Two weeks ago, on my morning dogwalk, I caught my toe on a crack in the sidewalk.
I felt the oh-no as I braced for a scraped chin, hands and knees.
I didn’t have time to let go of the two leashes, so my head was the first to hit.
My neighbor found me bleeding and confused, sitting on the sidewalk, the dogs still in tow.
The ER report read – contusions, abrasions, small lacerations, and a concussion!
My face was badly bruised. I had a headache and over the next few days found myself surprisingly irritated by sounds, specifically voices on some of my favorite radio programs. I was also tired, very tired.
As the week went on, I learned to give into the fatigue. My face was slowly changing shades, but my mind kept replaying the oh-no moment.
I see my toe catch. I realize I am falling, and then I don’t remember…
I see my toe catch. I realize I am falling, and then I don’t remember…
I see my toe catch. I realize I am falling, and then I don’t remember…
It repeats, like a scene in a bad movie. Over and over, I watch, hoping that I might figure this out. How could I land on my head? Knock myself out? Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I was a marathon runner. I ski. I hike. I walk all the time…
I finally come up with a theory. The night before my fall, I’d hung my art show. There was something about one of the paintings that bothered me. I’d spent the walk thinking about whether I wanted to fix it.
Distracted! Yes, I fell because I was distracted. It was a bad fall, so I came up with a few other explanations. Sometimes I don’t pick my feet up as completely as I should. The dogs were probably pulling, AND…
After a week and a half, I'm still terrified to go out for a walk, afraid even to venture beyond my driveway. It isn’t being alone with the dogs. I don’t trust my ability to walk at all!
Finally, my son accompanies me to the spot where my neighbor found me, bleeding and confused. I examine the sidewalk and determine that there was something to catch my toe on— for sure! We verbally replay which part of my head hit first and then the ricochet, the chin injury and my amnesia. I feel reassured.
I’ll be just fine from now on. Won’t I? But later the replay begins again, followed by the anxiety and the insecurity…
“PTSD,” my psychologist friend tells me.
“Oh great!” I already have PTSD from my cancer diagnosis and treatment. Now, I’m going to feel like a basket case whenever I walk too?”
I start to explain the mental loop my brain is on. I share with him my logic about how this happened.
My friend holds up his hand to stop me. “It was an accident. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, I fell, because…”
“You had an accident, a chance happening. You need to go back out and walk.”
I’m horrified at the thought.
“Set a goal,” he says. “Walk to the corner. Retrain your brain to believe that you can do it, because you can.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup. It’s just walking. You know how. Retrain your brain.”
“And what am I supposed to do about the loop?”
“Resist it. Don’t allow yourself to obsess. It’ll only make your fear worse, prolong the recovery.”
The next day, shaky and unsure, I set a goal to walk around the block. I begin slowly. I position my feet in a broad base of support, and take each step with exaggerated accuracy. I stop often making sure the dogs are not pulling. I attain my goal.
Now, my brain remembers that I used to be a long-distance runner who often went beyond her comfort zone. That part of me kicks in, and I walk around another block, then another. I’m not feeling secure or safe, but I’m definitely doing my assigned brain retraining exercise.
I keep waiting to feel much better, but I still lack confidence. I’m still anxious.
I put one foot in front of the other and try to override the fear – You can’t do this. Go home, an inner voice warns.
I start back, and then as I have done some many times in the past, I reach somewhere inside and press on instead. One more block. Push yourself. You can go another block. Then, you can go home.
On the next corner I see it. I’ve been looking down a lot making sure I didn’t trip, but it’s not another crack in the sidewalk that catches my attention. I stop. A ten dollar bill. I look around. Noone is in sight. I bend down and pick up my reward.
At home, my son offers to go for another walk with me today.
“I’ve already been.” I tell him my ten-dollar bill story.
He smiles. “The universe provides.”
Yes.
Now, when I walk, I still look for cracks, but I also am alert to positive reinforcement.
Some links to information about concussions:
http://www.cdc.gov/concussion/feel_better.html
http://www.cdc.gov/concussion/signs_symptoms.html
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001802/
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