the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association

22 Ruth Codier Resch Without Utterance:
I am dazed, a stranger in my own apartment. I stand for a time, search
for the ordinary familiarity of the place. Jake and my daughter fuss around
me, to welcome me, help me settle. My skin is irritable. My eyes and my skin
draw into themselves against the bright largeness. I wish I were wrapped
once more in the cocoon. I retreat to my room, the polished teak desk, the
leather chairs. The light is dim and restful. I put my body gingerly onto the
bed. I’m happy to be here, but my brain is battered, clanging with all the
sensations of coming home.
The telephone rings and rings, too much sound, too much sensation.
My jumbled brain boils over the top and turns painful. I feel no rest in my
prone body. I beg Jake and my daughter, “Please, please … I can’t … can’t
talk … to anyone…. too much.” I want to see and talk to friends, but I’m raw.
My body here at home is out of time, out of place. I am not normal; I have to
begin living in this skin.
The next day I crave to be outside. I walk with one of my friends the short
blocks down Pierrepont to the Promenade overlooking Manhattan, leisurely
and slowly. I am content in my neighborhood, thirsty for its sights.
My eyes stroll the nineteenth-century details of the Greek revival
townhouses, the curling celery leaves fashioned inside scrolls of stone. Some
are reddish brownstone, others white limestone. Their variety decorates my
walk, and my eyes follow the lines of black wrought iron railings individually
cast for each house a century ago.
It is high summer and window boxes bloom with color, cared for by
people behind tall windows. I cannot express to my keeper how deeply good
it is to be out in the world again, the grace of my ordinary neighborhood. I
gulp in visual detail with the tenderness of loss and return.
My breath heaves in my chest, and I’m compelled to stop. I have been
walking only the short halls of medical wards. As we approach the Promenade,
the towering buildings of Manhattan across the East River are too vast, too
overwhelming. I shrink from the magnificent walk I wanted. Instead we stop
in the little toddler playground next to the Promenade. Trees and bushes
circle it. I’m enclosed in green.