It's Just Emotion That's Taken Me Over

The pseudobulbar affect, or emotional lability, affects a significant percentage of MS, ALS, traumatic brain injury, stroke, and several other survivors. You probably know someone with this affliction, and didn't really know what it was.

Emotional lability is when the person's ability to control their emotions - mostly laughing and crying - are limited or non existent. They might laugh at something that's only marginally funny or cry at something that might cause you to sigh. The outburst can often be inappropriate - laughing at something that's really sad or crying at something that's obviously funny or happy. Try as they might, those with emotional lability cannot control this.

It's not physically debilitating, but you can imagine where it can cause real trouble. If it's severe enough, it puts a damper on almost any social situation.

Which brings us to me. I have this as a result of the stroke. Initially it was completely uncontrollable and uncomfortable. As the years go by, I found it happens less and less in public, but still happens often when I'm by myself or with close family. Brother Rob often kids me about it.

For the most part when we're out in social situations it seems to be pretty repressed. There might be the odd laugh, but it doesn't come across as really awkward. When something is really funny, though, I can't contain myself. But I never could.

All the "control" I have is subconscious. There's nothing I can consciously do to try and control it (it's like you trying to control what makes you sad). And, as I said, it seems to be getting better with time .

Yesterday I had another chance to make a short speech (my story) at a Heart and Stroke Canvasser Rally. I'd done something similar this summer at a H&S Golf Tournament.

I'm completely confident before I speak, as I've done this kind of thing (speak to large groups of strangers) for most of my working life.

But when it comes time to walk up to the podium, I'm a ridiculous bundle of nerves - shaking and speaking like I'm terrified. Fortunately, Gillian (the local manager at H&S) explained what's going on after I finished talking. Everybody was very understanding.

Regardless of who you are, there are always "butterfles" in your stomach before you speak in public. They might be very small, or very big, but they're there. My best approximation of this is that I have the same thing - only amplified 10X.

I'm hoping to recover from this the same way I've recovered from the rest of my stroke. Most have diminished with repetition - months and years of repetition.

So I'm grateful for the opportunity to speak, and hope to be asked again. Speaking in this most forgiving of environments (Heart and Stroke) is wonderful - I get to continue to try, while explaining one of the awkward after affects of brain trauma.