I Used to be a Writer
“How about I meet you up at the…ah…the…office at the front? You know, the place with the desk?”
My husband responds quickly and kindly. “The lobby?”
“Well, sure,” I respond, “but there’s another word I’m thinking of here.”
We’ve danced this dance before and he knows I’m not going to drop it until the word that’s trapped in my post-stroke brain makes it to my mouth. The speech pathologist instructed my husband to try to help coerce words from me by suggesting alternate words or by simply waiting for me to find my way eventually.
“It’s a word that kind of means to accept people,” I say, gesturing as though I’m welcoming people into the room.
“The foyer?” he offers.
“No, no. That’s not the word,” I respond. We both know that lobby and foyer are perfectly acceptable words to describe the room I’m describing, but I’m stuck on the idea of retrieving the word I want. The problem is that my brain just doesn’t work like that anymore. I had a major stroke last year and although my physical recovery has been nothing short of extraordinary, my brain has lagged behind. Sometimes words don’t come to me and sometimes the wrong word comes to me and in some instances, I just spit out a mixture of vowels and consonants and hope it all makes sense somehow.
My husband gives me a look that indicates he doesn’t know what word I’m hoping for and we continue walking toward the unnamed room. Something about walking into the room triggers my brain to work. “Reception!” I blurt out, relieved to move past the pause in my cognitive processes. “The reception area,” I clarify to my nodding husband.
Before my stroke, I was a busy writer and editor. I’d written five books, won awards, and spent my days zipping from one content marketing meeting to another, happy to be the expert in the room when it came to phrasing a company’s blog or marketing material just right for the company’s voice.
Then came what I now refer to as my plot twist. The stroke damaged my brain, and in case you’re wondering, the brain’s a real sonofabitch when it comes to recovery. In fact, the only reason this essay makes any sort of sense is because I’ve been composing it in my head for a week or so. It’s still a writer’s brain up there somewhere (tap, tap, tap), someone just poured mud all over it.
Whether speaking or typing, the same thing happens to me frequently. I’ll be on a roll, tossing out relatively eloquent stuff until suddenly – screech! – my words halt. I’ll know there’s a perfect word and I can even describe it, but the word won’t come. So instead of “matriarch” I’ll say, “It means, you know, that a woman’s in charge, and it starts with an M, I think.” Or maybe I’ll accidentally replace it with another word, like when I confidently called my shoulder my elbow. Then there’s those times when my brain…just…stops. I’ll be mid-sentence and get stuck and all I can do is shrug and give what I hope is an apologetic facial expression to the listener.
As you may guess, I don’t do much writing nowadays. I lost the bulk of my clients when I had to take months off for stroke recovery. When I do write lately, it’s not the fluid action it once was; it’s a choppy process with lots of pauses and moments of closing my eyes and begging my brain to work, please, please, please.
The real casualties in the stroke were two books I was working on; one was a horror film novelization and the other was my first crack at a full-length fiction novel. The horror film novelization was pretty much done, but the director wanted more added and after the stroke I just couldn’t wrap my head around the characters and the plot, so I had to admit to the director that he’d be better off finding someone else to finish it up. This was after I’d already seen what the cover of the book was going to look like with my name as co-author across the front. The other book had been in the hands of a couple agents and was ready for revising, but again, my brain just couldn’t handle it.
The stroke was on the right side of my brain, which is the creative side. Instead of story after story tumbling out of my head as it once was, I’d stare at the blank screen of my computer and start crying about what I’d lost. You see, I was once a writer, and a damn good one if I do say so myself. But now I’m a survivor who sometimes can’t think of the word for, you know, that one thing…
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Follow Tamsen on Twitter @TamsenButler
Find out more about her on her website: http://www.tamsenbutler.com/
Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing
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So beautifully described, Tamsen. You are still a writer, as far as I can tell. I can only imagine the awesome writer you’ll be once again as you continue to recover.
Thank you, Karen! I appreciate it.
Keep writing when you can and when you get stuck on a word, just allow yourself to fill in the blank with “you know that thing we cook bread in” and then fix it later with the help of a good editor.
Although nowhere near as extreme as you and totally reversible, I understand the loss of words. For several years I took a medication that scrambled my brains and gave me a bit of aphasia. It totally sucked. I hope you continue to improve.
I like your “fill in the blank later” idea!
Your bravery and courage are palpable, and humbling too. Thank you. And wishing you every day a day with more good words and deeper recovery.
Thanks, Lynne!
You’re definitely still a writer. The essay was perfect. Not to downplay what you are going through I do the exact same things with words all of the time, sometimes I wonder if I have early dementia coming on. I’ll be like ‘You know, that thing you sit on….’ I’m sure yours is much worse. I’m glad you are recovering and still writing. (My mother had a stroke and she’s paralyzed – left side stroke.)
Thank you, Emily. I send good thoughts you mom’s way for her stroke recovery!
Much luck to you, Tamsen–as you still like to play with language (always a great sign in a writer), I hope your scattered flock of words comes home to you one day.
Thanks, Marly! It’s been getting better every day, luckily.
Still damn good writer. Different focus, important mission. Giving voice to other stroke survivors (or recipients of ECT for that matter). I hope your publisher did not let you go, so far into the process a co-writer or perhaps Your Advocate must be within possibilities, or? as I said, still damn good writer.
Thanks Judith!
I really enjoyed your honesty. This piece was well crafted and engaging so I want to encourage you to keep fighting to be the writer you desire to be once again. I know you know reading is a powerful defense but I believe the same is true for writing. Also have you read Stephen King’s On Writing .. Not to be a spoiler but the last section of the book was written after he experienced the near death car accident. Writing brought his mangled, mind and body back! Keep at it! Praying for your full recovery & can’t wait to see what the new level of your writing will be😊
Thanks, Robin! Oh yes, I read On Writing years ago at the beginning of my career and think it’s one of the best writing books out there.
I thoroughly enjoyed this post. I love how your brain dances around the word you want. Your descriptions lasso the errant word, drawing it closer until it returns like a stray calf. It sounds frustrating for you, I don’t want to discount that. But it also reminds me of the power of words. They encapsulate an idea, trapping the concept for others to consume. Sometimes though, maybe words deserve to be questioned. Your brain is playing Jepardy! with you, forcing you to ask the question first before it gives you the answer. Sometimes I wish I asked more questions about complex ideas, like why do reception desks or areas feel more like barriers and less like places of acceptance? Maybe your brain knows something the rest of us do not. Thank you for sharing your experience! You’re words and your brain are lovely.
I like your perspective, Angela! Thanks!
You’re still a writer. You’ll always be a writer. My mother is struggling with both dementia and aphasia, the latter being what you describe, the inability to find words. Both my parents have dementia, and there is a distinct possibility that I, too, might encounter this challenge. Will that make me less of a writer? No. It might make me less productive, but that’s not the same. Please keep writing, because from this post, I can see that you are a sensitive, passionate and lively voice. You owe your future readers a chance to still discover you, post-stroke and just as you are.
Thank you for the kind words, Lorrie!
So sorry to hear this. It may take way to long but this was an excellent post.
Best of luck
Thank you – it means a lot to me that people are still able to enjoy my writing despite my deficits.
Makes me very sad, not just for the loss but for how well it was written. This is indeed proof that you still have it, even if it takes longer for you to Express what you want to share. What I would give for a month’s worth of Game Nights at the Crossroads Cafe to help your recovery kick into high gear! Just keep swimming! (And writing)!
Judging by this piece you still have it. I hope, in time, you can find a way to unlock it to the point you can ‘play’ with it again. I’m craving a happy ending here…
Thank you so much!
Reading this makes me want to shout that you are STILL a writer. It is beautifully put and very moving. I wish you all the very best in your recovery.
Thank you! That means a lot to me!
Thanks, Linda. My brain’s already legions better than it was a couple months ago. I see improvement all the time, thankfully.
I am sorry this happened to you, and can relate. Many years ago I lost my beloved career when I destroyed the cartilage in both of my knees. Traumatic. Took me many years to recover from 2 surgeries (15 years, actually) and to settle into a new career. I’ve read that in time, stroke victims can reprogram their brain. Please don’t take this wrong, I just trying to find a ray of hope here…and do sincerely hope that someday, the loss for words happens less frequently. Sending a big, heartfelt hug your way.