By October, it was clear that I was not recovering from my head injury.

I could not drive, I was irritable, and unpredictable. I had daily headaches, with varying sources. I was so tired. I could not complete a thought or a sentence. Communication was immensely frustrating. Any time I had to talk with a stranger, especially about medical or financial help, I told them I had a head injury. It was obvious to me, but the ways I had learned to adapt—by asking the same question in multiple forms, repeating information back to the speaker—could seem annoying or as if I was mocking them. I felt stupid. But with daily misunderstandings, it was the only way I could be somewhat sure of what was being said. I took notes for every phone call with my doctors and insurance, and even a trip to the grocery store with a list would result in my needing a ride home because of headache and overwhelm.

This month I ask you to map out the evolution of a conversation using words or pictures, filling in black speech bubbles.

Printed with polymer plates on my Heidelberg Windmill on paper from French Paper Co.

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