The swallow lady
She carried a notebook and pen, and a bag that contained saltine crackers, some applesauce, and a box of juice. The Swallow Lady. “Are you ready for the tests?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, ready to show her I could swallow.
She leaned over the bed and placed her fingers gently on my throat. “Try swallowing for me.”
What could be easier? But my mouth was dry and my throat constricted. I couldn’t swallow. The harder I tried, the more my throat tightened up.
“Relax,” she said. “Try moistening your mouth.”
I managed to work up some saliva. Then my chin pushed forward, my neck stretched, and I swallowed.
“Good,” she said. “Everything
appears to be working.” She scribbled in her notebook, then passed a cracker to my good hand. “Now try eating this, but do it slowly, in little pieces.”
Immediately, I took a good-sized bite. The cracker stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t chew and only managed to spit it out.
“Nibble,” she said. “Tiny bits.”
I felt like a fool. How could I not swallow? But I did as she suggested, taking a tiny bite of the cracker, and then swallowed.
“Good. Now try this. Sip slowly.” She poured a small amount of juice into a paper cup, and I drank it, forcing myself to concentrate on each stage of swallowing.
it’s unsettling to have your children see you so vulnerable.
The therapist smiled. “You’ve done well. You’ve passed the test. For the first few weeks, your food will be minced or pureed. You must eat and drink slowly and carefully. This is only one of many things you’re going to have to relearn how to do.”
Relearn. That word would become a mantra of my therapist community. Restoring what has been damaged is a very complicated process
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