“We can play Team Scrabble first,” explained Anita to Becka. “We’ll be on the same team until you get the hang of it.”
Becka had seen the game on the shelf and had asked her Carson therapist, Anita, if they could play it together. It was their third visit. It had been hard for Anita to gather a history from Becka. Becka liked to talk, jumping from subject to subject, but she didn’t like to talk about why she was there , or what she wanted to get out of therapy.
“I got one of these Scrabble games when I was in school. They gave the kids in the special classes presents at Christmas. When I brought it home, my mom took it out of my hand. She said, ‘Oh, you can’t play this.’ So, I’ve never played. I’ve always wanted to play.” Anita wanted Becka to succeed. Becka was almost thirty now. She struggled with some form of cognitive or developmental delay, but Anita didn’t know much about it. There were no records to go on, as Becka had never sought any kind of help before. Together they looked for words to form from the pieces in front of them. As they looked, Becka explained that she was good at math. They had kept her doing “plus-es and minus-es” at school in her special class, even though once they gave her the wrong worksheet and she’d filled out the multiplication problems all correctly.
“The teacher looked at the sheet and said, ‘How ‘bout that!’, but they kept me in my plus-es and minus-es group anyway. ” Becka eyed the board and her words strategically. “My mom had a man live with us when I was a teenager. He had sex with me and he beat me up. Mom said that we couldn’t do anything because he was paying money. I did know division, you know, even though everyone thought I was too stupid. I saw how much money he left on her dresser every week and I figured that was twenty dollars every time he had sex with me and that the beatings were free.” Becka spoke matter of factly . “Here! I’ve got it! FIFTY POINTS!”
Anita turned her attention back to the board and counted.
“Becka, I can honestly tell you that of all the people I’ve ever played with, this is the very best beginning anyone has ever had.”
“You see?” said Becka proudly, “I knew I would be great at this therapy stuff. I have bad dreams about losing the baby after a free beating,” she added, arranging letters in her tray, “You can help me, right? That’s what the lady said when I first called.”
“Yes, I can help you and yes, you are going to be great at this therapy stuff.”
By JAC Patrissi
