September 1. Dad's doctor put a referral in for dad to go to outpatient speech therapy. Today is his first visit. It's actually an evaluation. Speech therapist says that after her evaluation, she feels that it is a Wernickes stroke, not Broca. And that the prognosis for recovery is not as good. Age plays a part, she says. The cut off point is about 75 years. Dad is 83. I told the therapist that dad along with not being able to fully understand most of what was being said, he also can't write, read, identify things that belong to him, speak except garbled words with an occasional word such as "and", no nouns at all. He doesn't know how to use the telephone, take his medications (he found some pills he stashed in his night stand in an old ibuprofen bottle and took a few, I asked him what they were. He half grinned, shrugged his shoulders and said, " a kns'd know").
Dad was authorized for 4 visits. Once a week. Yay!! I told the therapist, "Just tell me what I need to do".
On the way home I thought about all this. He can't even watch tv. How is he going to keep occupied? He does sleep a lot, especially right now, He just has alot of doctor visits, about 3 per week. It wears him out. But what about the rest of the time? Trapped inside his own head. A prisoner held against his will. Wernickes stroke is, how should I say, a living hell.
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