Alice is bored, feeling trapped by her speech predicament.  On Wednesday, April 29th, she once again asserted her penchant for free will by driving off to window-shop at a strip mall loaded with box stores, but this is not what her heart ultimately desires.

My partner wants to go back to work.  Her alpha-female mind is as sharp as ever, having used my communication skills to fend off well-meaning family members who want to dote on her.  Unwittingly, their concern would have complicated Alice’s ambitious plans for recovery, and this lady stands for no interference.  As just one example, she abhors my nagging reminders to take her medication.

Medical bills are piling up for the professional care received, so both of us realize it’s time to pay the piper.  Although Alice doesn’t want me to work outside our abode so I can focus on writing a book and this blog (in addition to looking after her), it’s time to face hard choices.  We are heading for perilous times unless we take action.

Two nights ago, Alice consented to have me find work.  Preferably, I can find freelance writing assignments and telecommute.  But if not, I might have to leave Alice alone for stretches of time so I can drive for Uber, or a similar car service, because “beggars can’t be choosers.”

Summarizing our plight for anyone new to this blog, on Wednesday, March 11th, my partner endured a stroke at home while I attended a writers’ conference.  That night, our plans for the future suffered a big hit, and we are making the best of it.

Alice continues her agonizingly slow – but sure – recovery.  Two nights ago in bed after I prompted her to count to 10, she counted aloud into the mid-30s, proving her stubbornness.  At other times, though, she becomes stuck on a word, and that word keeps repeating itself over and over again as if it had a life of its own.  When that happens, she must stop speaking temporarily and take a deep breath.

An amusing example occurred the other night.  Alice tried to utter a name, but what came out was “Dr. F*ck.”  She tried to communicate her thought again, but the same professional title followed by a four-letter expletive came out.  Feigning naiveté, I questioned the accuracy of what she said, and we both laughed.  After all, speech aphasia is not characterized by a nervous tic.

But humor only goes so far.  Alice will not subject an employer to the hint of a speech impediment.  She always has fulfilled work duties professionally, even to the point of working through lunch breaks multiple times.

To reemerge into the diaper-changing world of infant care, she confronts her computer screen daily with websites offering aphasia exercises.  Alice wants me to stay home; she is consumed about my taking unnecessary risks.

That’s commendable, but these days, regardless of our senior status, we have little choice.  We have overcome serious hurdles to relocate in Oregon, including seeing our possessions held hostage, so we must bravely meet the challenges of our future together.

For the time being, I will continue to keep this blog going, reporting on the charms of our adopted environment.  Both of us agree we shall not surrender to aphasia.  There are too many well-wishers urging us to keep plowing ahead.

Once again, we say to ourselves, “Onward and upward!”