stammerheadshark * blog about living with an acquired neurogenic stammer

That’s what the letting agent said. She didn’t elaborate.

It did make me think though; what if we all have a different idea of what a stammer should sound like, and what the behaviours and triggers are for a “nomal stutter”?

What’s become an everyday norm for me seems somewhat severe and extreme in some people’s eyes, and for others due to its nature doesn’t qualify as a stammer.

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Finding somewhere to live or getting a job?

Bearing in mind that a finite timescale is involved before I leave my current job to go home, and that jobhunting isn’t a particularly fruitful activity at the best of times especially in the current climate, it seemed prudent to start working to resolve both challenges.

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That’s what it says on the job specification. That, and every other spec of about a hundred that I’ve looked at.

I never thought that job hunting back home was ever going to be easy, especially in the midst of a recession; but I also hadn’t anticipated having my normal speech taken away from me so swiftly either.

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Somehow, yesterday managed to be one of the most truly awful and awesome days imaginable. I’m still not entirely sure how. But I’m relieved, completely relieved that it’s over.

So I had my neurology appointment to get to, which was a mission in itself. I cowardly wimped out of tackling that bloomin’ big hill on my bike up to the hospital again and decided to get the bus instead.

Well, I didn’t realise until I was halfway there to the bus stop that I was going to have to tell the driver where I was going.  You just don’t think about these things, do you? I’m just so used to being able to do it without a second thought.

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So it’s not exactly been a fun few days, I’m not going to lie.

The robot voice deteriorated into speechlessness again, and I’ve spent the last three days having to write on scraps of paper to be able to communicate.

Which, you know, on the face of it doesn’t sound so bad, but it’s that kind of isolation like being lost at sea with no one there, so you write letters – except everyone still is there, it’s just they can’t take on board what you’re trying to say.

Events always seem to magnify the patheticness of having to resort to write when you can’t speak. Take, for example, the fact that my bike tyre got punctured.

I needed to have it fixed so I could attend my neurology appointment today – without it, I would have had to try to speak to a taxi or bus driver. Neither, I imagine, would have been particularly successful attempts.

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Seriously, my brain’s having a right giggle at the moment.

My speech hasn’t been great today. Much harder to get words out than usual, but really oddly since leaving work to come home it’s slowed right down.

My normally quite speedy stammer (I tend to try to push through all the repetitions quite quickly to get my words out before I forget what I’m trying to say)  has become almost robot sounding over the past couple of hours.

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Yesterday I was at a wedding (in Windsor incidentally and a great excuse for a trip to Legoland today – which was ace by the way!) and as much as anyone dreads the prospect of meeting a ridiculous amount of their boyfriend’s external family members in one fell swoop, I was just hoping they’d be able to understand me.

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