Part 4 - Shimmer Wings
This entry was posted on 4/21/2007 12:39 AM and is filed under Recovery.
In order to begin healing, the first thing I had to do was to stop trying to dance. I had to bawl and scream and cry and give up the dream that someday I would reclaim the life I had left behind. Then I had to just let my body do its thing. I had to feed it well, not make it do things it didn’t want to do, and let it sleep at any given moment it asked to. I had to treat it like an infant. It was a painful, but very necessary step. It was only after the admission of defeat that I truly began to relax, to surrender to the process of rejuvenation and to allow this amazing machine of flesh and blood to do what it needed to do. To this day, it fascinates me with its capacity to heal itself, if we only give it the chance and help it.
Only after I had let myself twitch & drool for a bit was I strong enough to begin the excruciating and rewarding process of recovery. It’s hard, it’s exasperating, it’s painful, it SUCKS. But it’s worth it.
Meditation was one of the most profound ways I found of helping. Visualizing my body healing itself, visualizing what it would look and feel like to be whole and strong again, visualizing my muscles releasing their death grip, visualizing my bones staying in their proper alignment…the process has been terribly slow and very frustrating, but I have reaped the rewards. And it keeps me focusing on the positive, instead of the negative. Very important.
Another was Bowen Therapy. It is not massage, it is not reiki, it is amazing! The way I understand it, by performing a series of movements on an injured or stressed area, it sends messages to your brain to instigate the body’s own process of correction—to release held, spasming areas, and use the correct muscles to put the body in its natural, proper alignment. Sounds weird? I thought so too and was skeptical until I experienced it. This technique was what finally broke through the locked patterns, allowing my muscles to stop spasming and pulling my spine and hips out of alignment every other day. It’s amazing—now I can go into a meditative state and “Bowen” myself just by sheer relaxation and concentration.
Once I had gotten to the point where I could actually start to rebuild my lost strength and flexibility, I worked with a wonderful physical therapist—Mary Ripper Baker of Motion Studies, who is also a dancer. Having a therapist who truly understood what I had lost and what I longed to regain more than anything was just as important as the exercises she gave me. My nickname for her was my Physical Terrorist, but always grumbled with love and gratitude. When our sessions ended, I had to become my own physical terrorist, so I developed a series of stringent drills to regain and relearn all the dance technique I had lost and to find ways to compensate for the injury-induced imbalances. My injuries spiral their way up my body, so all those lovely shimmies and undulations and gooey moves were lopsided. These drills are still a regular part of my regimen—they worked so well that I taught to them to my students, who lovingly named them Belly Dance Boot Camp! Hah, Physical Terrorist, indeed… *crack of whip*
Beyond the physical healing, one of the most frustrating aspects was trying to dance with a brain injury. First off, dancing has always been my main stress relief, so I had to learn how to cope with life at its most stressful without my Woobie. Then when I was finally allowed to dance again, it was no longer the fun activity I had once enjoyed. With the damage to my processing speed, I was constantly a half-beat behind in the music. As I have always had an internal metronome, it drove me crazy! That one just took time. However, learning and memorizing was something I had to completely re-learn. I don’t quite know how to explain the new learning style. It is a feeling…a completely different way of memorization that has much to do with attaching the kinesthetic connection of my body to the phrases and beats of the music, as well as the visualization of myself doing the moves and the way the words are printed on the chorographic outline. “Left hip down, up, up up. Right hip down, left hip down…” I literally read it off the envisioned page in the air in front of me. And I have to write everything down or it will be gone as soon as I leave the room.
Karate--yet another thing that would have once been strictly filed under the No-Can-Do-Kid List--has greatly helped in this respect too, forcing my brain to learn how to re-route its customary pathways to learning new things. The physical conditioning, too, has done wonders for my body, although I do have to be careful with impact and certain movements. But I have wonderful instructors who accept that I have limitations, yet constantly help me work through and past them. These aren't old movements that I'm re-learning how to memorize. These are completely foreign sequences, and I am finally figuring out how to use the pathways that I have left, and to create new ones. Of course, trying to match the names of the techniques to their corresponding movements is like trying to prize a hunk of tuna out of my cat's mouth, but it's getting there. I also have to envision the technique sheets pasted on the wall in front of me and "read" the names off before I can actually which move my instructors are asking me for, but hey...a gal does what she has to.
This visual attachment became distinctly apparent during my second neuropsychological exam (the intensive test that measures brain damage). In one test, the administrator would say a long series of words. The objective is to repeat back as many words as you can. Then you are reminded of each word you forgot. You do it again and are reminded again until you can finally list every word. The first time I did this test, it was awful and took forever, but the second time, I had re-routed my memory track through the visual arena—they would say a word, I would attach a visual image to it in my mind. I developed a series of images instead of words, all lined up in my head in order. I now do the same thing for choreography. There are still many dances that I just let my students do because I often can’t remember my own choreography to save my life, but it gets better the more I play with it. So does karate, although I'm still struggling to turn the huge list of self-defense techniques into one big long kata so that I can hope to memorize the order.
An interesting benefit to all this right-brain dependency came about six months after the crash. When my brain started to re-route customary left-brain functions into the rightr brain, my mind exploded in poetry and rhythmic modes of expression filled with imagry and metaphor. I'm told that this is a very common thing in stroke patients who have suffered damage to the left-brain. This is still a predominant mode of my communication, which sometimes gets on people's nerves when they'd like me to get straight to the point, but it sure does make for some great writing!
Another big step in re-training was when I began to play zills again. Ooooh, multi-tasking. This is another process of attaching sounds and patterns of the zills to the physical movements. While I’m dancing, I no longer think, “One and-a two and three-e-and-a four,” or “Right, right-left-right, right, right-left-right-left-right.” I feel it in a way that I can't verbalize. I have to feel it and make it part of the movements my body is doing, or I can’t play them.
My return to dancing happened sporadically, a party here, a show there, testing my limits and pushing the boundaries. For the first two years, it took about 2 weeks to get back on my feet any time I danced. Now I can produce my own shows and perform multiple numbers full-out. There are always specific conditions to which I must limit myself, but I have learned through trial and error which ones I can fudge on, and which ones are absolute no-no’s. Delving into the realm of some of the heavy-duty, national-caliber shows I've been hired to do has really pushed these limits--and forced my brain to figure things out that I had been told I should never even try to attempt again. It is a rough, sometimes brutal process to stumble through, but I become stronger and stronger with every year, capable of more and more things that I had once thought lost to me forever. It astounds me that I am still recovering. Even comparing how I was last year at this time to how I am as I write this, the difference is startling!
In the past years, I have really begun to reap the benefits of the silver linings. My disabilities have taught me some very important things: how to teach normal, non-prodigy-children—i.e. the majority of students who walk through my door, as well as those with limitations. It’s taught me how to use my body in the most efficient ways, to cherish every moment of every day because I don’t know what will be on my plate tomorrow, it’s taught me patience and focus and discipline, how to accept—and *gasp!* even ASK for help and then be grateful for it, to rest when I need to rest and to push when I need to push and to know the difference between them. I have learned that I’m completely normal at the same time as being profoundly special—as we all are—and that one of the things I was put on this planet to do is to create my art and to share it with others. My own crucibles have led me to this place of understanding, and without them I never would have found this dance, this feeling, this way of being that is solely mine. Floundering in chronic pain, despair and bewilderment, I never would have believed that such miraculous healing was possible.
But I only have to look in the mirror to know that it is true. After several years hybernating in a dark cocoon, I have emerged a different creature. And now I have wings.
Knowing love, I will allow all things to come and go...
To be as supple as the wind and take all that comes with great courage...
Life is right in any case.
My heart is as open as the sky.
~~Mira Nair, from her film Kama Sutra
There is more about my recovery on my website: www.izzydancer.com
Only after I had let myself twitch & drool for a bit was I strong enough to begin the excruciating and rewarding process of recovery. It’s hard, it’s exasperating, it’s painful, it SUCKS. But it’s worth it.
Meditation was one of the most profound ways I found of helping. Visualizing my body healing itself, visualizing what it would look and feel like to be whole and strong again, visualizing my muscles releasing their death grip, visualizing my bones staying in their proper alignment…the process has been terribly slow and very frustrating, but I have reaped the rewards. And it keeps me focusing on the positive, instead of the negative. Very important.
Another was Bowen Therapy. It is not massage, it is not reiki, it is amazing! The way I understand it, by performing a series of movements on an injured or stressed area, it sends messages to your brain to instigate the body’s own process of correction—to release held, spasming areas, and use the correct muscles to put the body in its natural, proper alignment. Sounds weird? I thought so too and was skeptical until I experienced it. This technique was what finally broke through the locked patterns, allowing my muscles to stop spasming and pulling my spine and hips out of alignment every other day. It’s amazing—now I can go into a meditative state and “Bowen” myself just by sheer relaxation and concentration.
Once I had gotten to the point where I could actually start to rebuild my lost strength and flexibility, I worked with a wonderful physical therapist—Mary Ripper Baker of Motion Studies, who is also a dancer. Having a therapist who truly understood what I had lost and what I longed to regain more than anything was just as important as the exercises she gave me. My nickname for her was my Physical Terrorist, but always grumbled with love and gratitude. When our sessions ended, I had to become my own physical terrorist, so I developed a series of stringent drills to regain and relearn all the dance technique I had lost and to find ways to compensate for the injury-induced imbalances. My injuries spiral their way up my body, so all those lovely shimmies and undulations and gooey moves were lopsided. These drills are still a regular part of my regimen—they worked so well that I taught to them to my students, who lovingly named them Belly Dance Boot Camp! Hah, Physical Terrorist, indeed… *crack of whip*
Beyond the physical healing, one of the most frustrating aspects was trying to dance with a brain injury. First off, dancing has always been my main stress relief, so I had to learn how to cope with life at its most stressful without my Woobie. Then when I was finally allowed to dance again, it was no longer the fun activity I had once enjoyed. With the damage to my processing speed, I was constantly a half-beat behind in the music. As I have always had an internal metronome, it drove me crazy! That one just took time. However, learning and memorizing was something I had to completely re-learn. I don’t quite know how to explain the new learning style. It is a feeling…a completely different way of memorization that has much to do with attaching the kinesthetic connection of my body to the phrases and beats of the music, as well as the visualization of myself doing the moves and the way the words are printed on the chorographic outline. “Left hip down, up, up up. Right hip down, left hip down…” I literally read it off the envisioned page in the air in front of me. And I have to write everything down or it will be gone as soon as I leave the room.
Karate--yet another thing that would have once been strictly filed under the No-Can-Do-Kid List--has greatly helped in this respect too, forcing my brain to learn how to re-route its customary pathways to learning new things. The physical conditioning, too, has done wonders for my body, although I do have to be careful with impact and certain movements. But I have wonderful instructors who accept that I have limitations, yet constantly help me work through and past them. These aren't old movements that I'm re-learning how to memorize. These are completely foreign sequences, and I am finally figuring out how to use the pathways that I have left, and to create new ones. Of course, trying to match the names of the techniques to their corresponding movements is like trying to prize a hunk of tuna out of my cat's mouth, but it's getting there. I also have to envision the technique sheets pasted on the wall in front of me and "read" the names off before I can actually which move my instructors are asking me for, but hey...a gal does what she has to.
This visual attachment became distinctly apparent during my second neuropsychological exam (the intensive test that measures brain damage). In one test, the administrator would say a long series of words. The objective is to repeat back as many words as you can. Then you are reminded of each word you forgot. You do it again and are reminded again until you can finally list every word. The first time I did this test, it was awful and took forever, but the second time, I had re-routed my memory track through the visual arena—they would say a word, I would attach a visual image to it in my mind. I developed a series of images instead of words, all lined up in my head in order. I now do the same thing for choreography. There are still many dances that I just let my students do because I often can’t remember my own choreography to save my life, but it gets better the more I play with it. So does karate, although I'm still struggling to turn the huge list of self-defense techniques into one big long kata so that I can hope to memorize the order.
An interesting benefit to all this right-brain dependency came about six months after the crash. When my brain started to re-route customary left-brain functions into the rightr brain, my mind exploded in poetry and rhythmic modes of expression filled with imagry and metaphor. I'm told that this is a very common thing in stroke patients who have suffered damage to the left-brain. This is still a predominant mode of my communication, which sometimes gets on people's nerves when they'd like me to get straight to the point, but it sure does make for some great writing!
Another big step in re-training was when I began to play zills again. Ooooh, multi-tasking. This is another process of attaching sounds and patterns of the zills to the physical movements. While I’m dancing, I no longer think, “One and-a two and three-e-and-a four,” or “Right, right-left-right, right, right-left-right-left-right.” I feel it in a way that I can't verbalize. I have to feel it and make it part of the movements my body is doing, or I can’t play them.
My return to dancing happened sporadically, a party here, a show there, testing my limits and pushing the boundaries. For the first two years, it took about 2 weeks to get back on my feet any time I danced. Now I can produce my own shows and perform multiple numbers full-out. There are always specific conditions to which I must limit myself, but I have learned through trial and error which ones I can fudge on, and which ones are absolute no-no’s. Delving into the realm of some of the heavy-duty, national-caliber shows I've been hired to do has really pushed these limits--and forced my brain to figure things out that I had been told I should never even try to attempt again. It is a rough, sometimes brutal process to stumble through, but I become stronger and stronger with every year, capable of more and more things that I had once thought lost to me forever. It astounds me that I am still recovering. Even comparing how I was last year at this time to how I am as I write this, the difference is startling!
In the past years, I have really begun to reap the benefits of the silver linings. My disabilities have taught me some very important things: how to teach normal, non-prodigy-children—i.e. the majority of students who walk through my door, as well as those with limitations. It’s taught me how to use my body in the most efficient ways, to cherish every moment of every day because I don’t know what will be on my plate tomorrow, it’s taught me patience and focus and discipline, how to accept—and *gasp!* even ASK for help and then be grateful for it, to rest when I need to rest and to push when I need to push and to know the difference between them. I have learned that I’m completely normal at the same time as being profoundly special—as we all are—and that one of the things I was put on this planet to do is to create my art and to share it with others. My own crucibles have led me to this place of understanding, and without them I never would have found this dance, this feeling, this way of being that is solely mine. Floundering in chronic pain, despair and bewilderment, I never would have believed that such miraculous healing was possible.
But I only have to look in the mirror to know that it is true. After several years hybernating in a dark cocoon, I have emerged a different creature. And now I have wings.
Knowing love, I will allow all things to come and go...
To be as supple as the wind and take all that comes with great courage...
Life is right in any case.
My heart is as open as the sky.
~~Mira Nair, from her film Kama Sutra
There is more about my recovery on my website: www.izzydancer.com
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12/23/2009 6:29 AM
Web developer wrote:
Hey, that was interesting,
Keep up the good work,
Thanks for writing about it
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