My mother was very talkative today.
There were no other visitors in the SCU today, so the staff kindly gave us some extra visiting time.
We got 45 minutes together!
A new record.
She was finding it much easier to speak than before.
More accurately, the words were still not always correct, but I could understand what she meant.
She was trying to say things like:
"I don't think I'm speaking properly."
"It feels like I'm saying something different from what I actually want to say."
Because of her language impairment, some words simply do not come out correctly.
For example, if she wants to say "fruit" but says "fish" instead, she hears herself say the word "fish."
Then she seems to wonder:
"What is 'fish' supposed to mean?"
In her mind, "fish" does not become a substitute for "fruit."
It is neither fruit nor fish.
It is simply a word that has become disconnected from its meaning.
I imagine that part of her rehabilitation will involve reconnecting words with the things they represent.
Today's gift was a photo book filled with pictures of food.
Cakes, fruit, and various dishes.
She loved it.
As she turned the pages, she commented:
"That looks delicious."
"That's pretty."
"I like the red one."
When we reached a page with chiffon cake, I said:
"That's chiffon cake."
She replied:
"Oh, I know this one. Chiffon cake."
"It's soft and fluffy and tastes good."
On the raspberry page, she said something that seemed to mean:
"You have to wash these properly, don't you?"
"This is the season when they're the most delicious, right?"
When we reached a page with bread rolls, she said:
"That looks good."
"When I come home, I'll make some for you."
On the cream puff page, I said:
"This is a cream puff. It's hollow inside, and you fill it with cream."
She smiled and replied:
"Really? I didn't know that."
On the fried rice page, I explained:
"This is fried rice. You stir-fry rice with vegetables and meat."
"That sounds delicious," she said.
On the pot-au-feu page, I said:
"This is pot-au-feu. It has cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and sausage in it. It's a European dish."
"Really?"
Then she pointed at the sausage and said:
"That one is beautiful."
Even if everything is forgotten,
it is still possible to enjoy the present moment.
There were also moments when she stared quietly into space.
She seemed to be thinking about something.
But unlike before, she never said:
"I don't know."
Or:
"I'm no good."
She never hit her head.
She didn't seem frustrated by things she could not remember.
Instead, she appeared to be patiently searching for words.
After about twenty minutes, a nurse came to take her back.
"Already?"
I asked.
The nurse smiled and said:
"Would you like a little more time to talk?"
She had noticed how much my mother was talking and extended our visit.
"What a kind person."
"She really is," I replied. "Everyone here has been so kind to us."
"I like it here."
"They've all been wonderful."
At one point my mother said:
"I wonder how long I'll be staying here."
I replied:
"Next, you'll be going to another hospital where you'll practice lots of things."
"Really?"
"Really."
Our 45-minute visit eventually came to an end.
"Can I borrow this book?"
"Of course. Take a look and decide what you'd like to eat."
When my mother finally comes home, I think I'll make every dessert and every dish in that photo book for her.
After seeing her today, I even think we might be able to cook together.
That made me very happy.
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