Wham! The jolt of a car slamming into the back of my minivan grabbed my attention. After a shock of expletives, my first thoughts were of my daughter riding in her wheelchair in the back. Looking, she seemed okay. I phoned 911 and followed their instructions... A trip to the emergency room the next day confirmed that my daughter was a-okay while I had suffered a mild concussion. Mild? I could barely keep my head up and the entire right side of my face felt as though it were melting. An objective glance in the mirror confirmed that Salvador Dali had just added the right side of my face to his "The Persistence of Memory." Ah, yes, memory.
In the days to come, so many givens seemed to slip through my brain. I found that I was unable to write cursive or keep more than one numeral or letter sequenced at a time. Filling out the accident report was a challenge and taking down a phone number became a near impossible mission. I couldn't put names to objects, tolerate anything requiring a screen, or bring into focus anything that required a depth of visual concentration or higher processing. In short, I found myself slipping into the realm of the dumb blonde - unfocused, absent minded, drifty, flighty, ditzy, irrational, impulsive. Adjectives I would never have used to describe myself. Until now.
What was that? What WAS that? What was THAT? Three days later, I got my daughter off to school and commenced vomiting. My head was a total fog. The ghost in the machine was pressing hard against the back of my right eyeball clambering to get out. My right temple throbbed. I lay on the couch wondering if a short nap would revive me enough to see clients in a couple hours. I spun the notion round and round until the phone rang. It was my dear friend, Margaret, calling to check in, see how I was doing. A gave her an update and agreed to cancel clients in favor of rest. Rest didn't come. I lay drifting - this must be what the Buddhists describe as an empty mind. Thoughts floated through but nothing stuck. I kinda liked it. Not productive but I didn't feel worried or concerned. I was observer and observed and there was no judgment. Only awareness and observation.
My eyes landed on a large bamboo bowl. I wondered what it would look like if it were tea stained. Oh, let's find out. I was in the middle of daubing the bowl with strong black tea when Margaret called back. She was soon at my door to escort me to the hospital. I was checked in and after a battery of tests, said concussion was upgraded (or downgraded depending on your point of view) to moderate. One of the consultants asked me to describe what I do for work. I mustered my inner Mr. Rogers, "Now boys and girls..." He was impressed. Probably one of the simplest descriptions of the Feldenkrais Method I've ever given. He pronounced me fine. I could only think, "If this is fine, I'm in BIG trouble." Ever the overachiever, super student, geek, nerd, what have you, I'd finally achieved average. So THIS is what life is like for the rest of the world. It gave me an appreciation for those not so quick to grasp a concept or run with an idea. It also angered me that someone who didn't know me from Adam could say I was okay. OKAY?!! Okay isn't okay enough. I wanted MY brain back. And then I slept and slept some more.
Self-supporting, I had to get back to work. I cut back my hours, juggled my schedule and rallied my energies to focus on my daughter, my clients and sleep. Housework became a faint memory. Bookkeeping? Taxes? Chairing the Conference Programming Committee? Oh, my. I did what I could and learned the ever useful skill of delegating the rest. Who says old dogs can't learn new tricks. Clients wanted to talk, to find out what had happened. I gave them a choice, "We can talk, or I can work. I can't do both." Somehow, my newly quiet brain - the eye within the neuronal storm - gave me greater depth in my work. I felt more, became more deliberate in my lessons, and slowed way, waaaaaay down. Another positive. At least I hadn't lost my perpetual optimism.
Driving was interesting to say the least. I dove into visual and auditory overload and became ever so easily distracted. Oh, there's an interesting building... "Look at the road. Look at the road." I had to keep reminding myself to focus on the task at hand. I took to taking back roads with little traffic and stopped all but essential nighttime driving. My range was greatly reduced and I felt a nagging urge to take my half down the middle. Aaargh. I'd become my mother!
After a month of subsistence, a client connected me with a wonderful neurologist who finally helped me to understand what was going on. The fog that pressed in all around, the spaciness, the inability to focus were all a form of migraine. "Most people," he told me, "think of a concussion as bruising of the brain caused by the brain hitting against the inside of the skull. But that's not it at all." He explained, "Think of the neurons of your brain as a bundle of wires, each with its own insulation. As long as that insulation is in place, messages go through clearly. But strip away the insulation and let the wires touch and the messages get scrambled. That is what's happened to you. The trick now is to give your brain the opportunity to heal the insulation without learning that these migraines are "normal". Never a fan of big pharma, I was grateful for his bag of magic potions. For the first time in more than a month, the veil seemed to lift if even for a short period.
I was nowhere near back to normal, or my semblance of it, but I felt I was on the path. The time between episodes of foggy brain and pounding head lengthened. I slowly began to tolerate more than momentary glances at my computer, cell phone, etc. I could listen to people talking and actually absorb some of what they were saying and retain some of the content. I could once again identify a paper towel out of context, balance my checkbook and spell fruition. I also found I was more able to take to heart the core of the Feldenkrais Method - learning to learn. I began to challenge myself. Could I stand on one leg? No. What if I stood with one foot on the floor and the tips of the toes of the other foot? Yes. I could do that. Could I stand with my legs crossed. What was that lesson? Shift weight, heel toe, heel toe.... I began to make up mini-lessons increasing their complexity as I went along. Backing off when my vestibular system yelled, "ENOUGH!" I see another practitioner for lessons that help me release the physical memories of the accident - a seatbelt here, braced foot there - and replace them with greater ease and mobility.
Now a year later, I continue to heal. I continue to play with possibilities. Sure, I still don't multitask very well but I am far and away more adept at handling life than during the early days when I could either fix lunch or breakfast but not both at once. I can brainstorm without setting off the internal lightening storms. I have even re-engaged with a long standing project. The concussion taught me very quickly that I didn't have to be super mom, super woman, super anything. Back in the days when reading the menu at Starbucks took more energy than my short little attention span could muster, I simply let people know that I had a brain injury and would they please be patient. Honesty in this case was the best policy and I learned the oh so valuable lesson that assistants make life so much easier. It's meant a bit of financial juggling and developing a greater tolerance to dishes in the sink but I am coping and doing so much better. So much better in fact that feeling more and more stable with barometric changes, I recently weaned off one of my medications. Today, I started back on. Incoming snowstorms gathered in my head and the pulsing in my temples said, "Easy girl. There's no shame in taking care of yourself." Meds are the least of my worries. I write this through the throb of a migraine and wonder, "Will I ever be able to get on a plane again? What does this sensitivity to pressure mean for my dreams of traveling, working at other trainings, attending seminars, visiting friends." Gratefully, the lack of concern has stuck with me and I shrug my shoulders and think, "It's Saturday. My daughter is with her dad. The sun in shining. I'm going to take a walk." Life as a dumb blonde has its up side. Now when do I get the dream house and that flash pink convertible..?
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