During those early days in Gasthuisberg I did a lot of walking in the corridors of the stroke-unit. I was always accompanied by one of the therapists, and there was always a purpose. I had to count doors, indicate cupboards and try to carry out the instructions I was given (… take the next corridor to the right…) That these simple tasks were no longer automatic was hard to take, and I wondered how I would ever make progress.
Whenever I had some time to myself, however, it was clear that I could still think things through properly, although sometimes it took a long time during a conversation to find the right word. I found words much faster when I wrote them down. The difference between the me in my head and the me the outside world saw, was a source of continuing frustration.
UZ Gasthuisberg, March 2017
A door is really rather two-dimensional.
Until you open it, at least.
You use it to access a new space.
A cupboard has a door, but isn’t a door.
The cupboard door gives access to a space located inside the cupboard, but the person opening the cupboard usually remains outside.
Things start to get a bit more complicated with a corridor: the ones here have no entrance door, though you will usually find doors along their length.
When you go into the corridor, you are actually still in the same space.
You see? A door, a cupboard and a corridor: I have known the difference since childhood.
Why then, is it suddenly so very hard to tell them apart?
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