Hi everyone, I'm back with another story! Here's the description for this one:
22-year old Reina Kato is a quiet, gloomy, and introverted university student who recently lost her ability to understand speech as a result of a Traumatic Brain Injury. Now she needs to learn sign language – and fast. However, her teacher – Shiina Mikado – isn’t exactly what she hoped for. She’s perky, loud, and incredibly extroverted, and she’s getting on Reina’s last nerve.
Will Reina get fed up with her new teacher? Or do opposites really attract?
I just woke up. I feel groggy. And out of it.
I can hear a strange beeping noise. Is that my alarm?
Have to turn it off.
I reach my hand out in an attempt to find it, but I just find bed sheets.
As I become more awake, I realize I have the worst headache I’ve ever had. It's a pounding feeling that starts at the base of my skull and goes all the way to my scalp. My body also feels very heavy.
I slowly open my eyes in my search for the offending device. When I do, I see a white ceiling made up of square panels.
Confused by the strange sight, which definitely isn't my home, I turn my head to get more information. When I do, I feel an even more painful pounding at the base of my skull.
It makes me wince, but I have to figure out what's happening. And turn off that damn alarm. It doesn't help that everything's blurry.
Eventually, I can make out a long pole next to my bed that is connected to a beeping machine. I also identify a large window that is letting lots of sunlight into the room.
Just as I start putting things together, someone comes into the room, and they say…something.
“Bzbz bzzbj bzbzj!”
“Wh-what?”
“Bzbz bzbzjz bzjzb!”
The person speaking this unintelligible language approaches the bed. They squeeze my hand and put something on my face, over my eyes. Suddenly, things are no longer blurry.
Oh. I didn't have my glasses on.
With my vision restored, I see someone I know better than anyone - my mother. She looks exhausted. Her brown eyes have bags under them and her normally very stylish shoulder-length hair is in a messy bun. She's also not wearing any makeup, which is unusual.
She's smiling at me and crying. I squeeze her hand back.
My restored eyesight also helps me identify the room I’m in, and it's as I was beginning to suspect - I'm in a hospital.
“M-mom…what’s going on?”
She holds my hand and kisses it before saying, “Bzbzbz zbzjzb zbzjzbz.”
I squint as if that will help me decipher my mom's strange new language, “Why are you talking like that? I don't understand anything. Talk normally.”
My mom frowns and puts her hand on my head and says, “Bzbz bzjzbz bzjzbz.” She gives my hand a squeeze and heads out into the hall.
After that, a nurse comes to the room. She smiles at me and checks my vitals. She tries to talk to me too, but I don't understand anything. Then she leaves.
Not long after that, another hospital worker of some sort comes into the room all smiles. She gives my mom a hug and they have what must be a conversation, but none of it sounds like words to me.
Everyone is speaking in the exact same strange way. I start to feel disoriented and confused. Like I woke up in an alternate dimension where almost everything is the same. Except humans now speak much differently. It doesn't even sound like a language. It's more like static. Or buzzing.
I can tell that people are speaking. And everyone but me can understand one another. And based on their reactions I think people understand me . But I can't make any sense of anything anyone says. Not a single word.
An alternate dimension isn't very likely. But maybe I lost my mind? I am in a hospital after all.
The woman who hugged my mom smiles at me and waves before leaving the room. I wave back, awkwardly.
Then my mother stands at the foot of the bed, looking increasingly worried and occasionally saying something unintelligible. It doesn't make me feel any better.
Luckily we aren't alone for too long, as a doctor enters the room with the nurse from before.
The doctor, after listening to my lungs and heart with a thoughtful look on his face, sits down next to my bed and pulls out a notepad. He's a tall, thin man, probably in his 50s. His receding hairline gives him a severe widow's peak. He has very kind eyes that make me feel comfortable.
He writes something on his notepad and shows it to me.
Can you read this?
I look at my mom, who plasters a fake smile on her face when I look at her. Then I turn back to the doctor, “O-of course I can.”
He nods, gives me a thumbs up, and flips to the next page of his notepad and starts writing again.
Can you write your name for me?
He hands me the notepad and pen, and I write, “Reina Kato.” My movements felt a little sluggish, but my handwriting looks the same as it usually does. He must be satisfied too, because he nods and takes back the notepad.
Then he asks me two dozen more questions. He writes them down and I respond verbally. He asks my age, who my mother is, what year it is, what university I go to, and so on. He’s clearly trying to make sure I have it together. I feel kind of relieved that I’m able to answer all of his questions, as it makes me feel less crazy. But by the time we’re on the 20th question, I’m starting to get frustrated and impatient. I’d really like to know what the hell is going on.
Finally, he writes a question related to what I’m most confused about.
Do you remember what happened? To put you in the hospital?
I close my eyes and think for a moment, “The last thing I remember is…I was riding my bike home from university. I think.”
He nods and writes:
A car swerved into the bike lane and clipped your bicycle. You had only minor bruises and abrasions on your body. But you hit your head very hard. You were unconscious when the ambulance got there. Once you were here, it was clear you had suffered a significant Traumatic Brain Injury. You've been in a shallow coma for 10 days.
I frown and look at my mom for confirmation. She nods.
That explains the pounding headache. I’m pretty mad this happened even though I wear a helmet. But I guess I would probably be dead if I wasn’t wearing it.
“But…I'm okay now?”
The doctor nods and writes his next note.
There is nothing life threatening. And now that you’re awake, it’s clear you’ve retained your cognitive function. We will do some more tests and a brain scan, but the prognosis is very good.
That’s a relief, but…
“Then…what’s going on? Why do you all sound so strange?”
He frowns and clicks his pen a few times. He takes a second to write his next message.
Can you hear the tapping of my pen?
He taps the pen on the wall. I can definitely hear it.
I point to the heart monitor, “Yeah. And the beeping of this really annoying machine.”
My mom chuckles so I add, “And I just heard my mom's laugh.”
The doctor laughs too and writes his next message.
What does it sound like when we speak?
Just as I finish reading his message, he says, “Bzbz bzbz jbzbzj.”
He points to my mother with his pen. She says, “Bzbz bzj.”
I sigh in frustration, and think over how to respond, “It's like…sound with no meaning. Kind of like…cicadas buzzing, almost.”
The doctor nods and writes the lengthiest message so far. I get impatient watching him write. The longer he takes, the more worried I get.
When he finally finishes he hands me his notepad so that I can read his long message. My mom comes and reads over my shoulder.
Sometimes Traumatic Brain Injuries can damage the brain and affect our senses. Based on your injury and what you have described, it is likely that the part of your brain for understanding speech was damaged. You can hear, and you can speak and compose language yourself, but you can't process the meaning of incoming speech. This is called auditory verbal agnosia.
My heart sinks as I read these words.
I look at him, “So…I won't ever understand people again? Is there any way to fix that part of my brain? Is there a surgery or something?”
My mom hands him back the notepad and looks as eager to hear his answer as I am. It doesn’t take him very long to write his response.
No. I'm sorry.
My mom clings to my shoulder and starts to cry. I do my best to hug her while hooked up to everything. I want to cry too, but I'm so overwhelmed I can't. This almost doesn't seem real to me.
The doctor takes in our reaction and starts writing something.
You can still lead a full life.
I find myself converting my would-be tears into anger.
I cross my arms and shoot him my best glare, “Easy for you to say. It isn't happening to you. You can still understand people! I have to spend the rest of my life having people write things down for me. So don't tell me it's ‘fine.’” I aggressively use air quotes for the last word before recrossing my arms aggressively.
He nods and gives me a contrite expression before writing something new.
You're right. I'm sorry. What I should have said is that this SUCKS. And it's going to be very hard. But I will do everything I can to help find a path for you to have the fullest life possible.
I uncross my arms, “That's better. So you've seen this before?”
He nods.
“So what's the next step?”
Well, you will be here for a while so we can manage your pain, monitor you, and you can recover a little more.
I nod, “I get that. I mean, what's the first step on my path to this full life you keep talking about?”
Learning sign language. And how to read lips.
I look down at my hands, “Oh. That sounds…tough. But I guess I don't have much of a choice.”
My mom asks for the note pad and writes.
I'll learn sign language too, sweetie. I want to still be able to talk to you.
I smile at her, “Thanks. That would be nice.”
I get discharged tomorrow. Counting the week and a half I was unconscious, I've been here for 20 days. I'm more than ready to go home.
Right now my mom is on the phone with my university.
I was halfway through my last semester when this happened. My mom is trying to find out what accommodations they can give me.
My professors were all willing to give me ‘incompletes’ so that I can finish up their classes at some point in the future. But I asked my mom if she could find out the specifics of how I can finish up my degree. I'm getting anxious about the details.
After all, I'm never going to understand another lecture.
I'm flipping through the most recent issue of Comic Yuri Hime which I've already read five times over the last week. At this point I'm mostly just looking at the cute pictures. Pictures of cute girls holding hands and kissing always raises my spirits a little bit.
I'm trying to tune out my mom's phone conversation. It's not like I can understand what she's saying, and trying to figure it out drives me a little bit crazy.
I suppose I should be glad that I can still speak, write, and read. It could have been worse.
I was never one who talked to others a whole lot anyway. In school, I was that weird quiet girl in the corner who never talked to anyone. I always felt different and out of place. I just sat at my desk and read during breaks and lunch, barely saying a word to anyone.
I've always been a mousy little tomboy. I don't like wearing girly clothes. I don't wear makeup. I keep my hair really short. That's what has always felt right to me. But this had the unfortunate effect of getting me bullied by the boys and girls. So keeping to myself was the best option.
I've maybe gotten a little more social since then, but I still like spending time alone in my room wrapped in a blanket and reading more than I like spending time with anyone. I like the quiet peace of solitude.
I'm going to university for creative writing. Because I want to write stories like the ones I like to read. In fact, I've already written a few short stories that have won some inter-university awards.
There isn't very much I like about myself. But I'm very proud of my writing and what I have accomplished. Writing is my favorite thing in the whole world.
So, as challenging as it is that I can't understand speech anymore, I think I would be even more upset if I couldn't read or write. I'm glad those parts of my brain made it through unscathed.
But…not being able to speak to my mom normally is tough. She is by far the person I spend the most time with. It's just been me and her against the world my whole life. She had me when she was only 19. And she had very little support. The guy didn't take responsibility and her family disowned her.
There were some tough years when I was little. My mom had to work multiple jobs to support us, mostly as a waitress. But after about 10 years she worked her way up to manager and co-owner at a cafe that she helped make super popular. She put me through university and everything.
She's everything I'm not. Beautiful, feminine, a social butterfly, proactive, and strong. I wouldn't blame her for being disappointed that I turned out the way I did.
But I know she doesn't. She's an amazing mom who is always there for me. Like right now.
Luckily we'll be able to communicate more effectively soon. Even though she is here with me, I kind of miss her at the same time, since actually having a two-way conversation takes extra steps now.
The hospital gave us the number of an agency that helps people like me, who suddenly lose their ability to communicate. They offer intensive sign language courses and will even come to your home. This is ideal for me, the shut-in that I am.
We picked the most intensive course - 4 hours a day, 6 days a week. My mom is only working half days for the next couple of months so she can learn. It starts the day after tomorrow.
It all sounds intense, but it's what we need if we want to be able to communicate in the near future. And what I need to be able to communicate at all.
My mom pats me on the shoulder, pulling me out of my head, and shows me a note she wrote,
I spoke with disability services. They said they would set things up for you to finish your courses when you're ready. They said it would be no problem. They will have helpers transcribe lectures for you and make sure you can have the course material in a way you can understand it.
Huh. I'm ‘disabled’ now. I hadn't really thought about it in those terms. Like…I'm not DEAF, so I didn't think of it as a disability. But I guess not being able to understand speech is a pretty massive limitation.
“Thank you. That's good to hear.” I chuckle wryly, “I guess I should say ‘good to read’ but that doesn't seem right.”
My mom laughs and sits down on my bed and writes another message. Then she shows it to me and takes my hand.
We'll get through this, you and me. Just like we always have.
I nod, “Yeah, we will. Hopefully soon you won't have to write so much. I’m pretty anxious to start learning.”
I just took a bath. Now I'm going downstairs to the kitchen. I took a bath last night too, my first night back home. It was amazing being able to take a real bath after all that time in the hospital. That’s why I decided to take another one this morning. I almost didn’t want to get out, but I should get something to eat before the teacher shows up.
As I'm pondering what might be for breakfast, I'm surprised by what I hear as I head down the stairs.
My mom is talking to someone. I don't know what they are saying of course, but I think I recognize mom's voice. Or at least…the sound I hear when she speaks.
“BZBZ BZBZBZJ BZBZ. Wahaha”
I can’t tell much about the other person, other than that the buzzing sound they make is louder than anyone else I have heard so far. And they have a silly laugh. My mom is laughing along with them, too.
I double check the time on my phone.
It's only 8 a.m., the instructor shouldn't be here for an hour. Is it someone else? Maybe someone from the cafe dropped by. But I doubt it. We never have people over. My mom knows I'm bad with people in general, and now that I can't talk to people it's even worse.
When I reach the kitchen, I see that my mom is eating breakfast and chatting with a young woman who is probably about my age. She has short, shaggy light brown hair that frames her face, and light brown eyes that are almost golden.
My first thought about her appearance is that she's beautiful. This makes me very anxious.
They both notice that I've entered the room, and the woman I don't know stands up and gives me an excited wave. An overly excited one, really. She's smiling ear to ear and moving her hand like crazy.
Art by Lucio Neru
What is she so HAPPY about?
Rather than return the strange but very attractive woman's wave, I look at my mother quizzically. She gestures towards the woman, who has pulled a small white board out of a briefcase. She gets out a marker that squeaks a little as she writes a message. Then she turns it toward me.
I'm Ms. Mikado, your instructor! It's very nice to meet you! I'm excited to work with you and your mom!
I feel very surprised by the message’s contents.
“Um…I'm Reina. A-aren't you…a l-little young?” Ugh, my voice just cracked.
Miss Mikado gives me an annoyingly playful wink and erases her first message before writing a new one.
Reina, it's not nice to ask a woman her age!
But if you have to know, I'm 25! I've been teaching full time for 3 years, and I got some experience teaching in high school and university, too!
She even comes off as unnecessarily excited in her writing. It's like she thinks the exclamation point is the only way to end a sentence.
I scratch my head in confusion, “Okay, then. But…a-aren't you really early?” Ugh, my voice cracked again! And I was trying really hard that time.
She puts her hands on her hips and lets out a “Wahahaha” before writing another message.
I sure am! I forgot about the time change! Woops!
Feel free to eat breakfast and enjoy your morning! We'll get started around 9! Don't mind me!
This woman who only knows one form of punctuation and can't even change the time on her clocks is supposed to teach me something? Something crucial for me to have anything resembling a normal life?
Color me skeptical.
I look at my mom who gives me a big smile.
My mom likes her I guess. But I can already tell that our personalities clash. I'm a reserved, gloomy, quiet person and Miss Mikado is an over-the-top, bubbly, loud person.
Throw in the fact that my already terrible social anxiety gets worse around people my own age - especially girls I'm attracted to - and this intensive sign language class is now looking pretty awful.
Couldn't they have sent a relaxed old man or something?
