Three Dimensional!
Brains are crazy amazing!
The last time I blogged, I wrote about the wonder of new brain connections, of having the perceptions of textures and pressures come back. Well, my brain didn’t stop there.
After four years of healing from a brain injury, things are still hopping! And changing. And connecting.
I’ve been going to a special yoga class
taught by a certified Love Your Brain yoga instructor.
The instructor said that when the brain is injured and neural pathways are destroyed, problems often occur across the corpus callosum.
This is the bundle of nerve fibers that allow your brain’s left and right hemispheres to communicate. Yoga is especially powerful because it helps the body to integrate right and left, to cross the midline and bring information from one side to the other. That integration is part of what my body lacks.
I have been unable to hold the wholeness of my body in my mind.
Instead, what I perceive is the individual parts of my body. I can be aware of my leg or my arm, but not both simultaneously.
Every once in a while, I become fleetingly aware of my body as one unit. But those times are few and more like a blurred glimpse than an actual sighting. The faint mirage of an indistinct image. Then the almost wholeness fades, and my body once again feels fragmented.
After my last blog post, I began practicing my new yoga techniques 2, 3, 4 times a day.
• Stretch out on the floor, focus my attention on my right side. Could I notice my whole right side, arm and leg both at the same time?
• Focus on my left side. Next, try to be aware of my right and left sides at the same time.
• Could I notice and be aware of the presence my head and still keep an awareness of my arms or legs?
After weeks of daily practice, I began to notice some long-forgotten sensations
When I touched my hair, I felt it wrap around my fingers. The hair twisting between, underneath, and over them. When I picked up a mug of coffee, it wasn’t a flat object. It felt curved.
I began to notice the arcs and edges of all the objects I touched. My hands were aware of not only the width and height but also the depth.
A square had become a cube. A circle became a ball.
There were contours everywhere.
The world I lived in, the house, the chairs, the table, everything had dimensionality. The space around me no longer felt flat. My sense of placement was more solid and grounded. Everything seemed so real.
The pen in my hand was round. My tongue was an oval. When I took a nap, I noticed the contour of the pillow under my head.
My world had been flat.
I had been flat!
It was like I’d been a cardboard cut-out. A flat person living in a flat world.
A living breathing Flat Stanley.
And now, I felt my body in a way that had shapes, curves, and edges.
I stumbled over my words when I tried to explain it to my husband.
He kept shaking his head saying, “I don’t really understand what it must be like to be you living in your brain.”
I couldn’t blame him. I found it hard to understand myself!
As I sat thinking with amazement at the new changes, I rubbed my thumb back and forth across the tips of my fingers.
A piece of my identity had returned, and I could feel it in the ridged whorls of my fingerprints.
“Your brain has more than 100 billion cells, each connected to at least 20,000 other cells. The possible combinations are greater than the number of molecules in the known universe.” ~
Brian Tracy
Brian Tracy’s quote amazes me. 100 billion cells. Too many to even understand what that number means.
All I can say is that the brain truly is crazy amazing.
I’m grateful that even after four years, this old noggin is still integrating and learning. I’m thankful for the care I’ve been given, for those who have dedicated their lives towards brain injury work and research, and for each of you reading along with me on this journey.
P.S. Yes, I did knit the sweater I’m wearing in the first photo. I bought the pattern on Ravelry. The Drawing Sweater designed by Toomi Yoshimoto. Yarn: Arroyo DK Sport, 100% Superwash Merino Wool, purchased at my favorite local yarn store, Prairie Fiber Arts Center.
Love always,
Jill