NETA Benefit Night with Lost Voice Guy and Steffan Peddie

Fantastic charity night at Ashington Football Club on 7 June organised by Julie Ann Carr! Julie raised over £750 for NETA (North East Trust for Aphasia) and brought that up to £1,000 with her other fundraising activities!

The stars of the show:

  • Lost Voice Guy aka Lee Ridley, who previewed his new show for the Edinburgh Fringe, “Laughter is the Worst Medicine
  • Steffan Peddie, who hosted the night and was equally funny!
  • Charlotte Reay, fabulous singer and SLT2B
  • Janet Speight, Chair of NETA, who gave a very moving presentation
  • The amazing Julie Carr herself!
  • The audience, who were game for all the tom-foolery and fundraising stunts that Steffan Peddie threw at them!

Julie and Janet started off the evening by talking about NETA, about the Giving Voice UK and ICP2014 (International Communication Project 2014) campaigns.

Giving Voice Song

My contribution was to bridge the information-giving and entertainment parts of the evening with my “Giving Voice” ukulele song.  (See previous blog post: May 2014 – International Communication Project Month of Action #ICP2014 #ukulele).

My Mild Aphasia

I keep meaning to write about my own recent experience of mild aphasia and more than usual general slow-wittedness. This was due to the combined effects of severe sepsis that led to a heart attack, a period of TIAs (transient ischaemic attacks aka mini-strokes), three operations under general anaesthetic in three days and much morphine to kill the pain. The effects of a TIA are short-lived so I imagine the main reasons were the after-effects of the general anaesthetic and post-sepsis syndrome.

Janet’s presentation was a reminder of my own efforts not so very long ago. My word-finding problems have almost resolved and I am nearly, but not quite, back up to speed. I still need to sleep a lot.  If I do not then I slow down and get a bit befuddled until I catch up again.

My life was saved last October/November at the RVI (Newcastle’s Royal Victoria Infirmary).  I was already confused and was very ill before I went in.  For several months afterwards it felt like my brain was a bucket of treacle. Constructing a sentence was a slow and conscious activity, a laboured process of dredging individual words like rusty old nuts and bolts from the murky, viscous depths. Most often, a word eluded me altogether. Sometimes the wrong word materialised, a near miss, not quite on target.

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