There Is No Left

The concept of her left side is alien to her, a concept that her brain cannot process.

 

“Is this my hand?” She asked her son. “Who’s hand is this?”

 

The stroke has left her with a condition called neglect, where all the information around her is processed save for the stimuli from her left side, and it has left her with a much more restricted view of the world.

 

“Look this way,” I coax. “Can you hear me? Keep turning, keep looking.”

 

“Can you see that yellow bag? I want you to focus on it.”

 

“Sit over there. Try to always talk to your mum on her left,” I tell her son.

 

It’s small things, the constant drawing of attention to things to her left; an often tedious process to help her draw stimulation from a space that barely exists in her head.

 

I wonder if she will start to regain that sense, if she will regain that lost left. I hope she does, and that her world will slowly expand for her again. I hope she manages to fill in those missing bits that her brain does not process.

 

I hope she finds her left.