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the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association

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30 Ruth Codier Resch Without Utterance:<br />

It is early September. New York psychoanalysts return to<br />

<strong>the</strong>ir practices. Lemming-like, I do too. What is left for me is only<br />

my small private practice. I call two patients to resume work. All<br />

<strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> eight or so patients have been waiting for me <strong>the</strong>se seven<br />

months, some waiting with o<strong>the</strong>r <strong>the</strong>rapists. I am moved by <strong>the</strong>ir<br />

constancy.<br />

I am naïve about continuing a practice, since no one has told me I can’t.<br />

The only advice I’ve gotten is from a doctor after <strong>the</strong> surgery who said,<br />

“You are a high level aphasic; you don’t need speech <strong>the</strong>rapy. Just don’t lift<br />

pianos.”<br />

My ability to listen and to speak just a few words should serve well<br />

enough. It doesn’t. In session I hear what <strong>the</strong> patient says and understand<br />

<strong>the</strong> depth <strong>of</strong> it. I receive language, think about it. I think without words to<br />

think in. It is all in <strong>the</strong>re, reflecting, observing, considering, comparing. But<br />

this observing mind doesn’t translate into articulate organizing words for<br />

my verbal mind. What I think is far too complex for <strong>the</strong> slow small range <strong>of</strong><br />

words I have for thinking.<br />

I have a wordless mind trying to talk to a word mind. My thinking is<br />

a puzzle. I must find <strong>the</strong> pieces <strong>of</strong> words to construct a picture <strong>of</strong> my inner<br />

conversation. But most <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> pieces are still in <strong>the</strong> black box. I clutch at <strong>the</strong><br />

door, wrestle to pry it open, put my foot on <strong>the</strong> sill as a wedge, reach in, and<br />

scramble around to find pieces to fit. The struggle goes on even when I say<br />

nothing.<br />

The practice is exhausting, but I continue. The work with patients is a<br />

deep pleasure to me. It is what is left to me <strong>of</strong> my pr<strong>of</strong>essional identity—and<br />

my sole income now. In session I’m attentive and quietly elated. It is after<br />

<strong>the</strong> session when <strong>the</strong> fatigue slides in. Listening is my strength, inward and<br />

outward. I hear <strong>the</strong> emotions and thoughts patients express and feel empathy.<br />

My own emotions, though, don’t rise to <strong>the</strong> surface as <strong>the</strong>y did before. They<br />

don’t clutter <strong>the</strong> emotional pathways between us. The practice has a certain<br />

simplicity in that way.

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