on FaceBook of my new voice.  Several people complimented me on my resilience through adversity. That is a very healing thing to hear, particularly when it is both unexpected and believed. I’m grateful for their noticing and strengthened by it.

My friend John wrote this in an email: “Up to now I haven’t looked at your blog—in the past, I’ve thought of blogs as form letters, and I want more direct communication with my close friends. But in your case, I can see why it’s such a good idea.”

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I wrote a letter to Dr. Shoja. It’s quite long, and it’ll get us started. I’m asking to see her once a month for a while. I have given her a link to my monologue in which I say very nice things about her. I’m very, very pleased with the letter, and I feel lucky and grateful for my access to her.

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My second crash was on October 12^th. Today is my sixth day of really struggling to speak. The monologue festival was on Sept. 16^th and 17^th. I just made it in time. I feel so, so happy and lucky to have been able to perform it after all the work of writing and memorizing it. It would have been crushing to have had the second crash before the festival.