The first is people ask me where my mysterious accent is from. It normally ends up awkward for them as I tell them it's from my brain. At my best, I can't pronounce r, sh, th, g, j, n, and a couple other letters and diphthongs. Most of these are replaced with a z sound if I replace them at all. Joe asked me to say "rugby" a while ago. We both got a kick out of it.
Which brings me to my next point. I think it's become easier to tell people I have brain damage than conversion disorder. People understand brain damage. I have to explain and explain conversion disorder. I get out so rarely I don't want my time in public to revolve around explanations.
Andrea has got me seriously thinking about a medical service dog. I can't take care of one right now, but it would make me less dependent on Joe. A dog could bring my medicines if I have a seizure, and curl up with me after getting someone to help. He could nudge or lick me when I'm getting ready to have an attack, and make me calm down with distractions and cute. He can guide me to a safe place if I get really bad and minimize the symptoms just like Joe does. Again, I'm not ready for another animal yet, but it's a nice thought.
No comments:
Post a Comment