Excerpt: Without Words

The third day had another visit from the speech therapist and not being negative nobody told me if I could be understood or not. I mean I knew that I couldn’t say much, but nobody told me if my basic word skills could be understood or not.
Things like “thankyou, please” (done with smiles), “yes” (always done with a nod…or three or four) and the little used ‘no’ (yes, with a shake) but I didn’t have the skills that gave me the right to ask her what words were still intact. If indeed any of them were.
Naturally Mum came with Sue again which took my mind from the fact that ‘spoon’ could not be uttered which I thought I had enunciated it perfectly. Mum had this time managed to bring me a pair of my old track suit pants that had not seen any chance of agreement with my arse in at least four years, still they didn’t need to fit, by that stage, I was just glad to change into anything that didn’t smell like they were a decade old and Mum managed to understand where the washing was and assured me that the knew it is the next draw down.
Sue started a new game at this point. “Charades” took my mind of my clothes and as all of us were able to guess what I was trying to communicate. It is still used on occasion. We were in the middle of a word I had already given away as a bad joke when the nurse from Emergency dropped in and didn’t stay when he saw my family. He said he’d be back.
A few minutes after they left my old supervisor came in for a visit along with her man, a beautiful box of chocolates (that I decided to not risk with) and a card.
It was as if everyone had organised that I wasn’t to be alone, expect for the quick toilet visits as Monica came in a few minutes after dinner had been served. Unlike anyone else, Monica wasn’t afraid to ask the harder questions.
“Have you given up smoking?”
“Yes.” (With an emphatic nod of my head)
I did have a new packet that I had only just had two smokes from and was glad to give them to her.
For some reason that seemed to be the perfect time to give them away, or even to have given them up. I had not thought about having a smoke from that moment on.
Well there was that little day a few days later, but I’ll go then. For the most part I have not wanted a smoke since and it was as if my smoking had never been a problem.
Monica didn’t want to take them but eventually realised that I wasn’t being noble or making a gesture. Monica is a fairly open, fun person, a friend of Jo’s I was able to indicate that she had been in earlier by showing her the card and again playing charades until Monica realised Jo had been gone only minutes earlier.
A few minutes later I think Monica wished that she had missed visiting me at all.

Chapter 9
Comsuper and Workcare
You ever see that television add where the man comes to the phone on crutches and then with his leg bandaged and then he’s ready to do a little light duties. Well that was how I felt, somehow this advert actually got into my brain that this is the way people respond. This is my Supervisors role and I don’t have the right to move away and as a stroke victim I am the one that needs to get well, including my attitude to my bosses, after all the advert showed the man just hanging out for the call from his supervisor.
He obviously didn’t have a life before the accident despite the showing him with a wife and kids they obviously just wanted him to go back to work, you could see that from the look of indulgent pleasure that she and the children gave him. What a crock of shit that one was. Truth is I have, as I imagine most people have lots of friends, who would spend all times of the day and evenings giving me a lot of guff about my ‘holiday’ about my ‘bludging’ and most especially a longer and longer list of ways to keep away from work whenever I think I may have to think about coming back to work.
I can see the advertisement even as I write. I am sitting at the table with all the paperwork as the angel of the workplace who looks surprising like my supervisor suddenly phones and I put the paperwork down and with a ruptured look of joy and wonderment as I say I am feeling wonderful (in my particular disjointed way) and my family are watching me, (for added effect Mum has a look of joy and indulgent pride as she hands me a cup of tea) while the Angel of the workplace stops long enough to have a glimpse at my desk while three women are standing around to hear how I am. The next call has me sitting next to my speech therapist, who also joins the brigade of the dopey smilers as I speak into the phone, smiling from ear to ear as the Angel of the workplace is indicating to the manager that I am coming along nicely while Mum hand cups of tea to me and Adrianna while we all share the same dopy grins. Of course there is the great ending where I make the impassioned plea to a panel of doctors who smile indulgently as they sign the pages sending me back to the real world and I am at the desk with the women who were not capable of phoning themselves telling me I was so missed while my Manager is supplying me with a cup of tea….this part of the scenario would have me worried as the last time he brought food in a number of people questioned his motives and three of my friends and I decided that we couldn’t be sure to trust him enough to actually eat. Of course the final part of the Advertisement would be with the Angel of the workplace smiling radiantly while I sat there with a dopy look on my face while my co workers all stood around watching with bated breath as I take a file and open it.
Well the last part of the whole procedure would be for real, since my co-worker rarely does the work anyway but as for the manager, he’s more than likely to give me a bill for making the tea, and quite frankly Mum doesn’t do tea. She doesn’t do coffee either and if she caught me smiling inanely at the Angel of the workplace while I’m talking to her, then she would be one the phone having me committed.
The reality is far removed from the advertisement or my very worrying fantasy. The reality is we are injured, me and the representative for the workers in the advertisement (the dopey smiling man) and we have had operations, therapy, and general time out while the workplace is supposably out there fixing the problems that caused the sickness, injury or the breakdowns before allowing someone back to work. The workcare advertisement is wrong; it’s abusive and shows the person being allowed to just get well again, but not allowed to be anything other than one cog in a wheel.
I think it may well have been a lot better an advertisement if he had been showing what it’s like going through the occupational therapy, show the world the mans pain while recovering to a level that gives him the right to be as a father and a husband should be. This was never in the advert and it should have been. No, it was a nice happy scene from the moment the phone calls begin until the man is returned. It’s almost like a slave ownership scenario and I really resent it now, especially as my own experience is that I have been told to get well, and don’t forget work. Relax and don’t think about a thing, don’t forget us either.
Yeah, right.