Cheryl Adamson cannot say more than “yes” or “no.” But she has a story to tell - and her own way to communicate.
“I have been on a long journey, and I am still traveling down that road,” writes Adamson, who uses her iPad and dry-erase boards instead of talking.
She has aphasia, a condition that robs people of speech and sometimes affects the ability to write or understand language. Adamson has been regaining communication skills since she started at the Houston Aphasia Recovery Center (HARC) 10 years ago. She now finds ways to express herself through means other than speech.
For example, at first, she could only read one sentence at a time. Now, she is up to full-length novels and is in a book club. Adamson is also a member of the choir - and works the front desk at HARC a couple of days each week — though the center has been closed due to COVID-19.
“At HARC, no struggles, only friends,” Adamson writes.
Sometimes, aphasia develops slowly with a brain tumor or degenerative brain disease. Usually, it occurs suddenly - immediately after a stroke or head injury.
That was the case for Adamson. She was living abroad when she suffered a massive stroke at only 37 years old.
Adamson loved to travel, especially when it involved social work, a cause close to her heart. Already, she had earned a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, a master’s in social work and was finishing her doctorate in forensic psychology.
When the opportunity for social work in the U.K. came up, Adamson applied and was accepted.
One day in 2005, she was talking on the phone, planning a date with a friend. She told him she was ironing her clothes, and to pick her up that evening.
When he arrived, the lights were on, and Adamson’s car was parked out front. But no one answered the door when he knocked. He tried again. Was Adamson standing him up? He turned to leave but then reconsidered.
“Something told him to go back,” Adamson’s mother Louise explained. “He got the police, went in and found her on the ground.”
Adamson still had the iron in her hand. It burned a hole into the floor. She had been lying there since the phone call that morning. He found her cell phone and called Adamson’s parents. Once they got the news, Louise booked a flight to London.
“It was the longest flight ever - in my whole life,” Louise said. “I wasn’t sure if I would find her alive.”
When Louise finally saw her daughter in the hospital, Adamson couldn’t move. “She kept saying, ‘Oh Lord,’ and that was it,” recalled Louise, who stayed in London for three months. She still recalls the day when Adamson moved one toe.
“It was just one toe, and I just cried,” Louise said. “I was so happy, because I felt there was some hope for her.”
When Louise heard the aphasia diagnosis, she was in shock. “I had no idea what the word even meant,” she said. “Most people don’t.”
Upon returning home to Las Vegas with her daughter, Louise embarked on a mission - to find a way for Adamson to communicate again.
Adamson was one of the first in the family to go to college. “She always had a goal, something that she wanted to do,” Louise said. “She always wanted to push herself as much as possible. We were just trying to get help for her. I was always online, trying to find the next step.”
Eventually, she found a program at the University of Houston led by Dr. Lynn Maher. Stephanie Schmadeke served as research project manager.
“Louise packed everything up and literally drove through the night to sign Cheryl up,” said HARC executive director Eleni Christou-Franklin.
Adamson joined a different program at the university’s department of communication sciences and disorders. Maher held a drop-in group for individuals with aphasia.
“Cheryl did one-on-one therapy for a couple of years at a drop-in program, which was the beginning of HARC,” Louise recalled
Christou-Franklin explained that HARC began with the serendipitous meeting of two couples — Doris and Rick Spengler and Rita and the late Blair Justice.
Blair Justice had a distinguished career in public health and authored six books. But a stroke left him unable to speak or remember his own writing for a year. Almost 200,000 Americans are diagnosed with aphasia each year, and 43,000 currently live in Houston. But while researching options, Rita Justice discovered that while there were aphasia recovery centers around the U.S., none were located in Houston.
The next year, at a stroke seminar, the Justices met the Spanglers. Doris had also suffered a debilitating stroke. The two couples committed to creating what Houston lacked — a place for aphasia patients to recover.
“They came back and started reaching out to people,” Christou-Franklin said.
One of the phone calls was to Maher, who specialized in helping patients with aphasia.
“We want to start an aphasia center,” Rita Justice said.
Maher answered, “Yours is the call I’ve been waiting for. Let’s do it.”
Adamson was one of seven founding patientes in Maher’s drop-in program, which officially became HARC in 2010.
“People with aphasia need an opportunity for a positive experience with communication, and that’s what HARC does, where people understand what it’s like,” Christou-Franklin said. “It gives them an opportunity to grow and change and develop a new identity.”
The center follows a drop-in format, Monday through Friday. A team of speech pathologists use a supported communication technique.
There are classes on reading, writing, conversation, technology, music, art, exercise and Spanish.
The choir is one of Adamson’s favorite activities. Singing is in a different part of the brain than speaking. Christou-Franklin remembers that Adamson was performing her solo, when a cry of joy sounded in the room.
“Louise hadn’t heard her daughter say a full sentence in years,” Christou-Franklin recalled.
Programs are tailored to each patient, Christou-Franklin said, with fees on a sliding scale.
“We want it to be barrier free,” Christou-Franklin said. “We want there to be no reason you can’t come to HARC.”
Individual donations - and an annual fundraising luncheon made that possible. But this year’s event has been delayed due to the coronavirus.
“We’re taking a huge hit this year,” Christou-Franklin said. “We’re hoping the community will step up and help us. We want to make sure our programs can continue.”
She explained that the isolation and loneliness that many have felt during the pandemic are what aphasia patients face year-round.
“Imagine all of a sudden, you can’t speak and can’t communicate,” Christou-Franklin said.
That’s where HARC can make a difference. “They revitalize,” Christou-Franklin said. “They learn a new normal, that their lives are still important. The brain is ever-changing. People can gain support - and recover.”
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